The Comeback Kiss (20 page)

“
That
’
s not necessary,”
Margie said. “
I just thought you should know.”

“
Okay,”
Tessa said, her lungs tightening in her chest as the panic hit. “
So... um... you
’
re not going to press charges, then
?”

Margie smiled warmly and put her hand on Tessa
’
s. “
God, no. Are you kidding?”

“
You
’
d have every right,”
Tessa said, wondering why she wasn
’
t just shutting up while she was ahead.

Margie reached over and grabbed Tessa
’
s hand. “
Your mother was one of my b
est friends, and one of the biggest troublemakers I
’
ve ever known. That
’
s why I loved her so much. I just don
’
t want to see Izzy pick up those traits before she
’
s eighteen or that horrid social worker is dead.”
She released Tessa
’
s hand and smiled. “
Which
e
ver comes first.”

The panic subsided, replaced by intense relief and a frustrating sense of helplessness. Tessa wished not for the first time that Max had a liquor license.

“
Thank you,”
she said.

“
Pffft.”
Margie waved her hand in the air dismissively. Then
her smile faded a bit. “
I just wanted you to, you know, keep an eye on her. I don
’
t want to see her get into trouble.”

“
Oh,”
Tessa said, slamming the register shut and holding out Margie
’
s change, “
trust me, I will.”

Margie got up from the stool and close
d Tessa
’
s hand over the change. “
You keep that.”

Tessa smiled. “
I
’
ll make sure Joe gets it.”

“
Yes, do that,”
Margie said. “
Joe
’
s a really good man.”

“
Yeah,”
Tessa said. “
He is.”

Margie pulled her purse over her shoulder and shot a thoughtful look back at
Tessa. “
I hear his brother is back in town.”

“
That seems to be the case.”

“
Did he really save the animals at Vickie
’
s?”

“
Yeah,”
Tessa said, feeling a strange swell of pride. “
He did.”

Margie nodded and leaned over the counter. “
Well, a little advice, woman
to woman?”

Tessa tried not to let her surprise register on her face. Margie Fletcher wasn
’
t a gossip, or the type to give unsolicited advice, so if she had something to say, it was probably worth listening to.

“
Sometimes people only seem like they
’
ve chan
ged,”
she said. “
You can
’
t be too careful.”

Tessa let out a short laugh. “
Heard about me and Finn by the drugstore, huh?”

Margie blushed a bit. “
Flower shop and gossip. They go together like chocolate and peanut butter.”
She smiled softly at Tessa. “
I just
want to make sure you
’
re okay. You can tell me to butt out and I will.”

“
Thank you. But Finn and me? We
’
re not, uh...”
She flashed back to the kiss in the shack and her shoulders tensed. “
I don
’
t know what we aren
’
t. But don
’
t worry. I
’
ll be fine.”

“
I kno
w you will.”
Margie smiled, gave a small wave, and left. Tessa watched her go, took a deep breath, picked up the phone, and dialed. She waited through three rings, then listened to her own voice instructing her to leave a message.

“
Izzy, I assume you
’
re ho
me pretending to be sick and not answering the phone. Continue to do so, because when I get home tonight, you and I are gonna have a very special episode of
Blossom,
kid.”

She slammed the phone down, closed her eyes, and imagined a line of Mary Ellen Neele
ys on a carnival duck shoot game. She mentally aimed her rifle and shot every one.

“
For Pete
’
s sake!”
an old, rusted voice shouted out from the back of the diner. Tessa opened her eyes and saw Digger holding his cup out. “
Who
’
s a guy got to kill to get a d
amn refill around here?”

Tessa grabbed the carafe off the warmer and headed over. “
You just bought yourself a switch to decaf, mister.”

Chapter Ten

Joe Finnegan raised his hand, hesitated, then tapped lightly on Matt Tarpey
’
s office door.

“
Yeah,”
Tarpey
barked from inside, his way of saying, “
Come on in.”

Joe pushed the door open and walked in. Tarpey, a big hulk of a man with fists reminiscent of cinder blocks, was huddled over a tiny office golf setup, preparing for his putt.

“
Joe Finnegan,”
he said. “
Why am I not surprised to have a visit from you today?”

“
Your gift of prescience?”
Joe glanced at the papers on Tarpey
’
s desk as he sat down. On top of an open manila folder was a spread of Polaroid pictures of Vickie Kemp
’
s charred back office. There also
appeared to be something that came off the fax, although Joe couldn
’
t read it from where he was standing.

