I tilted my head, giving her a look with awho do you think I amto it.
“Nash!”
“What? It felt good, and she slept all night. She seemed happy. I won’t deny her that.” I feigned innocence.
“You’re gonna make her my sister-in-law, aren’t you?” she shot back, trying to scare me. It didn’t. “I’ve never once heard you talk about a woman like this, and cuddling with her when I’m in the room?Ew.”
“You were passed out and making love to the wall. Besides nothing happened.” I fanned her away.
She shook her head and gave me the finger. “Don’t scare her away, okay?”
I shrugged. “I think you should give Sybil the benefit of the doubt. She’s braver than you give her credit for. Like I said, harmless. If anything scared her, it was the fact that she enjoyed it.”
She was contemplative and quiet for a moment beforechanging the subject. “What should I do about the PERL suspects?”
My leather office chair squeaked as I leaned forward, placing my elbows on my desk. “Let’s review it all one more time. We probably missed something. They haven’t remained anonymous this long through blind luck. They’re smart and know how to be invisible.”
My phone dinged with the doorbell camera. I picked it up and turned it on. It was a fire marshal, the same guy I’d watched comb through Sybil’s rubble today from my office perch.
I stood. “I need to get this.”
Bee didn’t bother to move, staying in my office instead of making the long trek down four flights to the front door. We really needed an elevator. She switched on her own doorbell camera feed and slumped back in the chair to monitor from a distance.
Opening the front door a few minutes later, I greeted the marshal with a handshake. He was a big man like me, older, with a mustache and peppery, full hair.
He cleared his throat. “Is Sybil Kauffman here?”
“She is, but she’s sleeping.”
The marshal hummed,“Ah,no problem. I just wanted to drop off the fire report for her to look over. Can you pass this along?” He thrust a folder toward me, and I took it.
“Thanks, I will get it to her when she wakes.”
“That’d be great,” he chuckled. “Also, just in case she sets up over here, I don’t want her repeating the same mistake. I need to stress that she be more careful with how she gets rid offlammable refuse. She needs a metal trash can specifically for that type of garbage. She should also bring the flammable refuse to a PaintCare site or local household hazardous waste location for proper disposal so we don’t end up with a dumpster fire. It’s pure luck she survived with that amount of accelerant present. It made quick work of her tinderbox over there. She’s lucky to be alive.”
I frowned. Looking down at the manila folder in my hand, I grew curious. Sybil had discussed a lot of hobbies, but she never mentioned anything involving hazardous waste of any kind. An icy chill fell over me as I shut the door. The thought of her dying curdled the contents of my stomach.
What was she hiding?
When I turned, Bee was there. “Why was he talking about PaintCare?”
Surprised, I jumped—I hadn’t heard her coming down the stairs. “I thought you weren’t coming down.”
“I changed my mind. Why was he talking about PaintCare,” she repeated, adamant.
I tapped the folder against my hand a few times, thinking. “What do you know about PaintCare?”
She shrugged. “That’s where all our flammable art restoration garbage has to go—the paint-thinner-soaked cotton we use to strip antique paintings of varnish, and so on. All of that is combustible. I mean,hell,the oil paint is even combustible.”
We began strolling toward the kitchen, lost in thought. I placed the envelope on the counter, keeping my voice low. “Has Sybil ever mentioned painting to you?”
Her brows pressed together. “No, not at all. I try to talkabout art sometimes, because of my career and the fact she was literallyatan art show, but she doesn’t seem interested. Like you said, it seems like she was more or less dragged to the PERL shows against her will.” She sat on a stool with a plunk. “Plus, we’d already checked her off the list. Why?”
“The fire marshal said hazardous materials caused it. But she’s never once mentioned any hobby or activity of the sort.”
Bee’s eyes got big. “Why would she lie?” Then she laughed. “Maybe this is a Breaking Bad situation, and she’s cooking meth in there.”
I glowered at her joke. “No meth labs, Bee.”
