I tossed a halfhearted smile at a couple of ladies I knew from growing up and noticed both of them shooting me sympathetic glances. I wondered how long it would take for the townspeople of Hobie to look at me like a damned criminal?
How could anyone think I’d set my parents’ house on fire? The idea was simply ridiculous.
I was building up a pretty decent head of steam when I practically bulldozed into my brother upon entering the restaurant.
“West!” I cried, grabbing for him to keep him from running into the woman in line in front of him.
“Otto, jeez. What the heck?”
“Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention. Why aren’t you at the clinic? Just taking a lunch break?”
“Nah. I had a case at the hospital that didn’t take as long as I expected, and Goldie is handling the patient appointments for the rest of the day. My plan was to pick up lunch and then kidnap Nico to take him to the lake for the afternoon before we have to pick up Pippa from the ranch.” He seemed to notice the haggard look on my face because he quickly called me out on it. “You look like shit, brother.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“I heard the rumors. I assume you have too?”
“The one in which I’m the leading role in the movie When Good Boys Do Bad Things?”
He smiled and clapped me on the shoulder. “If it’s any consolation, we all know you didn’t do it.”
Memories of the Poseyville fire reared up in my mind again. If word got out about why I’d left the navy, public opinion would change in a snap. Being the principal suspect in one fire is defensible, but two fires? Not so much.
“Who could have done it, West? You’ve been here for several years. Any guesses? Bad teenagers? Drifters? Who? Shit like this doesn’t happen in Hobie.”
He eyed me for a moment while he seemed to think it through. “Who stands to gain?”
Who stood to gain by burning down my family home? Presumably, my parents stood to gain insurance money, but their alibis of being in Singapore pretty much ruled them out. It could possibly be a revenge thing or act of aggression on our family by an angry individual… but who? And why now?
What about the little brushfire at Jolie’s house? Was it a practice run? Or was it intended to just be a warning of some kind? Did the arsonist believe it would actually catch and involve Jolie’s house? Or was the hope it would spread from hers to ours?
In both cases, no one was supposed to be there. So maybe one saving grace was an arsonist who didn’t mean anyone physical harm. But as a firefighter I knew all fires had the potential to result in harm to first responders. Whether or not personal harm is intended, it often occurred.
West and I made our way to the bar and ordered our meals to go. The bartender gave each of us a glass of ice water while we waited, and I went back to ruminating on the problem.
“Means, motive, and opportunity,” I muttered. “Who had all three?”
West spun the sweating water glass between his hands on the bar. “Well, it doesn’t sound like the perp needed much means, so let’s move on to motive and opportunity. Of the people related to us and Jolie, family, friends, etcetera, who lacked an alibi for both fires?”
“Wait,” I said, a niggling thought at the edge of my mind. “Wait.”
I turned to face him as the memory came in loud and clear. “Someone was trying to buy Mom and Dad’s house. What if that had something to do with this?”
“Do we know who it was?”
“No, but surely Doc can ask the real estate agent, right?”
“That would definitely be motive. Once the house is gone, the assumption would be the owners might be way more willing to get rid of the property and take the cash from the insurance payout rather than tackle the hassle of rebuilding.”
“That has to be it. The only other person I could think of was John,” I admitted. “Or Jolie, but I really don’t think she would do that. At first I think she was jealous of me with Walker, but now we get along better, and I know she’s been on at least one date with someone.”
“John? Why would John want to set those fires?”
I shrugged. “No idea. Unless his idea was to implicate me. I know Walker’s family hates that he’s with me. They wanted him to stay married to Jolie.”
West’s eyes bugged out. “Even though he’s gay? That’s cruel.”
I lifted an eyebrow at him.
“Damn,” he muttered. “This is one of those million moments I have to thank god we were raised by a bunch of gays and allies. I forget how lucky we are sometimes.”
“Incredibly lucky,” I said.