On A Night Like This (The Callaways) (12 page)

"Couldn't you? I didn't think you and Kyle worried about boundaries."

He tipped his head. "In the old days, maybe not. But like I said, Kyle had become more distant. I don't want to believe he was having an affair. Kyle loved Vicky."

"Vicky was gone, and he was lonely."

"That's not a reason for having an affair."

"Men have had affairs for absolutely no reason at all," she pointed out, unable to keep the sharp tone out of her voice.

He raised an eyebrow. "Are you speaking from personal experience, Sara?"

She hesitated, but Aiden's demanding gaze compelled her to add, "I haven't been married, but I have been cheated on. And my boyfriend had no explanation except to say it didn't mean anything, and I shouldn't worry about it."

"Ouch. Did you kick him to the curb?"

"Oh, yeah."

"You know, it probably didn't mean anything, Sara. Sex and love are not the same thing."

"Well, you would say that," she said.

"What does that mean?"

"Come on, Aiden, you've always been a player. You had a million girls around when we were growing up. Since you're still single and still… Anyway, I'm sure you don't spend too many nights alone."

"Still what?" he asked. "You've developed a bad habit of drifting off in the middle of a sentence."

That was because she was talking way too much. "You know what you look like, Aiden. I don't need to make your head any bigger."

"So you think I'm attractive." The teasing light in his eyes that reminded her of the boy she'd fallen so hard for.

She really needed to leave town before her old crush came completely back to life. "Let's get back to Kyle. If there was another woman, maybe we can find her."

"I might be completely off base," he said.

"You have good instincts. What other theories do you have?"

He stared back at her for a long moment. "I wasn't sure how Kyle could afford the condo. Smokejumpers don't make a lot of money. A while back, when we were a lot younger, Kyle got caught up in gambling. He said he'd learned his lesson—that the house always wins – but I wonder if he got himself into some financial trouble."

"That doesn't seem like something he would keep from you."

"He might. I got pissed off at him the first time around. He lost some of my money along with his."

"So gambling, women… anything else?"

Aiden's mouth turned down into a frown at her words. "I feel like an asshole. Kyle was a good man. He probably wasn't doing anything wrong. I shouldn't be doing this."

"You haven't done anything except talk to me. You don't have to feel guilty for wanting to find the truth, Aiden. What you do with it is up to you." She paused. "Have you spoken to Vicky? She might be able to answer some of your questions."

"I tried a little while ago. She had a lot things to say, none of them good. She said that Kyle had asked to leave the season early and that I had said no. That wasn’t true. I don't know if she was lying to me or Kyle was lying to her." His lips tightened. "She is so angry. I feel terrible for what she's going through, but she won't let me help her. She blamed me for Kyle's death."

"That may change with time," she said gently, wishing she could ease some of the pain in his eyes. "Vicky needs someone to blame. But you need to figure out if she's blaming the right person."

Shadows darkened his blue eyes. "It's possible the decisions I made that day were wrong, that I wasn't seeing the situation clearly. What I do remember suggests something else was happening. It's not really about who is to blame. I just need to know."

She could see the anguish in his eyes and wondered if his mind was protecting him in some way. Maybe he wasn't remembering because he just couldn't go to that terrible place in his head. Was she doing him a favor by helping him? Or was she going to end up hurting him?

"I don't want to get anyone from the Redding crew involved in whatever we're going to do. I've already talked to the people I trust the most. And the others I've read what they had to say. If something was going on with Kyle, he took great pains to hide it, and I want to make sure I don't inadvertently smear his name on my way to the truth."

She nodded, thinking about the best way to proceed with such little information. "I've worked with a private investigator on cases for my firm, Jeanne Randolph. She's an ex-cop with a lot of really good connections. I can call her and see if she can help."

"I'll pay whatever she charges."

"Okay." Wanting to lighten the mood, she added, "You'll like her. She's blonde."

The shadows lifted from his eyes. "That's not actually a requirement," he said dryly.

"Could have fooled me. I never saw you with anyone who didn't have golden hair."

"Maybe when I was in high school," he conceded. He paused. "There's one other thing, Sara. I don't want my family to know what I'm doing, and that includes Emma. So if you don't think you can keep her out of it, we should stop right now."

She had a choice to make. Emma wouldn't like her keeping a secret that involved her brother. Then again, she was trying to help Aiden. He didn't want to involve his family or his fire crew, which didn't leave him with many options. All that aside, it was Aiden, and he wanted her help, and there was no way she was going to say no. "I won't tell Emma," she said, meeting his waiting gaze. "This is your business, and I'll respect that."

"And you'll respect that whatever we find out will be mine to decide what to do with? Because I may do nothing."

"Not even if the truth will clear your name?"

"That depends on whether that truth will hurt Kyle."

She admired his loyalty to his friend, and she hoped he wouldn't have to make that choice. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

"So how do we start?"

"I'll call Jeanne. I'd like to get some of Kyle's information first, name, birthdate, any other information you have like a social security number or a driver's license?"

"I don't know that I have any of that," Aiden said.

"Jeanne is good at working with very little. Let's get some paper. I'm sure my father must have some in his study."

They went downstairs and entered the room that had always been her father's private sanctuary. Stepping through the doorway, Sara felt very much like an intruder. "I can't remember the last time I was in here," she muttered, glancing around the room. Her father's den was very male with a big mahogany desk by the window, shelves and shelves of books, mostly law books, although there were a few other nonfiction and biographies in the mix. Her father was all about facts. No fiction for him.

A brown leather couch and a coffee table were on the adjacent wall. Like the other rooms in the house, this one was neat and organized. The only sign of life was a stack of recent mail that her father had placed in his in-box. She smiled cynically. Her father had always been most comfortable when he was working, so he'd created an actual office in his home, his place of retreat.

