He looked down at his feet.
“Mr. Harper?”
“My husband is forgetful sometimes,” Mrs. Harper said.
“I didn’t start the fire, Shelley.”
“Now, Ivan—”
“I did not start that fire,” Mr. Harper said in a stronger voice. “I know I’m getting older, but contrary to what you think, my mind is not going. I know I didn’t start that fire.”
“If you say so, dear.” His wife patted his arm.
“Perhaps it was a spark from something?” Luke asked, his eyes moving between the Harpers.
“Dad.” Quinn joined them. “We’ll talk about this later.”
“We’ll talk about it now.” Mr. Harper looked from his daughter to Luke.
“What’s going on, Mr. Harper?”
Quinn closed her eyes briefly, and Mrs. Harper looked in pain.
“Nothing.” Mr. Harper sighed.
He didn’t know what he was missing, but he knew tension, and there was a tone of it vibrating from the Harpers.