Heating Up (25 page)

“We found something of his at one of the fires we've had in town,” Rhys said. “We'd like to talk to him about it.”

Looking from Rhys to Aidan, Mrs. Rigsby went a little pale. “I'll get him. Come in.” She held the screen door open and led them into the living room. “Make yourself comfortable.”

There was an upright piano in the corner and Aidan wondered who played. Though lived in, the room was cheery enough, with lots of family pictures, a lamp made out of horseshoes, and a colorful afghan thrown over the couch. He scanned the room, hoping to find clues. Often, arsonists got a cheap thrill from saving newspaper clippings or photographs of their fires. But nothing stood out to Aidan. Just a typical working-class home.

Rigsby came into the room a short while later in shorts and a T-shirt. Aidan couldn't tell whether he'd been sleeping or not, but he wasn't friendly. Hostile would be a better word for it.

“What can I do for you fellows?” He didn't sit, just stood there, glaring.

“Why don't you sit down, John? Or if you'd prefer, we could go down to the station,” Rhys said.

“Letty says it's about those fires you've been having in town. What does that have to do with me?”

“We were hoping you'd tell us.” Rhys was smooth, Aidan noted, no bumbling, hicksville cop.

“There's nothing for me to tell you. I don't know a damn thing about them, except for what I read in the
Nugget Tribune
,” Rigsby said, choosing the recliner across from Aidan and Rhys.

“They weren't accidents.” Aidan stretched his legs.

“That's what the
Trib
said. You think because of the fireworks I was somehow involved?” He smirked like he thought they were idiots.

“Nope,” Rhys said and leaned back, resting his arm on the back of the couch. “It's because we found your shirt, covered in the same traces of accelerant used to start the fire, at one of the scenes. And one of your lighters at another.”

Rigsby wasn't smirking anymore. If Aidan wasn't mistaken, the electrician blanched. “How do you know they're mine?”

“Both say ‘Rigsby Electrical' on them.”

Rigsby jumped out of his chair. “Those lighters I pass out like business cards . . . that could've been anyone. I didn't have anything to do with those fires and this conversation is over. I'm calling a lawyer!”

It was what Aidan had expected all along. People knew their rights. Rigsby would be a fool to cooperate without consulting with an attorney first.

“Now, I'd like you to leave.” To emphasize that, Rigsby walked to the front door and held it open.

They could've arrested and held him on what they had. But to make it stick, they'd need more than a shirt and a common lighter to hold him. The best they could hope for was that they'd unnerved him enough that in his panic to cover his tracks he'd mess up. Because Aidan would definitely be watching.

“That didn't go so well,” Rhys said as they climbed into his police SUV and drove down the Rigsbys' driveway.

“It didn't go as badly as you think. Pull over.”

Rhys nosed into a turnout on the side of the road. “What's up?”

“On our way out I noticed something on the front porch . . . something that could be significant. But we'd need a warrant.”

Rhys smiled. “I can make that happen.”

“H
ello? Hello? Anyone there?” For the fourth time in an hour, Dana hung up the house phone in frustration.

Ordinarily, she would've written the strange, silent calls up to a malfunctioning phone line or someone on the other end having bad cell reception. But there was no caller ID, which seemed odd. Even with those annoying robocalls, a telephone number always flashed on the landline. With these, no number whatsoever.

She wouldn't have been bothered by the calls if someone hadn't tried to burn her office down. Arson tended to make a person edgy, and Dana was definitely jittery.

Now, she was on high alert and wished Aidan was home. He'd called on her cell to say that something in the case had come up and he wouldn't be home until late. She tried to pass the time by organizing the silverware drawer. Somehow the salad forks had gotten mixed in with the regular ones and it was driving her batty.

She took all the utensils out, gave the basket a good scrubbing, and put everything back where it should go. Although exhausted from moving furniture around and packing up files so the hardwood guys could lay down her and Carol's new flooring, she found the mindless work of sorting quite soothing. Dana decided that while she was at it she may as well reorganize the pantry too.

The house line rang again and she nearly jumped out of her skin. This time when she checked the phone's display there was a number. A local number, but she didn't recognize it.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Dana. This is Sloane. Is my brother there? I've been trying to call him on his cell, but he's not answering.”

“He's not here,” she said and told Sloane that Aidan was working late on the fire cases, that he might have a lead.

“Do you know what it is? Brady and I were in San Francisco all day.”

“I don't. He's careful about what he shares. You didn't by any chance try to call here a couple of times earlier, did you?”

“No. Why?”

“I keep getting strange calls where the person on the other end is silent. They must've disabled their caller ID because I don't get that either.”

