Ashes and Bone (12 page)

And now the place he loved—the only home he’d ever known—was threatened by the very sort of disaster he had hoped for at one time.

He was supposed to be controlling the swell of panicked onlookers, making sure people evacuated their homes, but the fire was the train wreck he couldn’t look away from.

Like a giant angry cobra, the fire shot higher and higher in the hazy sky, crackling and hissing with every strike. Skin hot, eyes tearing even though he was yards away, Cage stared at the flames circling around the fields, slithering their way into the woods. If the firefighters didn’t get a handle on it soon, the fire would be out of control.

This thing didn’t smell like any campfire Cage remembered. The smoke was thicker, taking up real space in his nose. Burning wood, grass, metal, and plastic combined to make a pungent scent he’d remember for a long time.

He’d been out here for hours it seemed. Night fell, and the smoke looked like smears of charcoal on a black canvas. A city cop was supposed to take his place. Cage glanced at his watch, not surprised to see she was late. The unnatural heat screwed with his head. He felt exhausted and sluggish and too distracted to be this close to the scene.

Cage needed to be working Nick’s case. Dani had sworn not to leave Jaymee’s side until Nick was found, and that terrified Cage. Dani might end up being collateral damage in whatever Nick had gotten himself into. Too much of a coincidence for Jaymee to have been in Stanley’s house when someone set it on fire. The sooner the sonofabitch who started this catastrophe was caught, the better. He just hoped finding Nick was part of the deal.

A chorus of shouts came from the perimeter, near the trees. “The fire’s breaching!” Cage rubbed his burning eyes. A new siren approached blasting a warning to the foolish onlookers. Two Natchez trucks rolled across the scorched grass of a once perfectly kept yard. The fence bordering the subdivision had already been burned; the trucks barreled through the opening and joined the efforts.

A tap on his shoulder made him jump.

“Jaymee just called me. Wyatt Booth’s in town.” Gina’s thin face looked even more severe in the ash-filled air. “He and Stanley stopped by the hospital to see Jaymee. And Jaymee found some Confederate fakes in Stanley’s house. Stashed them in her pocket.”

“Of course she did.”

“Pretty convenient timing, don’t you think?”

Cage coughed. He’d taste the smoke for days. “Yeah. You talk to the fire marshal?”

“It’s arson. He suspected it given the rapid spread and intensity of the fire. But one of the firemen found what looks like a charred can of turpentine near the back door. That’s probably where it started.”

A fresh burst of anger hit him. First Nick, now Jaymee. What the hell had the man found out to put them both in danger?

Cage crashed at
the station, hoping for a few hours of sleep, but flames danced behind his closed eyes, and the stench invaded his dreams.

The sun rose amid a haze of smoke and flames turning the eastern sky a hideous orange monster. He figured if he watched long enough, the red-tinged wisps of smoke would twist into different shapes, all with the same hateful expression. The core of the fire was miles away, but the entire town was caught in its grip. Everyone had an eye on the horizon whether peering through windows, standing on the sidewalk, or camping out in the yards. Every citizen Cage saw watched and waited, poised to flee, with matching looks of shock and fear on their tired faces.

It made his stomach hurt.

The Roselea and Natchez fire departments had spent the last twelve hours pushing the fire away from town, driving it toward the east in an effort to protect both cities. Volunteers from other local departments poured in, and at the moment, the blaze seemed under control. Whatever that meant. Cage thought it still looked like a red dragon eating up the landscape.

He’d barely sat down when Captain Barnes set a steaming cup of coffee on the rectangular square Cage was supposed to call a desk. Being a junior investigator was a lot like being a younger sibling: hand-me downs galore and plenty of stupid pranks he was supposed to tolerate. Sometimes he had to force himself to take the jibes good-naturedly, but the desk pissed him off on sight every morning.

“So let’s talk about who’s after your friends.” Gina rubbed her eyes until they were streaked red. Her voice sounded husky, and Cage wondered if she had gotten any sleep at all. “Although I’m not convinced Jaymee wasn’t just at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Stanley’s neighbor saw him drive away about ten minutes before Jaymee says she arrived.” Cage took a tentative sip of the coffee. As expected, it was lukewarm and gritty with grounds that hadn’t brewed. “We need a decent coffee maker.”

