Hazardous Duty (7 page)

I cleared my throat. “Enough about me.
How about you? What do you do for a living?”

Riley’s lips pulled into a tight line,
and he looked toward the front door as if he wanted to run out it. I’d always
been good at blurting just the wrong questions, and today was no exception.

“I’m in-between jobs right now.”

I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to know. It
was too much like my childhood. My father was constantly between jobs. My
theory was, if he’d hunted for work the way he hunted for whiskey, he’d have
been CEO of Goldman Sachs. His only disability was laziness.

We both glanced out the window at the
same time and saw Sierra, a bag in hand, collecting something from the grass by
our apartment building. Only too glad to abandon thoughts of dear old dad, I
stared at Sierra.

“What is she doing?” I asked.

“I wish she was looking for Lucky’s
owner, but I’m thinking
no.
Maybe she’s collecting litter.”

“Care to go find out?” I asked.

He nodded toward the bare table in front
of me. “Aren’t you going to get coffee?”

I realized I hadn’t ordered. I glanced
behind me at the menu on the wall and shook my head, even though an iced mocha
tempted me. “I think I’ve soaked up enough caffeine just from breathing the
fumes. I’ll pass today.”

Our chairs scraped across the floor, and
we headed outside, toward Sierra. She used the sleeve of her white shirt to
wipe the sweat glistening at her forehead as she scooped up an acorn from the
weed-infested grass beside our building. Her glossy black hair was tied off her
face with a rubber band and it bounced as she glanced up and spotted us.

She wiped her brow again. “What’s going
on?”

“Just seeing what you’re doing.” I noted
the bagful she’d already collected.

“A new project. Nothing exciting.”
Sierra looked at Riley. “How’s the bird?”

“Fine.”

She shifted her bag and placed her hands
on her narrow hips. The skinny animal lover could eat what she wanted—no meat,
of course—and never gain a pound. “You guys want to come over for some brownies
tonight?”

We agreed.

“Bill is coming too.” Sierra looked at
Riley. “He’s the radio talk show host across the hall from me.”

“I’d like to meet more of the
neighbors,” Riley said. “Any chance Bill wants a pet parrot?”

Sierra laughed, shook her head, then
continued collecting nuts.

Riley and I walked into the building and
paused at the stairs. “I guess I should finish unpacking,” Riley started.

“Moving isn’t fun. That’s why I’ve vowed
to stay in this apartment for as long as I can.”

He sent me that disarming grin of his
and leaned against the banister. I couldn’t figure him out. One minute he
seemed so high class, the next like the all-American boy grown up. He obviously
wasn’t in a hurry to get back to work.

Free spirits rarely were.

“I hope to stay here for awhile, too,”
he said.

I followed his gaze as he glanced around
the stairway, which badly needed a paint job. Various scrapes and smudges
dirtied the wall. The house was kind of like its residents—eccentric, wounded,
and toting lots of baggage.

Then again, who wasn’t like this house
once you really got to know them?

Some of what I was thinking must have
shown on my face because Riley furrowed his brow and asked, “What’s that look
for?”

“Just thinking about this house.”

I looked around at the dark wood molding
that added depth to the walls and imagined the place in its heyday. “I bet she
was beautiful at one time.”

“She still is a beauty. She’s got
character, you know? Not many places do anymore.”

A man that appreciated character. What
more could I ask for? “Character’s a good thing.”

Our eyes connected.

Riley smiled. “Absolutely.”

Our gaze only held for a few seconds,
then Riley looked away. “Well, I guess I should get to work. I keep putting it
off, though I’m not sure why. It might have something to do with heat and that
noisy bird.”

We walked upstairs together. The silence
stretched and I dived into that old standby, talking about the weather. “Days
don’t get much hotter than this. What did the weatherman say it was outside?
Almost 100 degrees?” I asked.

“That’s one thing I miss about San Diego—it was perfect
weather year round.”

“Sounds nice.”

“It was.” He glanced at me. I only
noticed because I was glancing at him too. “But Norfolk is nice, too.”

We reached the landing and faced each
other. Before either of us could speak, a squawk cut through the air. We burst
into laughter. Running into Riley had been a good thing. I already felt better.