Aiden nudged her shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"Just thinking about how this room was probably the only room in the house where my father felt at home."

"It's a man-cave," he agreed. "A little on the boring side, but it suits your dad." He paused. "Not your mom, though. She was warm, friendly. I remember all the times your mom and Lynda would sit at our kitchen table with their tea and cookies. They'd talk for hours."

"My mother was hungry for conversation and company. I think when I got older and was out of the house more, she felt the loneliness more deeply."

"Why do you think your parents stayed together?"

"Probably out of a sense of duty and responsibility. That's the kind of people they were. Once they made a promise, they kept it." She thought about all the times she'd wished her mother would run away with her. They'd go someplace warm where the sun beat down on their heads and people played music and laughed, and there wasn't icy quiet all the time.

"Sara," Aiden prodded. "Where are you?"

She smiled at him. "On a beautiful beach, watching my mom enjoy her life instead of suffering through it. She could have had so much more if she'd left my father. It's just so unfair. She loved life, and he barely tolerates it. But she's gone, and he's still here. And it's not that I don’t want him to be here," she said hastily. "That sounded bad."

"I get it, Sara. You don't have to explain."

"I feel disloyal, not just when I say the words out loud, but when I think them in my head."

He smiled at her. "That's because you went to Catholic school and learned about guilt."

"True."

"Love and hate are complicated emotions," Aiden said. "Sometimes they're the same."

"I don't want the kind of love my mom had. I want more for myself."

"You should have more, Sara, a lot more. Don't settle for someone who isn't willing to lay down his life for you."

"I'm sure that guy won't be difficult to find," she said dryly. "Most men aren't willing to put down their phones for me."

He grinned. "You haven't met the right guy."

She had met the right guy—a very long time ago. He just didn't feel the same way about her. She moved to the desk and opened the top right hand drawer and pulled out a notepad. "Write down whatever you think might help Jeanne do some research into Kyle's life," she said, pushing the pad and a pen across the desk. "Go back in time, high school, college, fire academy, friends, addresses. If you know where he did his banking, put that down. Any gambling connections would be helpful." She paused, as he made no move to pick up the pen and start writing. "If you've changed your mind, Aiden, it's all good."

He looked into her eyes. "I just have a bad feeling about this."

"Afraid of what you will find, or what you won't find?"

"Both." A moment later, he picked up the pen.

Chapter Ten

Emma felt sick to her stomach. Her job as an arson investigator required objectivity, but staring at the burned out classroom where she'd gone to kindergarten felt very personal. She had so many memories in this school, and in this particular room. She could remember sitting on the bright, colorful carpet listening to the teacher read stories about incredible places and kids having extraordinary adventures. She'd drawn pictures at one of the three communal tables, painted watercolors on the easels that stood at the back of the room, and built castles out of blocks.

The kindergarten room had been a place of magic, a trip into imagination, a child's first entrance into the world of school and learning. Now the magic was gone, and there was nothing but blackened remnants of furniture and piles of ashes. She drew in a deep breath. She loved her job, but sometimes she hated it, too. But she would find joy in bringing whoever had done this to justice.

"Callaway."

His voice made her jump, spin around, and she was annoyed with herself for feeling so unsettled by Max Harrison's sudden appearance. She should have expected him to show up. He always seemed to be in her way these days.

"Harrison," she said crisply.

"Any clue as to who set this?"

"Unfortunately, no. The arsonist covered his tracks."

"Or hers," he said.

"Ninety percent of arsonists are male. Your gender seems to enjoy fire more than mine. Do you have any information on Sister Margaret?"

"Unfortunately, no," he said, echoing her words. "It's still possible she left of her own volition."

"But you said there was some blood found in her parking garage."

"A trace amount. She could have cut her finger."

Despite his logical words, she sensed that he did not believe Sister Margaret had cut her finger. "Your instincts tell you something happened to her, don't they?"

"From the interviews I've conducted with her friends and with her employer, it seems that her disappearance is out of character. The fact that there was a suspicious fire at her placement of employment is also concerning." He paused, tilting his head, as he gazed into her eyes. "Have you considered the possibility that Sister Margaret set fire to the school?"

She was genuinely shocked by the suggestion. "No, of course not. Why on earth would she do that?"

"I've had enough training in fire investigation to know that arsonists, especially female arsonists, often target their homes or their places of employment."

"That's true, but Sister Margaret is not an arsonist. She's a sixty-something-year-old nun. She teaches fourth grade and runs the choir. She organizes fundraisers for the school and the church. She's a wonderful, amazing person."

"You don't sound very objective, Callaway."

"I know her. She would never set fire to the school. She loves this place. It's her second home."

"Which classroom was hers?" he asked.

Her lips tightened. "You already know the answer to that question – the one next door, but this is the room where the fire started."

"Her classroom was destroyed, too."

"I thought you were trying to find her, but you sound like you're more interested in arresting her."

"I'm just doing my job."

"So am I," she said. "And there's no evidence pointing in Sister Margaret's direction."

"There's no evidence pointing anywhere. You've got nothing, Callaway. But I have a missing nun, some blood evidence, and a fire at her place of employment. Her roommate also told me that the good sister had been replaced on the choir and was thinking of retiring because she didn't care for the new principal."

"It's not unusual for someone of her age and long tenure at the school to consider retirement," Emma replied. "I understand why you're making the connection, but I don't believe there's a link between Sister Margaret's disappearance and the fire. Last month we had a similar fire at the high school. It's more likely we have a fire bug whose favorite target is a school."

"Did you know that Sister Margaret used to work at the high school?" he asked.

She didn't appreciate the gleam in his eyes or the fact that he had more information than she did. "I wasn't aware of that. It had to be a very long time ago."