The Arsonist
“Dad never missed an opportunity to make money. He only closed on Christmas Day. Trevor’s decision must have Dad rolling in his grave.”
Jan Sampson shot an annoyed glance her daughter’s way. She wasn’t willing to discuss Trevor’s managerial decisions. But instead of saying so, she diverted the conversation to another topic. “Good Lord, I’ve never seen a fire jump like that.”
Darcy could feel a headache coming on. “I get the hint—Trevor is perfect.” It had been six years since she’d moved away from home, but it surprised her how deep old resentments still ran.
Her mother ignored the comment.
Darcy drew in a calming breath. This visit home was going to work. “What caused the fire, Mom?”
Her mother tugged down the edges of her Steelers yellow T-shirt. “I was frying potatoes when I noticed there were dishes to be put away. I got distracted. The next thing I know, you’re screaming fire.”
“You could have burned the whole place down.”
Anger flashed in her mother’s eyes. “What are you doing here anyway?”
Darcy pushed aside her annoyance. She’d come home for a story—not a tender family reunion. “I was fired.” The lie tumbled over her lips easily. She’d decided on the drive down that honesty wasn’t the best policy if she were going to get Gannon to talk to her. Her mother couldn’t keep a secret.
Mrs. Sampson stopped her sweeping. “Fired?”
Darcy shoved her hands in her pockets. She’d rehearsed this conversation on the drive down. “A week ago.”
“You were always in the center of trouble as a kid.”
“Straight As was how I remember it,” she said, her anger rising. “And I worked in our family’s restaurant full time all the way through college.”
Mrs. Sampson ignored what Darcy had said. “Why did they fire you?”
There was no point arguing. “I wrote an exposé on a developer. He used shoddy materials in his buildings. Turns out he was a major advertiser with the paper. I refused to drop the story. I got fired.” It all had sounded plausible when she’d made it up, but now she found she had trouble meeting her mother’s gaze.
Mrs. Sampson started to sweep up the burned flour, again. “That doesn’t make sense. I see your name in the paper a lot. Your articles are good enough.”
Unreasonably pleased, she stood a little taller. “You get The Post?”
Mrs. Sampson shrugged. “From time to time. I buy it from the drugstore.”
Darcy stood five inches taller than her mother, yet she still felt like a five-year-old at times. “Any articles you liked in particular?”
“No. Would you get the dustpan?”
Grateful for the task, she dug the pan out of the broom closet and knelt down so her mother could sweep the pile of flour onto the pan.
“You should have listened to your boss, Darcy.”
Darcy picked up the full pan and dumped it in the trash can. “You’re right.”
Her mother studied her an extra beat as if she wasn’t sure if Darcy was being sarcastic or not. Darcy tried to look sincere.
Mrs. Sampson softened a fraction. “What about that boyfriend of yours?”
“We broke up almost a year ago.”
Mrs. Sampson swept up the rest of the flour and dumped it into the trash can. “I saw that Stephen guy on the Today Show when he was reporting on those fires in Washington last year. I thought his smile was too quick.”
“And fake too. Would you believe he spent thousands on caps?” His new, rich girlfriend had paid for them. “I still can’t believe I wasted two years with him.”
Mrs. Sampson shook her head. “So you’ve nowhere else to go and you’ve come home.”
Pride had her lifting her chin a notch. “I know I’ve not been the best daughter. Dad and I fought so much and I didn’t even stay for the reception after the funeral.”
The apology caught Mrs. Sampson by surprise. More tension drained from her shoulders. “Your father wasn’t the easiest man either, Darcy. I knew he could be difficult.”
An unexpected lump formed in her throat. “I was hoping I could crash here for a while.”
Mrs. Sampson was silent for a moment. “Of course, you can stay here for a while. In fact, I’ve an opening for a waitress. Our waitress quit just yesterday. I’ll have to check with Trevor of course, but I don’t see why you couldn’t work the tables like you used to.”
“That would be great.” The idea of working in the restaurant didn’t appeal, but it would be the perfect cover story.
Her mother nodded. “You can start by taking out this trash. Then, when you get your bags put away, you can start prepping for the dinner crowd. My cook, George, is on break now but he’ll be back within the hour.”
“George? What happened to Dave?” Dave had cooked for the Varsity since she’d been in elementary school.