“Your roommate is calling.” I pushed a
curl that had escaped from my ponytail behind my ear.

“I don’t want to keep His Majesty
waiting.” Riley gave me one of those captivating glances again, one that
beckoned me to look back. “Have a good day, Gabby.”

I nodded and disappeared inside my
apartment. Riley seemed like a good neighbor—friendly, warm, a good
conversationalist. I pictured him traveling all over the U.S., having no
place to call home and liking it that way.

That’s how my dad had been before mom
“captured his heart,” as he said. He’d been a professional surfer until a back
injury grounded him. Then I was born and he’d tried to settle into the whole
daddy/husband routine. He’d probably started drinking to help him forget his
responsibilities.

My mind jumped back to the fire, the
gun. The amateur detective in me itched to get out, to learn about the
investigation. I paced and twiddled my thumbs, trying to distract my thoughts.
It didn’t work.

Keep busy, Gabby. Keep busy.

I called the insurance company, which
took all of forty-five minutes—most of it spent on hold listening to Barry
Manilow songs. Afterward, I placed a rush order for some new equipment, all of
which would go to my charge card until insurance kicked in. Yuck.

I couldn’t think about that. Not having
a consistent income wasn’t good for the budget, but I wasn’t complaining.
Instead, I started to ponder jingles. But my heart wasn’t in it and even
humming music from Annie couldn’t distract me.

I decided to wash dishes. I plunked a
plate with hardened cheese from leftover pizza into the soapy water. Thoughts
of the gun wandered back into my mind. I knew I was on to something. Why
couldn’t the detective see the evidence right before his eyes?

I shook my head, willing the thoughts to
go away. I noticed I’d been washing the same dish for about ten minutes and
decided I had to do something before I drove myself crazy. My apartment
sparkled. I couldn’t work most jobs until the gear I’d ordered came. I didn’t
want to help Sierra pick up nuts in the blazing sun. Before I could reason
myself out of it, I charged across the hall and knocked on Riley’s door. Dust
smudged his cheek when he answered.

“Long time, no see.” He wiped at the
spot, but only made it worse.

“I decided maybe I should be neighborly
and help you unpack.”

“That’s nice of you.”

I shrugged. “Not really. I just need
something to keep my mind occupied.”

He pulled the door open farther. “Then
by all means, come in.”

For the next three hours I helped him
fill a bookcase with hardbound volumes of many of my favorite books. We moved
on to the kitchen and unpacked plates and silverware and dishcloths. We made
small talk as we worked, chatting about everything from TV shows to favorite
CDs.

Halfway through the last box of kitchen
stuff, my cell phone rang. I snapped it from the clip on my belt and brought it
to my ear.

“Gabby St. Claire.”

A sniffle turned into a sob on the other
end. My shoulders tensed. It wasn’t unusual that I turned into an unofficial
counselor for victim’s families. “Hello?”

“Gabby, this is . . .
Mildred.”

Harold’s wife. Had something happened to
Harold? Several scenarios raced through my mind. Harold in an accident. Harold
with a heart attack. Maybe one of his grandchildren had been hurt.

“What happened, Mildred?” I abandoned
the half-empty box and walked into the next room.

“They’ve arrested Harold.” A sob echoed
on the phone line.

Whatever could dear, sweet Harold have
been arrested for?

“Where are you, Mildred?”

“I’m at the police station. Oh, Gabby.
They’re saying he burned down that house you two were working in. Come quick.”

Chapter Eight

“I’ll be right there.” I hung
up the phone and started toward the door. I had to set the police straight.
There wasn’t any time to waste.

I grabbed the doorknob, but a firm hand
on my shoulder halted me. Riley.

“What happened?” I glanced back and saw
concern etched into the lines around his eyes.

“I have to get to the police station.” I
lunged forward. As I tripped, Riley’s hand grabbed my elbow, steadying me.
Something rippled through out my entire body, making me temporarily forget the
situation at hand.

I shook my head to clear it. Harold.
Dear, sweet Harold. “My employee has just been arrested.”