“And Stanley says––” Gina ignored Cage’s complaint, “––that he’d gone to pick up Wyatt Booth from the airstrip in Fayette. Former Senator Booth has his own private jet, see. Which he pilots himself.”

Of course he did. Cage had only seen Booth from a distance, but he swaggered, his stride long and his shoulders back, chin up—the kind of confidence that comes from success and usually, money. Cage didn’t begrudge him that, but his timing stunk. And his visit to Delta Correctional pinged Cage’s instinct. “I can’t believe we didn’t know the CEO of Norton Investments was an ex-senator.”

“He hasn’t been in office in ten years. Retired from politics. Claims he stays mute about his political background because he doesn’t want clients to think he’s using his connections.”

Cage barked a laugh. He stuck his hands behind his head and then thought better of it. He needed a shower and soon. “Of course he does. He’s a politician. As for Jay being a target, I think whoever took Nick can’t get to her, so the person sets the fire instead.”

“You like Stanley for it?”

He’d been thinking about this all night, mostly to keep his mind off the fire. A man of blunt word and little personality, Stanley struck him as the type to never get his hands dirty. A man who liked to call the shots and demand respect. During their interview yesterday, Stanley had been coolly in control. Steady eyes and quick, efficient answers. Never allowed himself to be caught off guard. That bugged the shit out of Cage because it meant he either was hiding something or was used to dealing with police. Too controlled and practiced.

After the fire was a different story. Stanley shook like a scared toddler. His eyes were dilated to the point of creepy, and he wheezed for air. In short, the man freaked out—a normal reaction, considering. Made his act during the interview even more suspicious.

“He could’ve doubled back, but I’m not sure how he would have done it without being seen,” Cage said. “There’s only one road into the community, and a couple of people were working in their yards. Now, he could have sneaked in from the back field. But that means he’d need to know his way around, and he’d have dirt on his shoes. Ones I saw were squeaky clean.” Cage’s brow furrowed. “That doesn’t mean he didn’t ditch them. And there’s the little fact that he saved Jaymee. Although witnesses kind of made her impossible to ignore. But still, he could have passed the buck to someone else. Guy risked his life to get the ladder out of the garage and put it on the house.”

“Agreed. But I’d like to test his clothes for traces of accelerant as a precaution,” Gina said. “Of course, Booth and Mayor Asher are pulling their weight, and Stanley is properly insulted. After all, he lost his home.”

“His temporary home,” Cage said, “that contained few personal possessions, according to Jaymee. He’s renting.”

“But with a man like Booth as his alibi, I’m not getting a search warrant for his clothes. He’s going to have to volunteer.”

The influence of money and power never ceased to amaze Cage, nor did the attitude of privilege which usually accompanied those two things. “I suppose same with Booth’s flight records?”

“No, he gave those willingly. To back up Stanley’s alibi.”

“Techs get anything from Jaymee’s computer?” Nick’s laptop had gone missing with him, and Cage hoped to find something useful in the emails between Nick and Jaymee. The thought of going through them himself made him feel like a Peeping Tom. He’d almost kissed the tech who’d volunteered to help out.

“As a matter of fact, they did.” Gina’s smile told him she’d been waiting to see if he’d get to that question without her prompting him.

His promotion to investigator two months ago had both scared and thrilled Cage. More money but more time and risk. Gina had a reputation as a hard-assed boss, and he’d be training with her. She didn’t believe on easing him into it either. First day on the job, she’d hung back while he interviewed a robbery suspect. Cage sweated through the entire interview, feeling as if he’d been locked in a sauna and fumbling because he knew she was watching. The suspect thought Cage had the flu and kept bitching he was going to get sick too.

Gina came in and finished and then told Cage to go watch himself on the video and tell her everything he did wrong. He’d done as asked, and she’d informed him he’d passed his first lesson. “Don’t make those mistakes again,” she’d said. So far, he hadn’t.

“About a week ago, Nick emailed her with six pictures of more Civil War doo-dads. No message in the email. Just the subject, ‘Sending you these so I don’t forget.’”

“What the hell does that mean?”