“
Yeah, I
’
m known worldwide for my ability to predict the obvious,”
Tarpey said, wiggling his hips back and forth in a way Joe could have been perfect
ly happy going his entire life without seeing. Tarpey whacked the ball and sent it rolling somewhere three to four feet to the left of the hole.

“
Damn warped floor,”
he grumbled and went after his ball. “
The wife says playing golf is supposed to relax me,
lower my cholesterol. I think it
’
s a big crock, but you know women. You can argue, or you can sleep in the bed.”
Joe shrugged at that. What he understood about women was limited, at best. But that wasn
’
t something he particularly wanted to discuss with Ma
t
t Tarpey.

“
So,”
Matt said, shooting a look at Joe, “
let me guess why you
’
re here. You need new gear?”

“
Nope, gear
’
s just fine. Thanks.”

Tarpey raised his eyebrows, but didn
’
t look the gift horse in the mouth. “
Your uncle needs Grace to hook him up with som
e more of her brother
’
s cod?”

Joe smiled. “
No. Believe it or not, the cod didn
’
t move that well last summer.”

Tarpey scoffed. “
Oh, yeah. I believe it.”
He settled his grip on the club and lined up his shot.

“
Actually,”
Joe began, but Tarpey made
I
’
ll get i
t, I
’
ll get it
noises to shut him up.

“
You
’
re here because”—
he did the wiggle thing again
—“
you want another look at the Scuderi file.”
He gave the ball a prodigious whack. It went straight for the hole, bounced up off the edge, knocked into the wall, and s
kittered down the hall.

Joe smiled. “
Feeling relaxed?”

Tarpey straightened up. “
Stupid fucking game.”
He tossed his putter to the floor, walked around his desk, and sat down.

“
Have a seat,”
he said, motioning to the wooden chair opposite his desk. As Joe s
ettled, Tarpey reached for his coffee, which rested on his green desk blotter in a mug that read,
Firemen do it with a big hose.

Joe smiled. “
Aren
’
t you supposed to be avoiding caffeine?”

Tarpey raised an eyebrow. “
Yeah,
Grace,
thanks for reminding me,”
he
said flatly. He took a large swallow. “
So, what
’
s making you second-guess the Scuderi fire this time?”

“
Nothing in particular,”
Joe said. “
Just wanted to take another look.”

Tarpey allowed a small grimace that passed for a smile. “
What for? I
’
d expect you
to be able to recreate it from memory by now.”

“
Thought maybe I missed something.”

“
You didn
’
t miss anything. Neither did the investigators who ruled it an accident in the first place.”
Tarpey leaned forward, his old eyes smiling at the edges as he talked
. “
Look, I know you were close with Karen Scuderi. You used to work at her place a bit, didn
’
t you?”

Joe shrugged. “
I helped out there sometimes.”

Tarpey leaned back. “
You
’
re not the first guy to start volunteering after having a personal experience with a
fire. That
’
s how I get a lot of my guys. And you
’
re one of the best on my team, Joe. But there comes a time when you
’
ve gotta let it go. The Scuderi case is closed.”

“
Then who does it hurt if I have another look?”

Tarpey chuckled. “
You ever think about ma
ybe getting a hobby? Grace is dragging me out to the mini-golf place over on I-91 this weekend. You could go in my place. She probably wouldn
’
t even notice right away.”

“
Thanks. I
’
ll pass.”
He leaned forward, jerked his chin to indicate the pile of papers
on Tarpey
’
s desk. “
Those your pictures ofVickie
’
s?”

Tarpey sighed. “
Yeah. Snapped a few before the county guys came in and took over.”

“
Did they find anything?”

“
Lot of charred tail feathers.”
Tarpey raised his eyes. “
Good thing that brother of yours got t
here when he did.”

“
Yeah.”
Joe tapped his fingers on the arms of the chair. “
Good thing.”
He paused for a moment, nodded toward the pictures on Tarpey
’
s desk. “
You think it was arson?”

Tarpey shrugged. “
Could be. Investigation
’
s still active.”

“
But you
think it might be arson?”

“
Everything might be arson until it
’
s not.”
Tarpey slid the papers and pictures into a manila folder. “
At any rate, it
’
s out of our hands now. The county Cause and Origin team is on it, and we
’
ll know when we know.”

Joe nodded. “
I
understand.”

Of course, understanding didn
’
t do much to ease the tension in his gut. Tarpey didn
’
t shoot Polaroids on his own unless something struck him as suspicious. As fire chief, he knew that any evidence not taken by the official county team would b
e inadmissible in court. So if he was taking pictures, it was because of his own curiosity. And Tarpey, as a rule, was not an overly curious guy. Something was wrong here. Joe could feel it.