Mrs. Sampson sighed. “He quit about six months ago.”
There was a time when she’d known everything about the Varsity. Now she was the outsider. “Everything all right with him?”
She stood a little straighter. “He just wanted more money than we could pay.”
“That doesn’t sound like Dave.” The tall, lean man always enjoyed a good joke and kept Eskimo Pies for Darcy in the freezer.
“People change.”
The tone in her mother’s voice told her not to push. “Okay. Where is Trevor? I tried him on his cell phone earlier but he didn’t pick up.”
“Your brother is getting supplies for the dinner crowd. We ran short on a few things.”
“How’s he doing?”
Mrs. Sampson started to wipe the cooktop with a rag. “He’s doing just fine. The tavern has never been busier. Thank God, I have him.”
Darcy didn’t miss the hidden meaning. Trevor was the golden child. “Good.”
“Well, you better get to work,” her mother said. “That trash won’t take itself out.”
Darcy glanced at the trash can overflowing with debris. She visualized the story she was going to write and the awards she was going to win.
“Will do.” Darcy sealed up the green bag lining the wheeled plastic trash can.
“And when you’re done with that, get this kitchen cleaned.”
“Right.”
Darcy pushed up the sleeves of her suit and tried to pull the bag out. It was heavier than she realized. Deciding to keep the trash bag in the can, she tipped the can back on its wheels and started to pull it outside.
“Darcy?” Her mother looked as if she had something else to say.
“Yeah?”
As their gazes met, her mother frowned, seeming to change her mind. “Never mind.”
“Okay.” Drawing in a deep breath, Darcy yanked at the can again and slowly started to drag it to the back alley behind the Varsity.
The alley was lined with pitted asphalt and wide enough for cars to drive through. The Varsity, flanked by a bridal shop and a drugstore, was located in middle of the block. The battered blue Dumpster, shared by all three businesses, was tucked in a nook by the drugstore.
Darcy pulled the trash can down the two steps by the back door, wincing as it banged hard with each drop. Her ankles wobbled as her high heeled boots caught between two of the cobblestones. Cursing, she yanked it free, and in the process, ripped the leather from one heel.
She stared at the torn Italian leather. The three-hundred-dollar boots had been a Christmas gift from Stephen two years ago. She suspected this was fate’s retribution for the lies she’d told her mother.
Tracking down the real Nero was worth it, she reminded herself.
Standing taller, she gripped the handle of the trash can and started down the alley. “I’m not going to quit. I’m not. I will get through this.”
The heavy can rumbled over the uneven asphalt as she headed toward the Dumpster. She opened the side door of the Dumpster and tugged on the green trash bag three times but couldn’t get it free.
“You are a stupid trash bag,” she said gritting her teeth. “And you aren’t going to win.” Determined, she jerked the bag. Her fitted jacket strained against her back and she pulled and pulled until finally the garbage bag wiggled free. She dumped the bag into the Dumpster.
Taking out the trash was hardly a moment to be celebrated, but she did feel a little pang of pride as she brushed her hands together. Tenacity. It had won out over the trash and it would find Nero.
Her shoulders back, she started to drag the can back to the kitchen. She was so lost in her own thoughts that she didn’t hear the roar of the motorcycle zooming down the alley until it was almost too late.
The driver hit the brakes and narrowly swerved around her as she looked up. Shocked, she stumbled back.
Her heart hammering in her chest, she went from fear to anger in a split second. Without thinking, she flipped the Motorcycle Man the bird. “What is the matter with you, sport?”
Motorcycle Man shoved up his visor. Electric blue eyes that held no hint of emotion stared at her.
Suddenly, all her senses became very sharp. She was intensely aware of the hot June air and the sweat drizzling down her chest between her breasts.
The jolt of desire surprised and irritated her. The guy had almost run her over. If she’d had any sense, she’d not have taken on a redneck biker in an alley. But her nerves were shot and her mouth worked faster than her brain. “Hey, mister, do you think you can be a little more careful?”
“You’re the one that wasn’t watching where you were going.” His voice was hoarse, rusty and sent tremors down her spine.
Still, Darcy marched toward him, pulling her trash can with her. The idea of coming home had frayed her nerves and she realized she was spoiling for a fight. “This is an alleyway! It’s not meant for high-speed chases. You could have flattened me like a pancake.”
