Blue Smoke (17 page)

“Doesn't mean you're not still Weird Guy.”

“Not criminally. We could talk. You could ask me in for coffee.”

“I don't have any coffee. I don't have anything yet.”

“You could come to my place for coffee—except I don't have any either. See, it's right next door. You could come over for a beer, or a Coke. Or the rest of your life.”

“I think I'll pass.”

“Why don't I make you dinner? Take you to dinner. Take you to Aruba.”

Laughter trembled up her throat but she swallowed it back down. “I'll take Aruba under advisement. As for dinner, it's one in the afternoon.”

“Lunch.” He laughed, pulled off the ball cap and stuffed it in his back pocket, raked long fingers through his dense black hair. “I can't believe how completely I'm screwing this up. I didn't expect to see Dream Girl next door. Let me start over, sort of. Bo. Bowen Goodnight.”

She accepted the hand. She liked the strength of it; she liked the calloused roughness of the palm. “Bo.”

“I'm thirty-three, single, no criminal record. Got thumbs-up my last physical. I run my own business. Goodnight's Custom Carpentry. And
I've got this real estate thing with a partner. The pal I came to that party with. I can get you references, medical reports, financial statements. Please don't disappear again.”

“How do you know I'm not married with three kids?”

His face went blank. It actually paled. “You can't be. There is no God so cruel.”

Enjoying him now, she angled her head. “I could be a lesbian.”

“I've done nothing in my life to earn such a vicious slap by Fate. Catarina, it's been thirteen years. Give me a break.”

“I'll think about it. It's Reena,” she added. “Friends generally call me Reena. I've got to go. I've got people coming over.”

“Don't disappear.”

“Not until my mortgage is paid off. It's been interesting meeting you, Bo.”

She slipped back inside, left him standing there.

T
hey brought food, of course. And wine. And flowers. And most of her furniture.

Since they were moving her in, Reena decided she'd better get in the spirit. She made trips back to the apartment over Sirico's for boxes, for suitcases packed with clothes. For a last good-bye.

She'd been comfortable here, she thought. Maybe too comfortable. Comfort could become a rut if you didn't keep an eye out. But she'd miss being able to dash downstairs for a meal, or just to chat. She'd miss the easy routine of strolling up the block and stepping into her parents' home.

“You'd think I was moving to Montana instead of a few blocks away.” She turned to her mother, saw the tears swimming. “Oh, Mama.”

“It's silly. I'm so lucky to have all my children close. But I liked having you right here. I'm proud that you bought a house. It's a good, smart thing to do. But I'll miss knowing you're right here.”

“I'm still right here.” She lifted the last box. “Part of me worries that I've taken on more than I can handle.”

“There's nothing my girl can't handle.”

“Hope you're right. And remind me of that the first time I have to call the plumber.”

“You call your cousin Frank. And you should talk to your cousin Matthew about the painting.”

“Bases covered.” Reena walked to the door, waited for her mother to open it. “And I've got a handyman right next door.”

“You don't hire somebody to work in your house if you don't know him.”

“Turns out I do—or he knows me.”

She told Bianca the story as they finished loading the car and started the short drive to the new house.

“He sees you once at a party when you're in college? And he's smitten.”

“I don't know about smitten. He remembered me. And he's very cute.”

“Hmmm.”

“He took it well when I threatened to cuff him.”

“So, maybe he's used to it. Maybe he's a criminal. Or he enjoys bondage.”

“Mama! Maybe he's just a cute, slightly strange guy with a great butt and power tools. Mama, I'm a big girl. And I carry a gun.”

“Don't remind me.” Bianca waved it away. “What kind of name is Goodnight?”

“It's not Italian,” Reena murmured. She pulled up, then watched the door of the house next door open. “Well, it looks like you're going to get the chance to judge for yourself.”

“That's him?”

“Um-hmm.”

“Good-looking,” Bianca commented, then stepped out of the car.

He'd cleaned up, Reena noted. His hair was still a bit damp, and he'd put on a fresh shirt—ditched the tool belt.

“Saw you hauling stuff in. Thought maybe you could use a hand. Can I get this out of the way?” he said to Bianca. “Wow, beautiful women run in the family. I'm Bo, from next door.”

“Yes, my daughter told me about you.”

“She thinks I'm crazy—because I gave her pretty good reason. I'm generally less bizarre.”

“So, you're harmless.”

“God, I hope not.”

It made her smile. “Bianca Hale, Catarina's mother.”

“It's nice to meet you.”

“You've lived here long?”

“No, actually, only about five months.”

“Five months. I don't remember seeing you in Sirico's.”