Riley grabbed some keys from a hook by
the door and followed me. “I’ll drive you.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“You’re in no state to drive. Besides,
if I remember correctly, you don’t have a car.”

I couldn’t argue with that.

We thundered down the stairs. At the
door, Riley placed his hand on my back, directing me toward an older model
sedan. He opened the door, and I slid inside.

“Which police station?”

I gave him directions, but my mind was
in a different world. Why in the world would they think Harold burned down the
crime scene? It just didn’t make sense. It had to be a mistake.

Poor, Mildred. She must be beside
herself.

There’s no way Harold would have set
that house on fire, especially not with me still inside.

The idea was absurd.

It didn’t make sense.

I fanned myself against the thick
humidity of the car. Riley put his hand over the vent as warm air blew out.

“The AC’s been acting up. It takes a
while to cool off.”

“It’s fine.” I continued fanning my
face. Cold air was the least of my concerns.

The wheels turned against the road. A
motorcycle revved past, weaving in and out of traffic. A fire truck squealed
two lanes over. The air conditioning finally began to add its chill to the car.

We finally pulled off the interstate
and, two traffic lights later, into the parking lot. Before Riley cut the
engine, I jumped from the car.

Inside, Mildred sat on a bench, her eyes
red and puffy. She stood when I came into sight, and we embraced.

I lowered my friend back into her seat
and grasped her hand. “What happened, Mildred?”

She dabbed her eyes. “They just came
over and arrested him. Said he burned down that house and would be charged with
attempted murder.” Her water-rimmed eyes met mine. “Gabby, you know he loves
you like a daughter. He’d never try to hurt you.”

“I know.” I patted her hand. Harold had
all the qualities I’d always wanted in a father—honesty, a good work ethic, a
genuine smile. Most importantly, he seemed to truly care about me. “I just
can’t figure out why they would think he’s guilty. It doesn’t make sense.”

Another sniffle. “It happened a long
time ago, Gabby.”

I mentally heard the record screech to a
halt. “What happened a long time ago?”

“The arson.”

“What arson?”

“Oh, Gabby. Harold was arrested twenty
years ago for burning down a church. He pleaded guilty and served his time.”

I pulled back slightly. “That would have
been helpful to know when I hired him.”

“It’s so hard to get a job with a
criminal record. Everyone thinks the worst of you. He just wanted a chance,
Gabby.”

“Mildred, I would have hired him with a
criminal record. You know I love Harold.”

“He didn’t do this, Gabby. He didn’t do
it.” Sobs wracked the woman’s body, and I hung an arm around her shoulders,
trying to find the right words.

“We’ll figure out a way to prove he’s
innocent, Mildred.” I tried to soothe her, though I could hear my pitch going
high. “I don’t know how, but we will.”

“The police can’t hold him without
probable cause.”

I jerked my gaze to Riley, who stood at
a distance. I’d nearly forgotten he drove me here.

“Probable cause?” Mildred asked, dabbing
the corner of her eyes again with a rumpled tissue.

Riley stepped closer. “Probable cause is
a fact or circumstance sufficient enough to justify someone has committed a
crime. Past crimes themselves aren’t enough. There needs to be evidence that
will connect them with a current crime.”

“There’s evidence of Harold all over the
crime scene. We were working there all day.” I thought of how Harold worked
downstairs by himself for most of the day. He would have had plenty of
opportunity to stick a few things in his car. I admit, trust isn’t something I
give out easily. But I had to give Harold the benefit of the doubt. “What there
isn’t, is motive. Why would Harold do something like this?”

“What was his motive for the arson he
was arrested for?” Riley asked.

“It was part of a robbery, only Harold
didn’t know that going in. He got mixed up with the wrong crowd and before he
knew it they’d poured gasoline all over the church and lit it on fire.”

“What was he charged with?” Riley asked.

“Being an accessory to a crime.”

My shoulders wanted to slump, but I
refused to give in to despair. “Where’s Harold now?”

“Being interrogated. Has been for the
past two hours. He was close to tears last time I saw him.” A new round of sobs
began. I patted Mildred’s back, trying in vain to comfort her. My gaze met
Riley’s, and I could tell he wanted to help. But what was there to do?