“You smell like smoke.”
“What?”
He looked around the alleyway. “What was burning?”
She nodded her head toward the restaurant kitchen’s door. “A grease fire in the Varsity’s kitchen. It’s out now.”
His gaze sharpened. “They had another one?”
Another one? What was happening to that place? When she’d been kid growing up and working there, they’d never had any trouble. Family loyalty had her keeping those thoughts to herself. “Like I said, it’s under control.”
His gloved leather hand tightened around the bike’s throttle. “So are you going to be okay, or do I have to call an ambulance?”
His sarcasm grated her nerves. “I’ll probably have nightmares for a month.”
Creases formed around his eyes, a sign he was grinning. “So are you the new waitress at the Varsity?”
“How do you know that?”
“Who else would be hauling around a trash can with the Varsity stenciled on it?”
She glanced at the faded lettering. “Right.”
“You don’t look like a waitress.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” She sounded bitchy—even to her own ears.
“Right. Well, sorry for the scare.” He flipped his visor down. “Watch where you are walking. You might not be so lucky next time.”
She gritted her teeth. “Drive more slowly!”
Laughter rumbled deep in his chest. “Try not to frighten the customers away.”
The laughter in his voice irritated her. “I’m a good waitress.”
“Right.” He revved the engine loudly and then slowly drove down the alley.
Muttering an oath under her breath, Darcy started back toward the Varsity.
She’d gone two feet when her high heel caught between cobblestones again and she stumbled. Gripping the handle of the trash can, she glanced back to make sure Motorcycle Man had left. He had.
With as much dignity as she could muster, she brushed her bangs off her face, and dragging the trash can behind her, retreated back into the kitchen.
Darcy shut the kitchen door and leaned against it. Closing her eyes, she let a sigh shudder through her body as she thought about Motorcycle Man’s laughing gaze. It seemed everyone had questioned her competency since she had arrived in Preston Springs.
But she’d prove them all wrong—when she found Nero.
Chapter 3
Darcy spent the next half hour unpacking and changing into a cotton T-shirt, jeans and running shoes. She itched to go out for a long run before reviewing her notes on Nero, but it was already past three in the afternoon and the dinner crowd would be arriving at five o’clock.
As she brushed her hair up into a ponytail, she glanced around her old bedroom. Her mother had taken down her posters and painted over the purple. Her brass daybed was still there, but the black-and-white comforter was gone and in its place a green quilt and lots of pillows. Her mother’s sewing machine sat in the corner next to a white glider and footstool.
Her mother had done a good job of erasing any signs that her daughter had ever lived in this house. None of this would have bothered Darcy, if not for Trevor’s shrine in the diner.
“And why do you care?” Darcy mumbled as she tightened the rubber band around the thick handful of hair. “This is just a temporary stop. Deal with it.”
She started down the back staircase that led to the kitchen. As she approached the last step, she heard a man singing “When the Saints Come Marching In.” The voice was deep, the tone so off-key it made her smile.
Darcy found a stocky man standing in front of the stove stirring a pot of chili. He wore a white cook’s uniform with the sleeves rolled up over tattooed forearms. A rawhide strip held back thinning gray hair in a tight ponytail.
“Hey,” she said. Her mother had told her the tavern had a new cook. His name was George Paris.
George didn’t look up. “What did you do to my kitchen?” Each word was coated in a thick Alabama accent.
Darcy glanced around and seeing no signs of her mother assumed the comment was directed at her.
“Saved it.”
“It took me a half hour just to clean the flour out of the burner.”
The chili smelled good and she remembered she’d not eaten since breakfast. “You’re lucky to have a burner or a job for that matter. If I hadn’t shown up, Mom would have torched the place.”
Nodding thoughtfully, he tossed a handful of chili powder into the pot. If he’d worked here six months, he knew her mother could be a bit scattered at times. “Then I owe you my thanks. Unemployment doesn’t suit me so well.”
She snagged an apple from a bowl of fruit on the island. “Me either.”
He studied her, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Your mother said you are the new waitress.”
“That’s right.” She bit into the apple.
“You don’t look like your mother or Trevor.”
The apple tasted tart. “I take after my father.”
