Flashover (9 page)

“No doubt.” Greenly took another slug of coffee. He scrutinized Tim's face. “That's a pretty good shiner. What happened, son?”

“Nothing serious.”

Greenly gave him a long look before he continued. “Have you had any revelations about what Cyril might have given Moe? I couldn't get diddly out of the kid, and neither could his mother.”

Ivy toyed with her coffee cup. “No. I can't think of anything. Money maybe? Did Cyril have access to money from somewhere?”

Greenly shook his head. “He was strictly small-time. Had a few payoffs at the track, tried some two-bit scam stuff. He worked at a package and mailing company for a while but got canned for pilfering items from the shipments. If he did come into some money, chances are it belonged to someone else who wants it back.”

Tim nodded. “What can we do to keep Moe safe?”

“We'll handle it. Moving him from here is a big step. His mom lives in one of those complexes for active seniors. It's a busy place. Hard to get to him there without being seen. We've put the staff on alert to contact us if any strangers show up.”

Ivy had been on many calls to Sunshine Corners, and the place was always buzzing with activities from the traditional bingo games to fencing classes. Moe would be well supervised there. She had a feeling Madge would be keeping close tabs on him as well.

Greenly put down his mug with a sigh. “Thanks for the coffee. I've got to go.” He bobbed his chin at Tim. “Take care of that eye. Wouldn't want you to collect any more bruises.”

Tim didn't answer.

Greenly narrowed his eyes for a moment, as if he was weighing his options. He tamped down his mustache. “Whatever is going on around here is a high-stakes game. It would be a good idea for both of you to play it safe for a while.”

“Detective,” Ivy said, “do you think something has happened to Cyril?”

He stretched his thick neck to work out a kink. “Don't know, but it's not a good sign about the plane ticket.”

Tim's eyes widened. “What plane ticket?”

“It seems Cyril had a ticket on the red-eye last night. A one-way ticket to Mexico.”

Goose bumps popped out on Ivy's arms. “But he never made it?”

The detective's look gave her the chilling answer.

I
vy dutifully showed up for her physical therapy appointment. She'd do anything to get a step closer to returning to work.

The physical therapist prodded Ivy's shoulder.

She tried not to grimace. “See? It's fine.”

“I don't think we'd better start on any rehab for another few weeks. You're still in too much pain.” The therapist clicked open a pen and jotted some notes in the file.

“It's not that bad. I did some bicep curls yesterday. I think I'm ready.”

The woman looked at Ivy over the top of her glasses. “I know you're anxious to get back to work, but pushing yourself before the bone is mended is not the way to do it. You may mess things up to the point where you require surgery and then you'll be out for an even longer time.”

“But…”

“A good rule of thumb for a clavicle injury is if it hurts, don't do it. Whether you want to admit it or not, you're hurting, so I'm not going to make your injuries worse by pushing too fast.”

“It's not…”

“I appreciate your input, Ivy, but I'm the therapist here so why don't you let me do my job.” She tucked the file under her arm. “Go see your M.D. to check the burns. Come back in a month. Keep it still with the figure-of-eight strap for a couple of days and don't exercise it. If it's feeling better by Thursday you can remove the strap for short periods. See you soon.”

Ivy shrugged her clothes on, trying not to grumble too loudly. A few more weeks? With Wonder Woman Williams making herself indispensible to Captain Strong? No way.

She stalked out of the office and into the rapidly warming Tuesday afternoon. Gloom seemed to cover her in a tarry skin, sticking close as she strolled down the main street. The door to Corner Street Bookstore was open, the enticing scent of coffee perfuming the street outside. The sight of the bookstore reminded her of a question she needed to ask. Ivy went in.

Mr. Evans looked up from his pile of papers. “Hello, Ivy. Back so soon? What did you think of the books you bought last time?”

She flushed. “Actually, I haven't read them yet. I wondered about Cyril. Did you ever see him hanging out with Moe? Or anyone else?”

He smiled. “The police wondered the same thing. Sorry to say, since the day I refused to hire him I don't believe I saw him at all. Are you making any progress trying to locate him?”

“No.” Her body felt drained. “Thanks, anyway. I guess I'll just browse while I'm here.” Really, she just wanted to lose herself in the dark shadows and dusty corners of the store.