“Sirico's? Best pizza in Baltimore. I get delivery all the time. The spaghetti and meatballs is incredible.”

“My parents own Sirico's,” Reena said as she popped the trunk.

“Get out. Seriously?”

“Why don't you come in,” Bianca said, “have a meal?”

“I will. It's just I've been working pretty much round the clock the past couple months, and—Here let me get those.” He nudged Reena aside to pull out boxes while he addressed her mother. “I haven't been seeing anyone—dating—just recently. I don't like eating alone in a restaurant.”

“What's wrong with you?” Bianca asked. “Young, good-looking. Why don't you date?”

“I do—I mean, did. Will. But I've had a lot of work, and I'm working on this place in my spare.”

“Have you been married before?”

“Mama.”

“We're having a conversation.”

“It's not a conversation. It's an inquisition.”

“I don't mind. No, ma'am, no marriages, no engagements. I've been waiting for Reena.”

“Stop it,” Reena ordered.

“We're having a conversation,” he reminded her. “Do you believe in love at first sight, Mrs. Hale?”

“I'm Italian. Of course I do. And call me Bianca. Come in, meet the family.”

“I'd love to.”

“Slick,” Reena muttered as he stepped aside for Bianca to enter.

“Desperate,” he corrected.

“Just put that down there.”

“I can take it where it goes.”

“For now, it goes there.” She pointed to the base of the steps, closed the door.

“Okay. I like your mother.”

“Why shouldn't you?” She took off her sunglasses, tapped them against her palm as she studied him. “You might as well come on back—and remember, you asked for it.”

She walked back toward the kitchen, avoiding a couple of her nephews who raced in the opposite direction. In the kitchen, sauce was simmering on the stove, wine was being poured, and several arguments were taking place at once.

“This is Bo,” Bianca announced, and silence fell. “He lives next door. He's a carpenter and has a crush on Reena.”

“Actually, I'm pretty sure she's the love of my life.”

“Will you stop.” But Reena laughed as she shook her head. “This is my father, Gib, my sister Fran, her husband, Jack, one of the kids running out of here was their son, Anthony. This is my sister Bella—the other one streaking by was her son Dom; her other kids, Vinny, Sophia and Louisa, are around somewhere. My brother Xander, and his wife, An; their baby is Dillon.”

“It's nice to meet you.” Fran offered him a smile. “Can I get you a glass of wine?”

“Sure, thanks.”

“Fran and Jack manage the restaurant for my parents. Bella's husband couldn't make it by today. Xander and An are doctors, and work at the neighborhood clinic.”

“It's nice to meet everyone.”

She knew what he saw. The tall, handsome man at the stove giving him a careful measure. Lovely, pregnant Fran pouring wine, while redheaded Jack gave their redheaded daughter a piggyback ride. Bella leaning against
the counter in her designer shoes and country club hair. Xander sipping wine and standing beside his gorgeous golden-skinned wife as she burped their six-week-old infant.

Of course the questions came popping out from all directions, but he fielded them easily enough. And didn't seem surprised to see the Italian, Irish, Chinese mix in the kitchen of a nearly empty row house.

He slid into the flow so easily, she was surprised to hear him say he was an only child when asked about his family.

“My parents split when I was a kid. I grew up in PG County. My mother lives in North Carolina now. My father's out in Arizona. I guess my partner's like my brother. We've known each other forever. Maybe you remember him,” he said to Reena. “He dated a girl who knew Jan, went to Maryland. I think her name was Cammie.”

“No, sorry. I didn't socialize all that much in college.”

“She spent most of her time studying,” Bella put in, with the slightest smirk. “Then she had her heart broken by tragedy.”

“Bella.” Bianca's voice was sharp as a whip.

“Oh, for God's sake, it was years ago. If she's not over it, she ought to be.”

“When someone dies, they stay dead no matter how many years pass.”

“I'm sorry.” Bo turned to Reena.

“You don't have anything to apologize for,” she said with a long look at her sister. “Here, have some antipasto.” She picked up a platter. “Until I get a dining room table, we'll be eating standing up or sitting on the floor.”

“I could make you one.”

“One what? A table?”

“Yeah. It's one of the things I do. Actually, my favorite thing. Building furniture. Give me an idea what you want, and I'll make you a table. Ah, like a housewarming deal.”

“You can't just make me a table.”

“Hush.” Bianca moved in. “You do good work?”

“I do exceptional work. I offered her references before. Maybe you know Mr. and Mrs. Baccho, over on Fawn Street?”

Bianca's eyes narrowed. “I know them. Dave and Mary Teresa. You're the boy who did their china cabinets.”