Sloane was quiet for a second, then let a long sigh. “It may be Aidan's ex-girlfriend. She's been looking for him. That's actually why I was calling. I'm sorry if she scared you.”

“Sue? Why wouldn't she just ask for him?” Unless Aidan told her not to. Dana didn't like the implications of that.

“I don't know. It's not characteristic of her, but she has been trying to reach him. Wyatt's on duty; I'll have him do a drive by.”

“That's not necessary,” Dana said. “Really, I'm sure it's just someone with a bad cell connection.” But she went around the house locking the doors and windows just in case.

“Write down my number,” Sloane instructed, and Dana jotted it down on a pad in the junk drawer. “Call me if anything else weird happens. But I'm sure you're right about the hang-ups.”

After disconnecting with Sloane, Dana called her parents' house. She hadn't talked to them since she and Aidan had slept in the pool house and needed to check in. Betty answered on the fifth ring. As usual, she didn't have much to say and rushed to get off the phone. Dana often considered what would've happened if she'd been the one to die. Would her parents have buried themselves in the same kind of grief they had for Paul and by doing so ignored their only son? She didn't think so.

From the time of his birth, he'd been their prince and Dana an afterthought. As a child, it had never troubled her. Despite the extra attention they'd given Paul, there'd been enough left over that she'd felt loved and cherished. The Calloways had always been a patriarchal family. Dana supposed that kind of upbringing had conditioned her to accept her status as second class to her brother without bitterness. But now that she was all her parents had left in the world, she didn't understand their indifference. She also couldn't change it.

The pantry began to take shape. Dana lined up the cereal boxes in a neat row on one shelf. Spaghetti sauces, cooking oils, and canned goods she stored on another. Because Aidan did most of the cooking, he'd screw her order up in no time, but she didn't care. She'd just organize it again.

In the laundry room she found new rolls of shelf paper and used it to reline some of the cupboards where the old paper had become sticky from syrup or molasses, Dana couldn't tell. By the time she finished and glanced at the clock, more than an hour had passed. Save for the streetlights it was dark outside, the moon barely visible. It was also stuffy. She wanted to open the back door to let a breeze in, but given the fire and phone calls, a flimsy screen didn't seem like much of a barrier between her and the outdoors. So she went in the living room, turned on the cooler, and surfed through the channels on the television.

About ten o'clock Aidan came through the door.

“Hey,” Dana said. “How did it go?”

“Good.” He beamed and threw himself on the couch next to her. “Unfortunately, I can't tell you about it, but we may be on to something.”

“Not even a hint?”

He deliberated, then said, “We seized a piece of evidence that may help us close the case.”

“What's the evidence?”

“Can't say.”

She scooted closer to him. Despite having worked nine hours, he smelled like that aftershave he always wore. It reminded Dana of leather, sandalwood, and musk. Very masculine. She wanted to snuggle up next to him but worried that he'd want space and time to unwind after a long day. He surprised her, though, by pulling her close and tucking her head under his chin.

“What did you do tonight?”

She started to tell him, then stopped. “I don't want to forget: Sloane called. She said Sue was looking for you.”

He let out a groan. “Yeah, I know.”

She tugged away. “What's that about?”

“I don't know, but I'll take care of it. Let's not talk about her now.”

The phone rang.

“You get it,” Dana said. “I've been getting strange phone calls all evening.”

“What kind of strange calls?'

“I'll tell you after you get the phone.”

He got up and went in the kitchen with Dana on his tail. “Hello?” Aidan answered.

There was a long pause while Aidan stared at the clock on the stove. “The battery on my cell is dead. Can we talk about this tomorrow? It's late and I just got home.... She's fine and I'll deal with the other thing tomorrow.”

When he got off the phone, Dana asked, “Who was that?”

“Sloane. Now tell me about these strange phone calls.” He opened the pantry. “Where's the Calloway candy? Damn, you rearranged the shelves.”

She shrugged. “It makes more sense this way.”

“If you say so.” He found the candy on the shelf with the sugar and flour. “The calls.”

She told him about them and how there was no caller ID. “It was probably nothing, but I got a little spooked.”

Aidan hugged her. “I'm sorry, Dana. I think it might've been Sue. I'll take care of it tomorrow, I promise.”

“Why would she do that? Even Sloane didn't think she would.”

“I told her I was seeing someone. She probably figured it was you and it made her uncomfortable.”

“But she's married.”

He didn't say anything for a long time. “I don't think that's going too well.”

Dana sucked in a breath. Just when she'd let herself fall hard—like head over heels—for Aidan, it was happening again.

“Are you planning to go back to her?” she asked.

“No. Of course not. Look, I'll talk to her tomorrow, tell her to stop calling, okay?”

