The Protector (36 page)
“Tell me about it,” Cole agreed.
“No fire at all with this one?”
“None.” Cole was worried about that. It was a change in MO and any change was a sign of possible coming trouble.
“I’ll pull the same team that worked your place as they’ll have a better sense of what to search for. This is going to take a while. Give me a couple days.”
“It would help if there was a way to figure out the brand of paint. He’s gone through a lot of it recently.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“I appreciate it. Come on, Ash, you can spend the night at my place,” Cole offered. “I just got the spare bedroom put back together. You and I need to talk.”
“I’ll take you up on that.”
I
t can’t be Charlie. He’s older than the man I saw.” Cassie tossed the blue folder into the eight-inch-high cardboard box collecting files of people they had ruled out. She tried to shift around in her chair and nearly kicked over her drink sitting on the floor by the box.
“How many people did you train over the years, Ash?” Beside her on the table was a sliding stack of files to go through, and every hour more of them came from the records archive. Since she had seen the man they thought had started the fire, she was given the job of going through the files first. If she could absolutely rule out the person, it meant one less file for Ash to deal with.
Ash lowered his feet from the corner of Cole’s desk so Cole could get back to his chair. “About three hundred, give or take how many you count from the year I was an assistant at the training academy.”
Cassie knew he had done a lot of training. Like most firefighters he had a specialty within the district, and his happened to be structure fires. She had not known the extent to which he had trained over the years.
Ash was paging through a roster for a class six years ago. Learning who Cole suspected, Ash had dug out the class material and old rosters from a box in his attic. “Cole, do you remember a Larry Burcell?”
“He’s working with the forest service in Montana.”
“That’s a guy I could see setting a fire.”
“Ash, you’ve gotten cynical in your travels,” Cassie protested.
Cole laughed. “You’re just now learning your partner was a closet cynic? Where have you been all these years?”
Ash laughed. “It’s called loyalty, Cole. I inspire more of it than you. Cassie still thinks I walk on water.”
“The muck is getting deep in here.” Cole picked up one of the files Ash had quietly passed him to review. The two men were bantering back and forth as they worked, while underneath it was very serious business.
Cassie was feeling a little out of her depth. She and Ash had been partners; they had worked for Cole. And while Cole had been her friend as well as her boss, she had not realized the extent of the friendship between him and Ash. She was hearing for the first time about a shared history.
“Cassie, where’s that list you put together of businesses that sell tar?”
She shot Cole an annoyed look at the idea of having to find it. What she knew for sure was that it was buried. Cole just laughed at her look.
Trying to avoid the whole stack of files spilling across the floor, she moved the stack of files from her lap to the floor. The last time she had seen that list it had been somewhere on the round table with notes scrawled by Cole and three Post-its marking corrections. “You could print another copy.”
“That’s work.”
She started searching. “Here’s the phone list of attorneys you lost last week.” She checked the portfolio and found the page of the minutes from the budget meeting. She scanned a list of restaurant take-out order phone numbers. Cole had to eat better than this. She finally found the printout he requested and passed it over to Cole. “I was able to eliminate a few of them as being irrelevant to what you were looking for.”
“Do you remember any of these being art, supply-type companies?”
“Spray paint can be bought at a hardware store as easily as an art supply store.”
“The guy has to have a job somewhere. We know he likes art.”
“He’s an amateur,” Ash pointed out. “I would suggest you try frame shops or the like.”
Cassie sorted through the files, trying to figure out if there was some way to get them in roughly chronological order for the age of the individual. Jack had been doing that for her, but he disappeared about twenty minutes ago to return a phone call. “I think Jack has gotten lost.” She appreciated the help even if Jack had been driving her crazy this morning with his teasing.
“I asked him to see if the conference room schedule could be moved around so we could take all this stuff down there,” Cole replied.
“It is a little much for your office,” Cassie agreed.
Ash handed Cole another file of a possible suspect. “I still think the words should tell us something,” Ash commented, going back to a conversation they had had several times over the course of the day. “Doesn’t calling you a liar imply you made a promise to someone?”
“Calling you a chicken probably implies someone ran into your cautious safety streak.”
“I want to know how he got my e-mail address.”
Cassie reached down to the red milk crate beside her holding temporary file dividers. She found last year’s training course catalog that was mailed to all departments in the surrounding counties. She flipped through it, spotted what she remembered on the back of the catalog, and tossed it in Ash’s lap. “That’s how.”
“My picture too? Man, I look like some fugitive from the seventies.”
“You still do.”
“Ooh…cruel, Cassie. You wound me.”
“If you’re coming back on shift you have to get a haircut,” she pointed out. She reached to the floor into the bag of chips she had carried back from lunch. Startled, she jerked her hand back up, then looked down. “Jack!”
Cole and Ash broke up laughing.
She very gingerly picked up J. J., the traveling mouse.
J
ack, where are the new curtain rods for the window in Cassie’s bathroom?” Rachel asked, coming into the kitchen where Jack was working. He glanced back at her. It was Thursday, and he had recruited most of his family to help with the painting and wallpapering so it could be done in one long day.
“I set them inside the hallway closet so they wouldn’t get tripped over.” He shifted his paintbrush to his left hand and reached for a rag to wipe paint off the countertop where a break in the masking tape had let paint touch the caulking. “Leave them for me. I don’t trust you to get the braces tight enough.”
“Didn’t I hang all the curtains in my apartment?”
“Didn’t I fix all of them?” he countered, smiling.