Eyeing her one last second, he turned back to his chili. “You can start making the dinner salads. Lettuce, two tomatoes, cucumber and three red onion rings.”
“I know the drill. I’ve made a million of those in my past life here.” Holding the apple in her teeth she washed and dried her hands. She took another bite of apple set it aside and crossed to the refrigerator. She pulled out a bag of precut lettuce, a box of cherry tomatoes, a cucumber and red onions. She set it all down on the island.
“Remember, only three slices of cucumber per plate,” he said.
She set the apple aside. “Tomatoes on the left, cucumbers in the middle, onions on the right. I remember.” She grabbed a stack of plates from the shelf on the wall above the sink and started to line them up assembly line fashion. She hated having to deal with this mundane stuff while knowing Nero could be alive, but for now she had to make like a waitress so no one would suspect her motives.
“Where is Trevor? Shouldn’t he be here now?” she asked.
He crushed a handful of dried red pepper flakes in his hand then dumped them into the pot. “He called your mother and said that he’ll be back by five o’clock.”
She noted a hint of irritation in his voice. “Trevor likes to play it fast and loose. Deadlines don’t get to him. Used to irritate his football coaches no end.”
“Then he is in the wrong business.” George sounded annoyed. “Restaurants are nothing but deadlines.”
“Mom says the business is doing well.” She kept her voice neutral, but she was fishing. Natural curiosity had been one of the reasons she’d become a reporter.
George shrugged. “I don’t think about things like that as long as I get paid on time.”
“Which you do?” She figured she had a right to know how Trevor ran the place.
“Most times.”
Frowning, she tore into the lettuce. She’d hoped when Trevor had taken over the restaurant that he’d grow up and become more responsible.
Let it go, Darcy. This gig was strictly a stepping-stone to her Pulitzer. “And Mom is where?”
“She is rolling the napkins and checking the bar.”
“Okay.” Darcy set out thirty plates on the center island. As she started to lay torn lettuce leaves on each, a truck pulled up in the back alley.
George wiped his hands on his apron and glanced out the screened door. “It’s about time Thompsons got here. We are just about out of everything.” He went to the door and waved. “Hey, Harvey. You can bring our order right in. We’ve got to get those chickens started if they’re going to be ready on time.”
Harvey Thompson, a tall thin man in his mid-fifties, came in the back door, with only a clipboard in his hand. He glanced over at Darcy. “Hey, Darcy, when did you get back in town?”
She grinned. “Just today.”
“You look good. You lose weight?”
She smiled. “Sure did. Twenty pounds this last year. Thanks for noticing.”
George looked impatient. “Harvey, you can start unloading any time.”
But the man hesitated. “I’m going to need a check from Trevor.”
“What do you mean—we have to pay C.O.D., Harvey? You always bill us,” George said.
Harvey’s face turned red. “You’re behind.”
George muttered a curse. “I’m a cook, not a bookkeeper. I shouldn’t have to deal with these kinds of things when I got a roomful of customers showing up in less than two hours. Wait right here.” He stormed into the dining room in search of Darcy’s mother.
Harvey glanced awkwardly at Darcy. “I knew this wasn’t going to be easy. But my boss said no cash, no delivery.”
“Trevor that far behind?” Darcy said.
Before Harvey could answer, George returned with Mrs. Sampson. “Tell Mrs. S. what you just told me.”
Harvey’s face reddened as he addressed Mrs. Sampson. “I’m going to need cash on delivery today, Jan. No money, no food.”
Her mother’s laugh had an edge. “That can’t be right, Harvey. I know Trevor just sent you in a check last week.”
“It bounced,” Harvey said in a low voice.
“It didn’t bounce,” Mrs. Sampson said. “I made a huge deposit only last week into the account.”
Harvey shrugged. “I don’t know what to say. All I know is no cash, no delivery.”
Her mother looked flustered and embarrassed now. “This has to be a mistake.”
Darcy stepped forward. “How much would you need today to make your delivery?”
“If it were anybody else, I’d need it all. But seeing as it’s y’all, I’ll take a thousand. I figure this is just a paperwork glitch.”
Her mother had never been one to handle the business end of the diner. Her father had while he was alive, and since his death, Trevor had.
“I don’t keep that kind of money in my personal account,” Mrs. Sampson said.
“I can bring the order back tomorrow,” Harvey said.