She nodded but didn't really believe him. He'd been with Sue for three years. They had a history together. Aidan's family loved her. He'd known Dana less than a month. She was nothing more than a convenient rebound.

“The fire . . . the cleanup . . . I'm exhausted,” she said. “I'm going to turn in early.”

She started to walk away and he took her arm. “Can I come with you?”

“Not tonight.” She let her hand caress his cheek.

After tonight, she didn't think they'd be going to bed together ever again. Tomorrow he'd talk to Sue and they'd figure out that her marriage to the schoolteacher had been a big mistake. That she belonged with Aidan. Then he'd find Dana and in the nicest way possible break up with her. One of them would offer to move out and it would wind up being her since she was the real estate agent with the contacts. With her tail between her legs, she'd go to Griffin and ask to rent one of the homes in Sierra Heights.

It was a vicious cycle.

He didn't try to stop her as she walked down the hall toward her bedroom. Perhaps he too recognized they'd come to the end of what had been the happiest time in Dana's life.

* * *

Aidan wanted to chase after her, but it wasn't right. They'd started out as roommates first, lovers second. She should be able to take a night off from him when she wanted to, especially when she was angry that his ex was suddenly back in his life.

He planned to nip that in the bud right now. In his bedroom he got his laptop, opened his email, and began typing.

He hit the Send button and felt a pang of guilt. Was the note too harsh? No! His problem was not being assertive enough. The thing with Sue was that she got him to do things he didn't want to do by maneuvering and manipulating until it was easier to give in. Like leaving him for Sebastian. Aidan now believed it had been a ploy to get him to marry her. Well, it had failed miserably. The cowardly fact was that by marrying Sebastian, Sue had let Aidan off the hook. He'd stayed in a relationship that wasn't right for him to avoid hurting her and his family. He'd meant well, but now he needed to make things right, which included a come-to-Jesus talk with Sloane. What was she thinking, giving Sue his house number when she knew about him and Dana? His sister wasn't cruel, but his estimation of her had slipped a notch.

Aidan let out a yawn and decided to follow Dana's lead and call it a night. Tomorrow he reported for twenty-four-hour duty at the firehouse. At least they'd made some headway on the case. If things panned out the way he hoped, they'd be able to tie Rigsby to the fires.

Aidan took a quick shower, brushed his teeth, and headed to bed, taking a short detour to Dana's room. There he stood, poised at her door, listening to hear if she was still awake. For a second he considered knocking but decided he should let her sleep. They'd talk in the morning, before he left for work. He'd assure her that Sue wouldn't be calling anymore.

But by the time he dragged himself out of bed the next day she was gone. If things weren't too busy at the firehouse, he'd pick her up at Nugget Realty and take her to lunch.

In the kitchen he put up a pot of coffee and while that was brewing called Sloane.

“Why'd you give Sue my home number when you know I share the house phone with Dana?”

“She was desperate to find you, something about your condo,” Sloane said. But Aidan knew it was bullshit. All day Sue had been leaving messages on his cell about how she missed him, how she'd made a mistake marrying Sebastian, blah, blah, blah.

He wouldn't out Sue to Sloane because he still felt loyal and didn't want to embarrass her in front of his family. And a part of him felt horribly guilty for not being able to love her enough.

“She has my cell number, Sloane. Her calls scared Dana. With all Dana's been through in the last month . . . she doesn't need this crap.”

“We don't even know it was Sue,” Sloane argued. “It sounds more like a prank than something Sue would ever do. She doesn't even know you're dating Dana.”

“Unless it's a member of our family, don't give my home number out ever again.”

“Jeez, Aidan, I didn't do it to upset Dana. I know how protective you are of her. I spent the night of the Nugget Realty fire watching over her because you asked me to. You know that because you called a dozen times. Sue was just so insistent that she needed to get a hold of you.”

“I took care of that. In the future, I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't act as a go-between. Sue knows how to reach me. If I'm not answering my phone, there's a good reason for it.”

“I'm sorry, Aidan. Really, it was all very innocent.”

He knew it wasn't. She and the rest of his family had made their allegiance to Sue well known. “I'm done talking about it.”

“What's going on with the case? Dana said you got something last night.”

Aidan told her how they'd gone to Rigsby's house to talk, but he'd lawyered up. “On our way out I saw a pair of work boots on the porch that may match footprints I collected at all three scenes. We got a warrant.... Long story short, forensics is trying to determine whether the boots match the prints. It's not a slam dunk by any stretch, but between the boots, the shirt, and the lighter, we might have enough to make the charges stick.”

“It's definitely something if it pans out. Are the boots worn?”

“Worn enough so that the soles should have their own unique wear and tear. If the forensic guys also happen to find gasoline residue on them, we're in business. But Sloane, that's all confidential.”