“The oak and glass built-ins. Yeah, that's my work.”

“It's good work.” Her gaze slid toward her husband. “I'd like something like those. Come in here, look at the dining room.”

“Mama.”

“It doesn't hurt to have him look,” Bianca called back, and drew Bo away.

An passed the baby to Xander. She was a tiny thing, barely five feet with a glossy wedge of coal black hair and deep black eyes. She plucked a stuffed mushroom from the platter Reena held. “He's hot,” she murmured. “Serious hotness factor.”

“I haven't moved in yet, and she's got me dating the boy next door.”

“Hey, worst you can do is get a free table out of it.” She grinned around the mushroom. “And the guy looks like he can swing a hammer to me.”

“I heard that innuendo,” Xander called out.

“I'm going to go separate them.” Reena handed the platter to An and walked quickly to the dining room.

Her mother was gesturing, holding her hands apart, talking about necessary seating.

Bo looked over, patted a hand on his heart. “She just walks into the room and my head spins.”

Reena arched her eyebrows. “You're going to want to take that down a few levels.”

“It's my first day, so you need to cut me some slack. We're thinking drop leaf. That way, you'd have the smaller size, and the extension for dinner parties and family meals without the bother of the leaves.”

“I don't know what I want yet.” About tables, she thought, about you. About anything but the job. “I can't just say.”

“I'll make you up a few designs. Get the ball rolling. It's the same setup I've got next door, so I can use my space for measurements. Lots of potential here.” He smiled at her. “Unlimited potential. I'd better go.”

“You should stay,” Bianca objected. “Eat.”

“Thanks, I'll take a rain check. You need anything,” he said to Reena, “I'm right next door. I wrote down my number.” He pulled a card out of his pocket. “Cell's printed on there, home number's on the back. You need anything, just call.”

“All right. I'll walk you out.”

He handed her his wineglass. “That's okay. I know the way. You stay with your family. I'll be in for that meal, Bianca.”

“See that you are.”

Bianca waited until she was sure he was out of earshot. “He has good manners. He has good eyes. You should give him a chance.”

“I've got his number.” Reena stuffed it in her pocket. “I'll think about it.”

The fire started in the attic of a lovely old brownstone on Bolton Hill. The upscale neighborhood had pretty little parks, and leafy trees lining the streets.

The occupants had lost the entire third story, most of the roof and portions of the second floor. As the fire had started mid-morning on a weekday, no one was home.

An alert—or nosy—neighbor had spotted the smoke and flames and called the fire department.

Reena read through the reports as they headed to the scene.

“No signs of forced entry. Owners have a security system. Weekly housekeeper has the code. Fire inspector has the point of origin in the attic. Newspapers, the remains of a matchbook.”

“Nice neighborhood,” O'Donnell commented.

“Yeah. I poked around here a little when I was shopping for a house. Just kept winding back to the old neighborhood.”

“Nothing wrong with that. Heard you've got an interesting neighbor.”

Her eyes narrowed on his face. “How'd you hear about that?”

“Maybe your father mentioned it to John, maybe John mentioned it to me.”

“Maybe you all should find more interesting things to talk about than my boy next door.”

“Got no criminal.”

“You did a run on him? For God's sake.”

“Safety first.” O'Donnell winked at her, then slid into a parking spot at the curb. “Speeding ticket about six months ago.”

“I don't want to know.” She got out of the car, rounded to the back for her field kit.

“Single, no marriage on record.”

“Shut up, O'Donnell.”

He got his own kit. “Got his business licenses for Baltimore and Prince Georges counties. Lists a PG County address for business. That's his partner's place. Your guy moves around a lot. Relocates about every six, eight months.”

“This is so intrusive.”

“Yeah.” O'Donnell had a spring to his step as he walked toward the house. “That's what makes it fun. See, what he does is he and his partner buy buildings—houses mostly—then do the fixer-upper deal, turn them. Your boy—”

“Not my boy.”

“Your boy moves in, works from inside, gets the place tuned up, sells it, buys another, moves on. Been doing it last ten or twelve years, looks like.”

“Good for him. Now maybe we could focus on the job instead of my life.”

She studied the building first, the scorching on the brown brick, the angles of the roof collapse. She took pictures for the file. “Report says the attic door and window were open.”

“Get some nice cross-ventilation going that way,” O'Donnell commented. “Stored stuff up there, like you do. Off-season clothes, holiday decorations. Good fuel.”

“Neighbor's coming out,” Reena said quietly as she lowered the camera. “I'll take her.”

“Get started then.” O'Donnell hefted his kit and started for the door.