“Fine.” Rachel looked around. “Stephen, I need curtain rods hung. The wallpaper is finished.”
“Hey—” Jack protested, looking over at Rachel. “I said I’d do them.”
She nudged him aside to reach for a cold soda. “You’re busy.”
“So am I,” Stephen replied, lifting the globe light fixture into place, “but I’m almost done. Jack, what do you think?”
Jack leaned back to see around his oldest brother Marcus. As usual Marcus was ignoring the debate going on between the rest of them. “Looks good to me.”
Stephen used the power screwdriver and secured the fixture.
“I’m going to start on the wallpaper in the hall then,” Rachel offered.
Jack pointed to the sack on the countertop. “The double rolls are there.”
“Stephen, after the curtain rods, I need someone helping me with the wallpaper.”
“I nominate Jack.”
Jack smiled at Stephen. “You’re taller. And I would hate to rob you of the fun.”
“You just want to paint the ceiling in the living room.”
“It is more fun,” Jack agreed.
Laughter from the bedroom interrupted the football game commentary on the radio. Jennifer, Cassie, and Marcus’s fiancée, Shari, had taken over painting in the bedroom and were having a great time. He had known Jennifer and Cassie would become friends. He hadn’t expected them to shove the guys out of the room so they could have girl talk.
Benji wandered into the kitchen.
Jack nudged the ball of yarn, which had rolled up against the dishwasher, toward the kitten. B. J. pounced on it and tumbled over. In the space of a week the sleepy kitten had disappeared and been replaced with a kitten full of energy.
“Jack, I want a hug.”
He barely got the paintbrush out of the way before Cassie invaded his space and wrapped her arms around him.
Bewildered, he looked over her head at Marcus. His brother just rescued the dripping paintbrush, offering no help on this situation at all.
Jack indulged Cassie and wrapped his arms around her, enjoying the chance to hold her.
She leaned against him, didn’t say anything, and he got more confused as the moments passed. She rubbed her cheek against his shirt, tightened her arms, then stepped back. “Thanks.” She disappeared toward the back bedroom before he could get a good look at her expression.
He turned to Marcus. “Do you understand women?”
“No.”
Afraid he’d missed something, Jack was grateful for the clarification. “Okay, then.” Since his brain had short circuited, he left it at that. He picked up the brush and slapped paint on the wall.
“You’ve got a mushy smile on your face.”
“She likes me.”
Marcus laughed as he punched his shoulder. “Good job, Jack.”
Jack used a rubber mallet to tap the paint can lid down. “What was all of that about earlier?” The last of his family had headed home. In one long day Cassie’s apartment had been transformed. The place smelled of drying paint and it was enough to give a person a headache. They opened the patio door for a while this afternoon despite the cold in order to air out some of it.
Cassie was rolling up paint-splattered newspapers. Her jeans were speckled by paint and her sweatshirt was marred by wallpaper paste. He was intrigued at the reality she was blushing. Jack reached over and tipped up her chin, amused. “Cassie?”
“Did you really tell Jennifer I was gorgeous?”
It was his turn to get a bit embarrassed. “Maybe.” He remembered telling Jennifer Cassie was adorable; gorgeous had probably showed up in the description along the way.
“That was cute.”
He grinned. “Worth a hug at least.”
Cassie reached for the black garbage bag and shoved the newspapers inside. The plastic sheeting used to protect the furniture had been rolled and folded into the black trash bag.
Jack scanned the room, seeing a few pieces of furniture that were close but not exactly back in place. Once the paint had dried he’d directed Stephen and Marcus as they moved furniture back against the walls. “Do you want to unpack any of the boxes tonight? We could do your desk, or start on the new bookshelves.”
“Another day. You might have energy to move but I’m a puddle of mush.”
Jack laughed at the image. He gently rubbed her shoulder. “It was a very long day.”
“I think it would have been easier to just move.” She nodded to the bookshelf. “That was a really nice addition.”
“You’re welcome. Stephen likes to build stuff.”
“The bookshelf should be full in a few weeks.”
Jack got up to sort out the wallpaper remnants, deciding what should be kept for repairs and what small pieces should be thrown away. “Would it be okay with you if I just threw away the paintbrushes rather than try to clean them?”
“Sure.”
Jack closed the garbage bag. “Your mouse didn’t reappear.”
“I think my mouse and Benji have been flirting with each other. Lisa looked everywhere to try and find her.”
“My sister likes odd pets.”
Cassie gathered up catalogs. There had been discussions with Rachel and Jennifer on what kind of new furniture she should consider buying. “Jennifer said you were joining her tomorrow?”
“Planning to.” He sighed. “I’m going to get grilled.” For the past six months the subject of religion had been a quiet undertone to his conversation with Jennifer. With the end of the cancer remission, conversations she had been willing to pace with time were now being brought forward.
“She just wants to talk. Why are you absorbing so much pressure about this?”
“I don’t want to argue with her, Cassie. If the worst happens, Jennifer doesn’t have much time. Having a division now—” He shook his head, finding the idea intolerable.
Short of agreeing with Jennifer on the issue of religion, he didn’t know how to find the right words. Respectful disagreement was not how he wanted the conversation to end. That would hurt Jennifer. He would do anything he could to protect her. “Can Jesus stop Jennifer’s cancer?”
“Yes.”
“Will He?”
When she didn’t answer, he looked over and found she had stopped what she was doing. “Jesus is not Santa Claus. He’s God. There’s a huge difference. He does whatever He wants.”
“I find it fascinating that you believe in Him so absolutely.” How was that possible?