Perfect Alibi. Melody Carlson
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“Of course not!” She glared at him. “Are you nuts?”
“Did you make the 911 call?”
“Yes. Are you going to help put that thing out, or do you plan to just stand here yapping at me?” She pointed to an outbuilding. “My dad’s shop could’ve blown sky high by now.”
“My crew is on it,” he assured her. “Don’t worry. The fire’s not too big. But good thing you called when you did. They’ll have it under control soon.”
She seemed to be studying him now, as if he looked familiar, but she wasn’t really getting it. And he knew the yellow fire chief’s helmet worn low on his head, plus the heavy clothes, made it hard to recognize him. Not to mention that their paths hadn’t crossed in years. Although he wished they had. She leaned forward now, peering curiously at him. “Do I know you?” she finally asked.
“It’s been a while, but yeah, you know me. At least you used to know me.” He stuck out his hand to shake hers. “Logan McDaniel, at your service.”
She blinked, then stared even harder at him. “Logan?”
“Yep.” He glanced over his shoulder where several of the firefighters, some with hoses and some with shovels, were working their way toward them. “Looks like they’re making good progress already. Probably have it contained before sunrise. Less than two acres I’d estimate. Small potatoes compared to last—”
“Well, it might be small, but it would’ve grown—”
“Hey, don’t get me wrong, Mallory. Any fire is a serious fire. And I’m relieved it was small. And glad to jump on it early.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Sorry about tackling you like that.”
She frowned at him. “Yeah, what’s the deal? I thought firefighters were supposed to help people—not take them out.”
“I’m really sorry.” He pointed to the letterman jacket and the ball cap. “But dressed that way—I thought you were a teenage boy. I mean, there you are with a fire blazing nearby...” He held out his hands. “I approach you, and you take off running. What was I supposed to think?”
“I was running to put out that spot fire.” She pointed to where the charred grass was still smoldering. Logan went over to stomp on it, crushing it out with his boot then dousing it liberally with a nearby garden hose.
“Well, I hope you accept my sincere apology, Mallory. We’ve had a serious problem with arsonists lately. Some tips have suggested they’re teens. Last Saturday we had a human-caused fire that grew to nearly two hundred acres before our crew arrived.”
“You really think kids set this fire, too?” She seemed to be studying him closely now. “I mean...you’re certain it wasn’t, uh, set by someone else?”
“What do you mean by someone else?” He peered curiously back at her. “Do you know something...?”
“No, of course not.” She bit her bottom lip and glanced away, as if she was sorry she’d said anything. Or as if she was holding something back.
“If you know something, you should tell me,” he urged. “Mallory?” he persisted. “What’s going on?”
He could tell by her face that something was wrong. Seriously wrong. Was it related to the fire? Did she have anything to do with it? As fire chief it was his job to investigate—and to be impartial. But he couldn’t believe that Mallory Myers would have any sort of criminal involvement. Besides, this was her parents’ home. Not that all family relationships were harmonious. “Do you know something about this fire?” he asked her again, using a firmer voice this time.
“Oh...no, I don’t really know anything.” It seemed as if she was trying to sound nonchalant. “I mean I just smelled smoke. I looked outside and saw flames and called 911. That’s all.”
Logan narrowed his eyes, studying her. Something about her story didn’t ring true. And that bothered him. A lot. “Well, my guess is that this was a man-made fire,” he told her. “We haven’t had a lightning strike in a few weeks. And as far as I know, no strikes in these parts. Anyway, we’ll know better when the sun comes up. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go give my crew a hand. I’d like to get this wrapped up as soon as possible. Just in case we get another call.”
“Yeah, sure, of course.” She nodded in what seemed like relief and, stepping back, she shoved her hands in the pockets of her jacket. She looked so sweet and vulnerable just now—dressed in those clothes with mud on her face, her dark hair glowing in the firelight. And yet she was acting so strangely...as if she were somehow involved in the fire. Logan felt confused...and conflicted. And those were not the sort of feelings that a fire chief, especially a relatively young one, liked to experience.
“You probably want to go in and clean yourself up,” he told her in a brusque tone.
She looked down at her muddy clothes and nodded. “Yeah. Good idea.”
As she walked toward the house, Logan just watched, dumbfounded. What was going on here? Why was Mallory at her parents’ home when he knew they were on vacation? Why was she dressed like that? And what was she doing outside while there was what appeared to be an arsonist-set blaze going? What was going on?
Logan shook his head as he went to rejoin his crew. As happy as he was to see Mallory again—although he did regret tackling her—he felt torn. Something weird was going on here, and before this night was over, he was determined to get to the bottom of it.
“Doing some mud wrestling over there?” Winnie Halston teased him as she turned a shovelful of dirt over. Logan liked Winnie and appreciated that she worked as hard as any of the guys, but sometimes she got a little too friendly with him. It often felt like a tightrope walk to keep a professional distance, yet at the same time remain congenial and supportive as her boss. Sometimes he just wished she’d find another job.
Logan chuckled as he picked up a shovel. “Yeah, I guess it probably looked like that.”
“Who was the kid you took down?” she asked as she shoved her spade into the soft soil. “And why isn’t he in custody now?”
“The kid was a woman. Deputy Myers’s daughter.”
Winnie’s brow creased with suspicion. “Do you think she set the fire?”
“According to her, she was simply trying to help extinguish it.” He started to dig, helping to expand the fire line. He didn’t really have to do the hard labor anymore, but it seemed to boost team morale to see him doing some of the grunge work alongside them. And since this was a small fire and not really in need of much managerial supervision, there was no reason not to help out. Besides, he felt guilty for ignoring Winnie a little too much this week. Such a fine line between sending a message and being just plain rude.
“So, what’s this girl’s name?” Winnie’s voice had a twinge of jealousy.
“Mallory,” he said in a flat tone.
“And you know for sure that she’s really the Myers’s daughter? I mean, isn’t Deputy Myers on vacation? What’s this chick doing out here all by herself while her daddy’s gone? Sounds a little fishy, if you ask me.”
“I know she’s Deputy Myers’s daughter because I went to school with her,” he said wryly. “She was a couple years behind me.”
“Fine. But how do you know she’s not a suspect?” Winnie persisted. “This girl could be angry at her parents...maybe she gets even by torching their place while they’re gone. Most violent crimes are committed by people known to the victims. Suspects are usually family or friends...”
“Been watching CSI again?”
“Just reruns.” She smiled slyly. “A girl’s gotta do something on a lonely night.”
“Well, I’m relatively