“Is the shoulder mending well?”

She sighed. “Not as quickly as I want it to.” She headed for the far corner of the store where Mr. Evans kept a mishmash books.

She grabbed a couple and sat down on a scarred wooden chair by the window to thumb through some worn copies and try to think of something she'd missed. She looked out the tiny window to see her cousin Mitch coming out from the shop across the street. Charlie followed a few steps behind. Crouching on her knees to get a better look, she watched them talk.

Quickly she replaced the books and waved to Mr. Evans as she darted out into the street. Mitch was just firing up the engine of his motorcycle.

She hollered at him over the noise.

He didn't look up.

“Mitch,” she yelled again, putting a hand on his arm.

He jerked, eyes wide. “Oh, hi, Ivy,” he called. “Sorry, can't talk. Gotta take off.”

“Stop running away from me. I need to talk to you.”

“See you later, V.” He waved and drove off down the street.

She turned to Charlie. “Do you know where he's going?”

He pushed back the brim of his cowboy hat. “No, ma'am. He doesn't clear his calendar with me.”

“How was your fishing trip?”

“What fishing trip?”

“I thought you and Mitch went fishing.”

“No, ma'am. I'd love to drop a line, but I've been plenty busy.”

A car with fire department markings pulled up in the spot Mitch's motorcycle had just vacated.

Tim jingled his keys. “Perfect timing. Hey, Charlie. How are you?”

“Doing well. Off to pick up my Porsche. I love that car but it sure keeps my mechanic in business.”

He tipped his hat again and headed away.

Tim turned to her. “How about lunch? My treat.”

“I'm not feeling up to it.”

“Okay. How about you keep me company while I eat and I'll tell you what I learned about Cyril?”

Her heart skipped a beat. “Something that might help?”

“Maybe. Sit with me and find out.”

Ivy staked out a shaded table on the sidewalk while Tim went inside the small café. He came out with two falafels and sodas. “I thought you might be hungry later.”

In spite of her dark mood, her mouth watered at the smell of spicy chickpeas inside the soft pita. She took a bite of the savory sandwich just as a fire engine roared down the street, sirens blasting.

She half rose, the instinct to respond overwhelming her senses. Jeff rode in the front, earphones in place, eyes intense. Denise sat in the backseat, leaning forward, eagerness painted all over her young face. In the next second they were gone, leaving behind only a wake of exhaust.

Ivy sagged back into the chair, tears welling up in the corners of her eyes.

Tim reached out a hand to cover hers. “Give it time, Ivy.”

She snatched her hand away. “Time? I don't have time. You don't understand.”

“Sure, I do. You're angry and frustrated that you can't work.”

“It's not just about work. I feel like, like I've been pulled away from my family.”

He took a sip of soda before he spoke. “I know about the brotherhood and all that, Ivy, but you have a family and people that love you, no matter what you do.” An edge crept into his voice. “Even when you shut them out.”

“So I'm committed to my job, Tim. That's not a crime.” She tried to keep her voice level. “When Sadie died, I promised myself that I wouldn't let that happen to another soul if I could prevent it.”

“And you haven't. You've saved lives and property. You've made a difference to a lot of people, but my point is that you are still a worthy, well-loved person even when you're not wearing your turnouts.” His voice rose in volume. “And I could also add there are people, great people, heroic people all over the place who just don't happen to ride a fire engine for a living.”

She bridled. “Well, I'm one of the lucky people who does.”

“God made you Ivy Beria, not Firefighter Ivy Beria.”

She balled up her paper napkin. “God doesn't factor into my life or my choices.”

“Yes, He does, Ivy, whether you admit it or not.”

She wanted to shake him, to throw her soda in his face and walk away. The rage swirled inside until she felt lost in it. She squeezed her eyes shut tight and tried to take deep breaths. When she opened them again, his eyes were locked on her face.

“I know it's hard. I'm sorry. I wish I could make it easier for you.”

She wanted to be angry, but something in his face wouldn't let her. The anger drained away, leaving only a sorrow behind, a sorrow that felt as though it had started fifteen years ago, the day that her sister burned to death. It had dissipated for a while, lost in the fun she had with Antonio. But that was all it had been, fun. Not love. Love was the kind of person who wanted all of you, the dark stuff, too.

