“There’s nothing to talk about. You can work it out with Axe or not. At this point, I don’t care any longer, but just stay out of my way.”
“Please, I just want to talk to you.”
“No. Now, I’m going to go enjoy a nice glass of wine and pretend I was born into a different family.” After I ended the call, Sasha snorted at the appropriate time. “That’s my girl.”
After turning off the lights, I headed up the stairs, thinking about Axe all over again. He certainly had a way of making himself known.
Tossing my purse and briefcase, I walked toward the little kitchen area, the old boom box capturing my attention. I couldn’t believe it was still around. Maybe it still worked. I was shocked to find an old CD of mine inside. An eighties dance CD. Who in the world had brought it out here?
Well, the music would keep me company, maybe even helping me to relax. When it blared through the speakers, I did a little spin before heading toward the already opened bottle of wine. Every few seconds, thoughts of Axe rolled into my mind.
We’d danced around this thing we had going on. As soon as I saw him again, I would risk my heart once again.
But if this time he didn’t want the woman standing in front of him, I’d punch him in the jaw. Laughing felt good. With the wine in hand, I sat down and propped my feet on the small table, even closing my eyes as I hummed to the music.
The ring of my phone brought the same emotion, a need to talk to Axe. Life was too short. Seeing a Dallas number, I sat straight up. “McKenzie Sterling.”
“Ms. Sterling, this is Marshall Adams, the Dallas County fire inspector. I understand you’re working on a criminal case in Montana that might have a correlation to one here in Dallas.”
So I’d told a little white lie. “Yes, sir. I am. Is there anything you can tell me?”
“I can confirm the fire was arson and an accelerant was used.”
“A particular type?” If I found out it was an unusual compound, then perhaps that would help identify the arsonist. I also needed to know if it was the same one as found in the fires in Missoula.
“Linseed oil and from what I can tell, a massive concentration.”
“Linseed oil. You’re certain?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The product was commonly used on ranches for saddles and other leather products. A cold shiver skated down my spine. “Is there anything else you can share?”
“Just that whoever set the fire knew what he or she was doing. The fire burned very hot.”
“Thank you, Inspector Adams, I appreciate the call.”
“Yes, ma’am.” As I placed the phone on the coffee table, I thought about what this could mean. There were dozens of ranches in Missoula. Including my father’s.
That didn’t necessarily mean anything.
Then why were my hands shaking?
Was it possible my father had figured arson was the only way out? No. Then he wouldn’t ask me to help him.
Unless he wanted to pull the attention away from himself.
This was crazy. My dad was many things, but he’d never do something so terrible. Would he?
“Stop. Just stop.” I jumped to my feet, trying to take deep breaths while pacing the floor.
As I thought through what pieces of the puzzle were most disconcerting, a strange sound caught my attention. I turned my head toward the edge of the loft, straining to listen. When I didn’t hear anything, I moved to the music, turning it down.
I was just jittery.
With the music back to the regular volume, I headed toward my laptop.
Bang.