“We need today’s order or we won’t be able to open tonight,” George said.
“Don’t know what to say,” Harvey said. He looked as if he’d just endured root canal work.
The last thing Darcy wanted was to be drawn further into tavern business. She only had twelve hundred in her checking account and most of that was earmarked for her credit card bill, which was due at the end of next week. Since she’d dropped the twenty pounds this year, she’d splurged on new clothes—a lot of new clothes.
But high interest rates and minimum payments aside, if the Varsity went down, so would her cover. “I can go to the bank and pull the cash out of my account. I’m going to need to be paid back by Monday, Mom.”
Mrs. Sampson looked relieved. “Trevor will pay you back as soon as he gets here.”
Darcy nodded. “Harvey, go ahead and start unloading. I’ll be back with the cash in five minutes.”
He hesitated. “Okay.”
Despite her mother’s assurance, she felt as if she’d just stepped in quicksand. She got her purse and headed out the back alley, this time looking both ways.
Once Harvey was paid, Darcy, George and her mother focused on prepping for the dinner crowd. The Varsity didn’t have any other staff so the pace was quick and the work more physically challenging than she remembered. Still, despite a few dropped plates, she, George and her mother were ready by the time five o’clock rolled around. There was still no sign of Trevor.
Oddly enough, before her mother flipped the Closed sign to Open she felt as jittery as when she’d turned in her first article. So much was riding on her getting information from Gannon on Nero.
Thoughts of Nero vanished when the customers started arriving right at five. Within an hour, the diner was buzzing. All fifteen booths were filled and she and her mother ran from table to table taking orders, refilling drinks and serving entrées. To her surprise, she remembered more and more as the evening progressed. She’d forgotten how good she was at working this place.
She thought about Motorcycle Man. If he saw her in action now, he’d be eating his words.
By eight o’clock, most of the regulars were sitting at the bar. There was Chief Wheeler, the town’s fire chief who was in his late forties. Chief’s hair was thinning and he’d grown paunchy in the last six years. Next to him sat a friend of hers from high school, Larry White, a tall, lean truck driver who worked for a wholesale electronics distributor.
“So your mom says you got canned,” Larry said to Darcy.
For the sake of the Nero investigation she wanted to downplay her reporting background. Folks had a way of clamming up when they knew a reporter, even a supposedly ex-reporter, was around. “Hey, do me a favor guys and drop the subject. Kinda touchy.”
Larry and the chief nodded thoughtfully.
“Will do. Been fired myself a couple of times,” Larry said. He sipped his cola. “It bites.”
“We can keep a secret,” the chief said.
“Thanks.”
Minutes later, a tall, lean man walked into the tavern. In his forties, he was very athletic and had thick blonde hair. He wore thin wire-rimmed glasses. He took a seat beside Larry and held out a smooth hand to the trucker who took it immediately. “How’s it going?”
“Can’t complain, Nathan,” Larry said. “Nathan, I’d like you to meet Darcy Sampson. Her family’s owned the Varsity for years and she’s back working at her old job.”
Nathan smiled at Darcy. “Pleasure.”
His gaze possessed an intensity that made her believe for an instant that she was the only person in the room. There was no denying he was a very attractive man. She sucked in her stomach. “Can I get you anything to drink?”
“Coffee.”
“Sure thing,” she said. She sounded cool, but for some reason he jumbled her nerves. Cup. Coffeepot. Pour. She poured him a cup and set it in front of him. “Cream? Sugar?”
The faint lines at his temples deepened when he smiled. “No thanks.” He sipped his coffee. “Good. So, you just start?”
“Tonight’s my first night.” Darcy felt herself blushing. “So, Chief, how did your day go?”
The chief grimaced. “We had one hell of a fire.”
Nathan’s face was blank. “I’ve been at the construction site all day. What’s the scoop?”
The chief leaned forward. “The Super 8 burned to the ground. Worst fire I’ve seen in years. Started in a storage closet and then quickly spread to the building’s roof. We evacuated the motel and put our hoses on the fire. But the damn thing wouldn’t go out. Within thirty minutes, the motel was burned to the ground.”
Darcy’s heart started to pound in her chest. The fire likely had nothing to do with Nero, but it was strange that the chief had battled an intense fire the day she arrived to investigate a serial arsonist.