A question leaped into her mind. Was that who Tim was? Someone who could love all of her? No, she didn't have the courage to find out. She blinked hard, swallowing the new tears that threatened. “What did you learn about Cyril?”

He continued to look into her eyes for a moment before he leaned back in the chair. “Cyril is a jack-of-all-trades, it seems.”

“Meaning?”

“In addition to his recycling job, I found out he was a part-time electrician, did a few odd jobs around town.”

“Okay.”

“He worked on the old Oak Grove Hotel before the owners gave up on it.”

“That empty building at the edge of town?” The place was a magnet for teen troublemakers until the city boarded it up tight.

“Uh-huh.”

“I'll bite. What does this tell us about the guy?”

“I spoke to the building superintendent that was in charge of the project before it went belly-up. He hired Cyril and ultimately let him go but not because the money ran out.”

She felt a tingle. “Then why did he fire Cyril?”

Tim gave her a satisfied smile. “The super's name is Chuck. He's a real nice guy. Met him at a church retreat a while back. He told me he had decided to get rid of Cyril anyway because he had a key made to the place and was using it for a second home, hosting poker nights there, sleeping over, even brought in a warming plate and cooler.”

“And Chuck didn't tell the police that?”

“He didn't want to smear Cyril's reputation so he just left it that Cyril was sacked when the project folded.”

Ivy's thoughts whirled. “So you think maybe Cyril is holing up at the Oak Grove Hotel?”

He shrugged. “I figure it's worth a look. I'm off the clock in an hour. We can take a drive over there and if anything looks out of order, we'll call Greenly.”

She shook her head. “Tim, you are amazing. Why are you doing all this for me?”

He stroked her hand with his fingers. “I think deep down you know why.”

She held his gaze for a moment, staring into those warm blue eyes. “I wish I could be the person that you want and deserve, Tim, but I can't.”
I don't want to share myself with anyone, even a wonderful man like you.

His smile was sad.

For the briefest of moments she wanted to move closer, share some of the peace that he radiated, let herself get lost in his sweet soul. Instead she pulled her hand away. “I'll see you in an hour then.”

He sighed. “Okay. An hour.”

 

Though Tim did his best to avoid the potholes, the road was bumpy and uneven.

It was three o'clock with temperatures close to ninety. Tim could understand why the hotel idea had appeal. The Oak Grove Hotel would really have been the perfect spot for a quiet getaway. The road that led up to it hadn't been paved so the tires had only gravel for traction as they climbed the steep, tree-lined slope. The lush green canopy bathed the trail in a delicious coolness. The scent of eucalyptus drifted through the open car window.

He wrestled the steering wheel as they rattled across a hole. “Sorry, Ivy. Is it hard on your shoulder?”

“No,” she said, sounding as though she was gritting her teeth.

Tim concentrated on the structure that came into view around the last curve. It was a two-story, wood-frame building. The wide spaces where the picture windows should be were boarded up. A once-grand half-circle drive was sprinkled with weeds and the front veranda littered with broken pieces of wood and plaster. The whole lot was home to sprawling shrubs and clusters of thistle.

“Too bad.” Tim shook his head. “It must have been a really fine hotel in its day.” He parked a good distance from the structure, under the concealing branches of a massive oak. “I don't see any cars around, but I'm not sure Cyril owns one anyway.”

They watched for several minutes, the only sign of movement coming from a squirrel that darted across the old shingled roof.

“We should take a look while we're here.”

Tim nodded. “I think we might be able to see through the slats in the side window there.” He leaned across her and pointed, trying to ignore the sweet smell of her shampoo.

They picked their way quietly over the rocky ground.

A crow squawked his displeasure at being disturbed. He flapped away with a rush of heavy wings.

Tim stepped up on the wooden porch and helped Ivy up behind him. He whispered in her ear. “Hang on a second. I think I can see through that gap if I get a little higher.”

He climbed onto a stack of cracked red bricks that he surmised had been intended to trim the chimney. He hoisted himself up to the edge of a boarded-up window.

As his fingers cleared the edge, the pile shifted.

He fell with a loud crash.