“Ma'am.” Reena drew her badge from her waistband. “I'm Detective Hale from the Baltimore City Police, Arson Unit.”

“Arson. Well, well.” The woman was tiny, dark-skinned and neat as pressed linen.

“My partner and I are doing a follow-up on the incident. Are you Mrs. Nichols? Shari Nichols?”

“That's right.”

“You reported the fire.”

“That I did. I was out in the back. I've got a little container garden out there. Smelled it first. The smoke.”

“That was about eleven
A
.
M
.?”

“About eleven-fifteen. I know because I was thinking my youngest would be home from kindergarten in about an hour, and that would be the end of the quiet.” She smiled a little. “She's a hellion.”

“How long had you been outside before you smelled smoke?”

“Oh, an hour maybe, if that. And I went back in about quarter of for a few minutes because I'd forgotten to bring out the phone. The fire inspector, he already asked me if I saw anyone around. I didn't.”

She looked up at her neighbor's house. “Damn shame. But thank God nobody was home, nobody was hurt. I can tell you it scared me, scared me good. The idea it could spread to my house.”

She rubbed a hand over her throat as she looked up at the blistered trim, the soot-blackened bricks. “The fire department came quick. Gives you some peace of mind.”

“Yes, ma'am. If you didn't see anything, maybe you heard something.”

“I heard the smoke alarms from inside the house. Didn't notice them at first. I had music on. But once I smelled the smoke, looked around and saw it coming out of the window up in the attic, I heard their smoke alarms ringing. I guess it's an awful mess inside. She won't care for that.”

“Sorry?”

“I only meant Ella Parker—the woman who lives there—she likes things just so. We have the same housekeeper, though I only use Annie once a month since I'm not working outside the home right now. Ella's fussy. She'd be as upset about the mess as she would the fire. That doesn't sound kind,” Shari added after a moment. “I don't mean to sound callous.”

“Do you and Mrs. Parker get along?”

“Well enough.” Reena heard the reservation in her voice, stayed quiet. “We're friendly without being friends,” she added after that long silence. “My middle boy plays with her oldest now and then.”

She shifted her feet, looked uncomfortable when Reena only nodded. “Do you really think this was arson, not just an accident?”

“We haven't made that determination.”

“Oh lord, oh hell. I guess I'd better say Ella and I had some words a few weeks ago. God.” She rubbed a hand at her neck. “I don't want the police thinking I had anything to do with this.”

“Why would we?”

“Well, we had some strong words, and we have the same housekeeper, and our kids played together. I'm the one who called nine-one-one. I was talking to my husband about this last night, and he says I'm looking for trouble. But I can't get it off my mind.”

“Why don't you tell me what you had words about.”

“The boys. Her Trevor and my Malcomb.” She blew out a breath. “I caught them hooking school three weeks back. Idiots. It was a pretty day so I decided to walk to school and pick my youngest up, thought I'd take her to the park, let her run off some of that steam she's always full of. And there they were, the two of them, running across the street to the park. Well, I can tell you I hauled off after them, put a bug in their ear and marched them both right to school.”

Reena allowed herself a smile. An adult female to adult female expression. “Bet they were surprised to see you.”

“Didn't have enough sense to keep out of sight. You're going to play hooky, at least do a good job of it.” She shook her head. “When Ella got home from work, I went over—with my boy—to fill her in. Before I know it, she's saying it's my kid's fault, and how I didn't have any right to put hands on her boy.”

She spread those hands now. “All I did was take his hand and march him to school, where he belonged. I'd appreciate someone who looked after my kid that way, wouldn't you?”

“Yes. Yes, I would. But Mrs. Parker was upset.”

“Pissed off is what she was. So I had words right back at her, saying next time I saw him on the street during school hours, I'd just walk right by. We said more, but you get the idea.”

“Can't blame you for being upset,” Reena prompted. “You were only trying to do the right thing.”

“And got told to mind my own business. Which if I had, her damn house would've burned down. Boys haven't played with each other since, and I'm sorry about it. But I can't have Malc running around as he pleases. According to him, it wasn't the first time Trevor had taken a school holiday, and he was scared enough to tell me the truth.”

“He claims Trevor skips school routinely?”

“Oh,
hell.
I don't want to get that child in any more trouble.”

“It'd be better for him, for everyone, if we had the facts, Mrs. Nichols. The more you can tell me, the quicker we can get all this put to rest.”

“Well. Oh well. I don't know about routine, but my boy says Trevor takes off occasionally, and talked him into joining the party this time. Doesn't excuse what Malc did, and he's been righteously punished for it. For the last three weeks I've been walking him to school every morning, picking him up every afternoon. Not much else humiliates a nine-year-old boy more than having his mama walk him to and from school.”

