Out Of The Ashes. Cynthia Reese
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was odd. Usually juvie for a kid that age was a first stop on a long path to the revolving door of prison. Either Kari had been scared straight or she’d not belonged there to begin with...
Now, that doesn’t make any sense. She’s a self-confessed arsonist. Of course she belonged there.
The reaction that Rob had hoped to provoke didn’t disappoint. He could have slapped her and got the same expression for his trouble: first the slack-jawed expression that followed any low blow, then the in-drawn breath, the narrowed eyes and compressed lips.
“I never—” she snarled.
Her mother quickly wrapped her fingers around Kari’s in a tight squeeze. It seemed to deflate Kari. Pain pushed away the anger around Kari’s eyes. She closed them, then dropped her head.
“It’s okay, Mom. I’m...” She freed her hand from her mother’s, and Rob noticed the red imprints of Chelle Hendrix’s fingers on Kari’s.
Kari put a trembling hand up to her forehead and leaned against it. “That’s fair enough, Rob. I guess you think it doesn’t matter, that what happened was only what I deserved.”
Kari’s listless words shamed Rob. “No. I’m not saying that at all. You paid your debt for that fire. And I can see from your record—or the lack of one as an adult—that you’ve mended your ways. Plus, there are other victims besides you, Kari.”
She raised her head. “But I’m the one you’re investigating.” It was a flat statement of fact, delivered with a direct and unflinching stare.
Rob shrugged. “You said you didn’t do it. And that you have no idea who would.” He couldn’t keep a faint trace of incredulity at this last out of his tone. To cover it—surely, yeah, just to keep his hands busy—he reached for another muffin.
“I don’t. I don’t know anything about who set that fire.”
The second muffin tasted just as delicious as the first one had, but the tension in the room took some of the joy out of it. Rob noticed how both Chelle and Kari seemed on tenterhooks, poised to run or flee or...something.
“Besides the ever-generous landlord, Charlie, have you had any run-ins with anyone else? Owe any money to...hmm, highly motivated lenders?” Rob drained the glass of milk and wanted more. Before he could even put the desire into a complete thought, Kari had risen from the table and pulled the milk out of the fridge.
Was it reflex? Or an attempt to distract him while she thought through her answer?
Whatever her motivation, Kari brought the milk to the table and refilled his glass. She returned the jug to the fridge and shut the door with a crisp thud. “I borrowed the money for the bakery from my mom—who borrowed it against her 401(k). So unless my mom has Mafia leanings—and that’s what you’re thinking, right? Some sort of loan shark? The answer is no.”
Rob focused his gaze on Chelle. She’d completely destroyed the paper napkin she’d been holding since Kari had pulled her hand free. It showered on her table like a mini snowstorm. “That right?” he prompted her.
Chelle jumped. She looked guilty as sin, to the roots of her pseudo blond hair. “Oh, yes. I borrowed the money. Kari’s been paying me back with interest—the same interest that I’m being charged. I can show you the paperwork, if you like?”
“I would like. Very much.” Maybe Chelle burned the place so that she could replenish her 401(k)? “Had she kept up with the note?” Rob pressed.
“Yes. Every month without fail—Kari’s actually the one who makes the payment. Let me... I’ll just go get that paperwork.” Chelle fluttered her hands, releasing the final blizzard of paper napkin. She pushed her chair away from the kitchen table and strode out of the room.
“Happy?” Kari snapped to Rob. “Satisfied that my mom didn’t torch the place to get her money back?” She didn’t bother to take her chair again, but instead paced back and forth, armed with a dishcloth and wiping up imaginary specks of dust from the counter.
“Hey, I’m just doing my job.” He held up both palms to ward off her sarcasm.
Her face fell again, with that same deflation that had occurred a few moments before when he’d reminded her about the consequences of her own arson. She put down the dishcloth and sighed. “Yes. You are. I’m sorry. This is—it’s hard.”
“You have to know how I’m going to see this, where my thoughts are heading,” Rob pointed out in the gentlest tone he could muster. “If you didn’t do it, and your mom didn’t do it, somebody still did. And whoever it is has it in for you. I can’t believe Charlie is the only person you’ve had cross words with.”
“I can’t—” Kari leaned against the counter, put her fingers to her mouth and closed her eyes. “Sure, I’ve had angry customers, disappointed customers, people who are after me to pay bills, but I can’t imagine that any of them would think burning my bakery—burning half a city block—would be the answer.”
“So you do owe money?” Rob’s scalp prickled. Now they were getting somewhere. Maybe with Mom out of the room, he could get to the bottom of this, get a viable suspect.
“Sure.” Kari shrugged her slim shoulders. “What bakery doesn’t? I have to buy the raw materials before my customers pay me, and sometimes it takes weeks on a big order before I do get paid. My suppliers—flour and sugar and all of that’s not cheap. And I have to keep the lights on and the gas paid. Plus...well, I’ve had to do repairs, since Charlie wouldn’t.”
The buzz of excitement within Rob fizzled. She was right; a regular creditor would take a merchant to small claims court and send a report to ding her credit rating. Creditors were more interested in getting their money, not in making a statement with arson.
In his mind, he turned over the few facts he knew for certain about the case. If not money, which was the number one reason for arson, then revenge.
Come to think of it, the whole setup did scream revenge.
“What about that other fire?” he asked.
Kari jerked with surprise, banging her elbow on the edge of the counter as she did. “The—the other fire?” she repeated, rubbing the injured elbow.
“Yeah. The one you set. Could this be related to it?”
“I’ve already told you I didn’t start this fire—”
Rob noted the neat evasion and stopped her with an interruption. “Tell me about it. That fire. The one you set. Who did it hurt?”
Her face completely closed down. “It hurt everybody.”
“No, I mean, who was the victim? There were two fires serious enough to get a first-time offending juvie a felony conviction for arson that year. Both big arsons. One was a convenience store. The other was a big warehouse fire. I know you didn’t set the warehouse fire—that was the fire that killed my dad—since you were already sent off by then. So it was the convenience store fire, right?”
“Wait...” Kari’s head tilted and she frowned, as if she were trying to hear something said at a great distance. Her fingers, their knuckles white, dug into the countertop as if to keep her upright and prevent her from sliding to the floor. “Wait. There was another fire that year? Your dad? Your dad got killed? In an arson?”
A WEEK AFTER the fire, and Kari still felt as though she were in disaster mode.
A trickle of perspiration coursed its way between her shoulder blades as she manhandled a huge cardboard box from her apartment’s kitchen to the front door. It wasn’t that the box was heavy, or that the distance was great. No, the box was awkward in its oversized dimensions, and negotiating the tight turns between