“To see if you were angry enough to have lit the match?”
She nodded. “My brother asked me the same thing.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That I was here, watching TV with my dad all night. I’m not gonna lie,” she added, “I was plenty mad when Steven let me go. But I didn’t set that fire. My brother said the police will probably want to come and talk to me about it anyway, just to be sure.”
“And what will you tell them?”
“The truth,” she said. “That I love him.”
Bree gave me a small wave goodbye, her unlaced boots falling softly against the dirt as she retreated back to the warm glow of her parents’ house.
CHAPTER 17
In my hurry to get to Bree’s that morning, I’d forgotten the Pop-Tart I’d left on the counter, and my stomach had been growling since Melissa had opened her door, all those warm, luscious breakfast smells pouring out and taunting me. Somehow, I’d lost my appetite during our conversation in the barn, and I couldn’t muster the desire to stop on the way home for fast food. All I could think about as I turned onto my street was the reheated cup of coffee and Pop-Tart I hoped might be waiting for me.
My foot slammed on the brake less than a block from my house.
A strange sedan was parked in my driveway. Judging by the extra antennas on the roof, I was pretty sure it belonged to a cop.
No. This could not be happening. The fire had only occurred last night. In a different county. The police hadn’t even talked to Bree yet, and Vero and I hadn’t left anything at the trailer that could have led the cops here first. Had we?
As I eased the car into the driveway, my mind whirled over what Vero might have already confessed to them. Or what alibi she might have managed to come up with on the fly. Before I left for Bree’s, I’d washed our soot-stained clothes from the night before, but what about our shoes? We’d probably left evidence all over Vero’s car.
I parked the van, closing the garage door behind me, prepared to turn the police away if they hadn’t come with a warrant. My feet jolted to a stop as I stumbled into the kitchen.
Nick sat at my table, deep lines of concentration cutting into his brow. Delia sat on her knees in the chair opposite him. Propped on her elbows, she leaned across the table, watching him through the few remaining empty holes in her yellow Connect Four rack. Nick didn’t look up from their game, but I could feel the flick of his eyes as he registered my arrival.
Vero leaned against the counter behind them, grinning as she dried her hands on a dish towel.
No handcuffs. No warrants.
Nick’s partner, Joey, sat on the couch in the living room, his head tipped back, eyes closed, mouth open, his chest rising and falling in the slow, steady rhythm of sleep. Zach sat beside him, his attention glued to the TV as Blue’s Clues played softly in the background.
Vero pressed a finger to her lips as I closed the door, jutting her chin toward the table where my daughter and Nick were engaged in a game of strategy. Or maybe a test of wills.
“The detective came looking for you,” she whispered, too softly to be heard over the clatter of discs into the frame. “I told him you were out and you’d call him when you got home, but then Delia spotted him before he could get away.”
A mug of coffee steamed on the table in front of Nick. The open foil of the last Pop-Tart in the house—my Pop-Tart—glimmered beside it. He held a red disc poised over the top of the rack. One eyebrow rose as he glanced over at Delia and let the piece fall. “Connect Four.”
Delia’s jaw dropped. “You won?”
“It’s about time!” He leaned back in his chair, stuffing a corner of my Pop-Tart into his mouth and talking around it. “You’ve been clobbering me for the last half hour.”
She snapped open the lever at the bottom of the rack, sending a shower of red and black discs over the table. “Let’s play again.”
Vero pulled Delia’s chair back from the table, forcing her to abandon the pile of black discs she’d gathered toward her. “I’ve got a better idea. Let’s let your mom and Nick play a round.” My daughter blinked up at me, as if she’d only just realized I was home. She opened her mouth to object, but Vero held out the last of my Pop-Tart, bribing her from the kitchen.
“Be careful,” Delia warned me. “He’s sneaky.” She trotted away with a smug Vero in tow.
“Up for a game?” Nick laced his fingers together behind his head, his dark eyes twinkling as I sat in Delia’s abandoned seat.