“My mother did the same with my brother once. He was twelve. I don't think he's lived it down yet.”

“Parents ought to be more worried about doing their job instead of being best pals with their kids, you ask me.”

“Is that the way it is next door?”

“Now I'm just gossiping,” Shari replied. “Not that I have anything against gossip. I'll say I don't see much discipline. But that's just my opinion, which my husband tells me I express much too often. Trevor runs a little wild, but he's a nice enough boy. I just want to say, I might not be on the best terms with Ella right at the moment, but I wouldn't wish this sort of thing on anybody. I think it must've been some freak accident. Spontaneous combustion or something.”

“We'll be looking into it. I appreciate the time.”

Reena went inside. She stood in the front hall, absorbing the tone and feel of the house. The fire hadn't come this far, but she could smell the smoke. Fire suppression had caused some minor damage. Soot and dirt on the floor, the stairs.

But she could see what the neighbor meant. Looking beyond the mess of emergency, everything was scrupulous. A gleam under the debris dust, flowers arranged just so in vases, color-coordinating cushions and drapes, all chosen to accent the tones of the walls, the tones in the art.

Upstairs, she found the same. The master bedroom had taken the worst. Blistered paint, scorched ceilings, water and smoke damage.

The duvet on the king-sized bed had caught, as had the coordinating curtains. The natural wood blinds were scorched.

She could see the path the fire had taken, down the attic steps, eating its way across the polished wood floor, gnawing on the antique rug.

She moved down the hall, found two home offices. More antiques, she noted, more careful decorating.

The boy's room was at the other end of the hall. It was big and airy, done in a soccer theme. Framed posters, lots of black and white with red splashes. Rigorously organized bookshelves. No scatter of toys, no piles of discarded clothes.

She took out the file, checked information. Then took out her phone and made a call.

O'Donnell was working through layers of debris when she picked her way carefully up the damaged steps.

“Nice of you to join me.”

“Had some background to check.” She glanced up, studied the sky. “Most of the fire headed up. They're lucky. Damage to the second floor's not that bad. Just smoke and water damage on the main floor.”

“No evidence of an accelerant so far. Point of origin, southeast corner.” He gestured as she took more photos. “Got the plywood, flashed the insulation behind it, traveled up, took the roof.”

She crouched, picked through debris with her gloved hands and pulled out the scorched remains of a snapshot. “Photographs. Pile of photos, probably the starter.”

“Yeah. Little bonfire of photos. Fire travels up, travels out. Storage bags, clothes inside, storage boxes, decorations inside, fueled it, carrying it down the stairs. Ventilated by the open window and the open door.”

“Have you checked for prints? Door handle, around the window frame?”

“Waiting for you.”

“Had a nice chat with the neighbor. Guess who likes to hook school?”

O'Donnell leaned back on his haunches. “Is that so?”

“Young Trevor Parker's been truant six times in the last three months. On the day of the fire, he was tardy, came in between eleven and eleven-thirty. Had a note,” she added, “claiming he'd had a doctor's appointment.”

She began to check for prints on the burned wood of the window frame. “The school has the students' medical information on record and was persuaded to give me the name of Trevor's pediatrician. He didn't have an appointment on the day in question.”

“Nothing in the report about that either,” O'Donnell pointed out. “Both adults were at work, until they were notified of the fire.”

“Got a thumbprint here. Small. Looks like a kid's to me.”

“I guess we'd better go have a talk with the Parkers.”

E
lla Parker was a buff and stylish thirty-eight. She was a senior vice president in marketing for a local firm, and came in to the station house carrying a Gucci briefcase. Her husband was her counterpart, heading the procurement department for a research and development organization.

He wore a Rolex and Italian loafers.

They'd brought Trevor with them, as requested. He was a small and wiry nine wearing two-hundred-dollar high-tops and a sullen expression.

“We appreciate you coming in,” O'Donnell began.

“If you have a progress report, we want to hear it.” Ella set her briefcase on the conference table in front of her. “We're dealing with insurance and estimates. We need to get back in the house as soon as possible so we can start repairs.”

“Understood. While we've determined the cause of the fire, there are still questions to be addressed.”

“I assume you've spoken with our former housekeeper.”

“Former?” Reena prompted.

“I fired her yesterday. There's no question she's responsible. No one else had our security code. I told you that was a mistake,” she said to her husband.

“She came highly recommended,” he reminded her. “And she's worked for us for six years. What possible reason would Annie have to start a fire in our house?”

“People don't need a reason to do destructive things. They just do them. Have you spoken with her?” Ella demanded.