Page 44 of Burning Justice

“A Chesapeake Bay Retriever,” Brett answered.

Briggs grunted, nodding in approval. “Glad to see you’ve got a big manly dog, not one of those tiny little yapping things like on those taco commercials.”

“Yes, sir.” Brett nodded, pressing his lips together, clearly trying not to laugh. “Did you see any moving trucks?”

“Sure did.” He nodded. “About two weeks ago, I saw a big white one. Two guys unloaded furniture and brought it into the house.”

“Did you see a moving company name on the outside of the truck?”

Briggs shook his head. “No. There weren’t any names. I would’ve seen that, and I would have remembered it.”

Of course he would have. Briggs probably didn’t miss a thing that happened within a mile of his place. Maybe even the whole town. “What happened after they moved in all that furniture?”

“Nothing. Never saw ’em again. I drove over there five times since, but no one was ever home. Other than the fire department and police, no one’s been there since the explosion. Until you showed up.”

Gemma eyed the spotting scope. “You were watching us, weren’t you?”

Briggs grinned slyly. “Yes, indeed, young lady. It pays to be nosy these days. We wouldn’t want any riffraff coming around, now would we?”

“Of course not,” she agreed. He and her grandfather could have been brothers, they were so alike.

“Now, Harold,” Deputy Maws began. “You can’t be—”

“Keep going,” Brett interrupted, giving her a quick nod, indicating she should continue. Stupidly, that one little nod of encouragement gave her a serious case of the warm and fuzzies. Most of the other cops she’d interacted with—Deputy Maws being a case in point—would have taken over the interview by now.

“You said they moved in furniture.” She pointed to the spotting scope. “Did you happen to see what kind of furniture? Were they fancy antiques?”

Last night, after Brett had gone to his room for the night, she could still taste him on her lips, feel his strong body against hers, and smell his residual aftershave that somehow seemed to have transferred to everything in her room. Especially her bed. Sleep hadn’t come easily, so she’d pulled up the Burlington house’s insurance policy. Not only was the house overly insured for this area, but there was a twenty-thousand-dollar rider in place for expensive antiques.

“Bah!” Briggs slammed his cane on the porch. “What they were was cheap. Looked like it all came from a dumpster. Broken legs. Peeling paint. I could swear that old kitchen table was sitting in the used furniture store down on Main Street just last week.” He aimed the tip of his cane at Blaze. “I wouldn’t have served food to a dog at that kitchen table.”

Blaze woofed.

As Gemma turned to look at the trees, she saw Brett doing the same. He caught her gaze, arching his brow and urging her to continue. Once again, they were in sync, and once again, her body was overtaken by the warm fuzzies.

“Uh, Mr. Briggs?” She scrunched up her face, feigning confusion. “That house is a quarter mile from here. Even with the spotting scope, could you really see the condition of the furniture?”

“Don’t be silly, young lady.” His grizzled features twisted. “It’s everyone’s duty to get to know their neighbors. I snooped. After the truck left, I drove over there and looked in all the windows.”

Gemma had a hard time imagining Briggs as a Peeping Tom. Apparently, he was sprier than he looked.

After exchanging contact information with Briggs, she and Brett headed back to Denver. As they hit the ramp for I-70, she typed the addresses of the Leadville and Burlington houses into her spreadsheet.

Now there were twenty-three houses on the list of suspicious fires.

Her cell phone dinged with a text from Duke Grant, the fire marshal in Leadville. He’d taken their suggestion and had the timbers at the fire scene on Ruby Road knocked down, then he’d gone in and retrieved the breaker panel. Grant’s next words were short and to the point.

The breaker panel had been tampered with.

The Leadville house was no longer on the list of “suspicious” fires.

Gemma started a new column in her laptop. One for confirmed arson.

Chapter Twelve

By the time Brett pulled into Gemma’s driveway, it was nine o’clock. The last vestiges of daylight were quickly disappearing behind the foothills. Gemma’s eyes were closed. Her chest rose and fell evenly. It had been a long two days, and he was beat, too.

“Hey,” he said softly. Gemma’s head lolled toward him. Her eyes didn’t open, but when her lips parted, he was tempted to kiss her again.