Gina shrugged. “The nerds in the tech room are picking the email apart. I’ll let you know if they come up with anything, but in the meantime, I think our kidnapper knew Nick was on to him, and he’s worried Jaymee knows the truth too. If she was the target of the fire, she’s still a target. Which means our kidnapper thinks Nick told her something. Something which threatens him. You need to talk to her. Really pick her brain. Don’t handle her with kid gloves.” She shot him a warning look that usually sent most people cowering.

But for Cage, Gina’s order was easier said than done. Dani said Jaymee was barely sleeping or eating. She’d already endured more than most. If Nick didn’t make it out of this alive, Cage was afraid Jaymee would sink into a misery she couldn’t haul herself out of. Not to mention the fact Dani’s devotion to Jaymee put her in the middle of something very bad. He thought about telling her to hightail it to Indianapolis for a couple of weeks, visit some friends. He’d be lucky if she didn’t knock him over the head.

“I checked out her father, Paul Ballard, already. He’s the first one to have a grudge against both of them,” Cage said. He’d actually hoped Paul was involved. He’d love to throw him in a cell. “But ever since last year’s scandal, he’s been living in De Ridder in Louisiana. No sign of him around here. But could be someone else with a grudge on the story Nick exposed last year.”

“I don’t like it,” Gina said. “The timing, all the fake Civil War items—that doesn’t scream grudge to me. That screams ‘protecting my ass.’”

“My money’s still on Stanley,” Cage said. “He’s a douchy liar, and Booth is slick as owl shit. They’re into something illegal.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s the fakes, if those are even what got Nick in trouble.”

“You don’t think so? What about the possible Dixie Mafia connection?”

Gina crushed her coffee cup and gazed out the window with a blank look on her face. He’d gotten to know her methods well over the past few months. She liked to consider her answers for a while and chew on the information before she committed to anything. It drove Cage crazy at first. He didn’t know if she wanted him to guess what she was thinking or if she thought he was incompetent and was not bothering to answer his question.

“Something’s not gelling for me,” she finally said. “Yeah, these antiques are big business. And even if these frauds are pulling in small potatoes compared to some antique places, people will do some crazy shit to protect themselves. We know whoever did this had at least enough sense to clean up, but I’m not sold that it was a pro because I don’t think a pro would attack Nick during a derecho, putting his own life at risk.” She picked at her fingernails, which were always immaculate and shining with clear polish. Cage figured it was her way of keeping some form of femininity in a tough role.

“But the windstorm’s the perfect cover up.”

“One that had minimal planning time. I’d like to think a mob hit man would have a better plan than relying on the weather.”

The damned Dixie Mafia. Cage still had trouble getting his head around that one. Sure, he’d heard the rumors of drug rings and activity in the bigger cities, but there hadn’t been any more than a mumble here and there for decades. He’d figured they went out with the Klan and the crackdown on moonshiners. “You’re checking with the Jackson FBI office on the mafia angle right?”

“Call’s in,” Gina said. “But the big boys are busy with kidnappings and murders of their own. If we get proof Nick’s been taken across state lines, I can request their help. Not that I’m eager to work with them, but having access to their labs would be fantastic.”

“Which reminds me,” Cage said. “The tire tracks. Swear to God someone just swerved out and nailed him.”

“That could still be premeditated. But if you’re right and the person coming from the southbound did it, then we might be back to a local suspect. I sent the paint chips taken from Nick’s car to the lab. They said they’d try to rush, but we’re still talking a week at most. And I doubt we’ll get anything useful.”

He started tearing a post-it note into little pieces. The habit drove Dani nuts, but it had been his go-to for as long as he could remember. His mother said he’d sit on the potty and tear up bits of toilet paper while he was doing his business. “What if we’re looking at this wrong? What if it’s just some drunk? Or someone without insurance? What if they had an accident and panicked?” Wouldn’t surprise Cage, really. Adams County had plenty of people living in poverty. Most didn’t have insurance, and any of them could be desperate enough to panic.

“It’s possible. But then we’re back to the fire being a coincidence. And I don’t believe that.”

Gina picked up the picture of the cartridge box with the bullet hole. It was pretty much the coolest Civil War item Cage had ever seen. It was made of leather but still pliable, not covered in any sort of protective chemical. According to Dani, the leather was still “live,” meaning there was no red rot. The stitching looked good with few tears, and both waist belt straps were still attached to the back. Dani’d actually sighed with delight when she realized the roller buckles and straps were intact. Apparently a rare thing.