Читать книгу Out Of The Ashes - Cynthia Reese, Cynthia Reese - Страница 12

CHAPTER FOUR

ROB TOOK ADVANTAGE of Kari’s flustered silence to let his gaze slide around the kitchen. It was straight-up middle class suburbia, updated sometime in the past few years with granite counters and stainless steel appliances, but Rob knew a working kitchen when he saw one. And this kitchen? It wasn’t a working kitchen.

This one wasn’t like Ma’s—it showed none of the telltale wear that a kitchen offers when it’s used every day. No, Chelle Hendrix’s kitchen looked fresh out of a home improvement store brochure. And there was something about it that made him think that the whole thing was a wannabe setup. The appliances didn’t look substantial enough for the industrial look they aspired to. The floor and the cabinets and the hardware were all too...shiny, perfect, basically unused. There were no scuffmarks, no scratches, no worn finish around the doorknobs. Ma’s kitchen was scrupulously clean and cared for, but worn around the edges. This kitchen? It was too pretty to be a working kitchen.

But it sure smelled like a working kitchen. Something golden brown and delicious assailed Rob’s nostrils—blueberry muffins, if he knew his baked goods, and thanks to Ma and a family of good cooks, he did.

The guy who’d let Rob in—there was enough resemblance in the face to peg him as Kari’s brother—lounged against the too-pretty stainless steel fridge. “So, cool, you’re with the police, huh? I thought you were Kari’s main squeeze.”

Kari coughed in embarrassment. “Jake, Mom, this is Rob Monroe. He’s—what did you tell me? Fire marshal and arson investigator? He’s determining the cause of the fire at the bakery.”

“You mean the whole downtown, huh, sis?” her brother corrected.

There was something of a smirk in that correction. Rob couldn’t explain the instant and visceral dislike that flared up within him at Jake’s response. Maybe it was because, despite all the teasing that the Monroe brothers inflicted on their sisters, they knew the value of basic human kindness. He’d never kick Maegan, Cara or DeeDee when they were already down.

But not everybody was like him or his brothers. He pushed the thought away and concentrated on Kari’s reaction. Her head bowed, and she managed a tiny nod.

“Yes. You’re right, Jake. It wasn’t just my shop that burned. Thanks for reminding me not to be so self-absorbed.”

Rob did a double take. Kari’s tone was completely devoid of sarcasm—in fact, a mix of humility and gratitude bubbled up out of her words.

If he’d been surprised that she hadn’t clocked her brother, he didn’t miss the flash of irritation in Jake’s expression.

“Oh, yeah, Miss Goody Two Shoes. Guess you’ll be wading in and saving the day, huh?” Jake retorted.

Kari’s mouth compressed in real anger. Before she could say anything, Chelle piped up, “Jakey! Don’t poke fun at your sister!”

Chelle could have been talking to a nine-year-old, not someone about Rob’s age. But it must have given Kari the distraction she needed, because Rob heard her draw in an audible breath. He looked around to see her place both hands on the counter and press down hard. Control was obviously very important to Kari Hendrix.

“You’re right, Jake. You know me way too well. I really should do something for those folks. They’ll be going through and trying to salvage things now—right, Rob? The buildings have been released? People can go through them?”

Rob considered this. “Yes and no. If the building in question is structurally sound, then they can go in during daylight hours. But some of the structures will need to be reinforced. And...well, yours is a crime scene.”

Kari bit her lip. “Right.” She turned to her mother. “Mom, do you mind if I use up the rest of the blueberries and the flour? I’ll buy you some more. But I want to make a big batch of muffins for my downtown neighbors... Jake’s right. It’s not just about me. They’re going through the same thing I am.”

Chelle waved her hand expansively. “Mi kitchen es su kitchen, I told you that. Jakey, go get some money out of my purse and run to the grocery and get her whatever she needs, okay? She’ll make a list.”

Jake barely concealed a roll of his eyes. “Sure, sure. I’ll grab her a superhero cape while I’m at it. I think they’ve got ’em on aisle three. Hey, sis, just text me the list, okay? I’m outta here.”

He sauntered out of the kitchen, presumably toward wherever Chelle kept her purse.

The timer beeped on the oven. It galvanized Kari. She called after Jake, “Wait! The muffins! You said you were hungry?”

His reply wafted back toward the kitchen. “I’ll grab a honey-bun or something.” The front door banged shut.

Rude. Just plain rude and inconsiderate. Ma would have skinned any of her children who turned down home-cooked food as it was coming out of the oven.

Not everybody was raised by Ma. You can’t judge people by Monroe standards. Isn’t that what you’re always telling Daniel and Andrew?

Rob drew his thoughts back from his brothers and pinned his attention on Kari. It wasn’t hard to do—not with her pulling a delicious-smelling pan of muffins out of the oven.

These were huge, puffy confections, studded with steaming volcanoes of blueberries. His fingers itched to snatch one up.

Kari must have read his mind. “You’ll have one, won’t you, Rob?”

“Uh, sure. If you have enough.”

“Don’t worry. I’m cooking more for the downtown folks.” She smiled—a sweet curve of her lips that warmed her face in a way he hadn’t seen on her before. “Can I get you some coffee?”

“I guess I’ll take you up on that muffin. I don’t know, though, about the wisdom of me having more coffee. I’ve had something like six cups already since four, and I’m wired as a coat hanger. Maybe I’d better just have some water.”

“Milk,” Kari said instead, firmly, confidently. “Milk would go better with the muffins, and you look like the sort of fellow who would enjoy a glass of milk.”

“Yeah. That sounds perfect.” He pulled out a chair beside Chelle and watched as Kari deftly turned the muffins out in a wide shallow bowl. They came out perfectly, like something that would be in the pages of a cookbook or a magazine. His mouth watered as Kari set the bowl down on the table between him and Chelle. With quick efficient movements, Kari grabbed a stack of small plates from the cupboard.

“Let me get that milk,” she added as she set the plates down beside him with a clatter.

Kari was back in a flash, pouring two glasses of milk. As she handed him the milk, Rob saw that her face was still suffused with that warm expression. This was a different Kari from this morning, a confident, poised Kari who seemed to feel comfortable in her own skin, doing what came naturally to her.

Feeding others. Taking care of others. Rob had seen that same level of comfort and confidence in his mom and his sisters and even his brothers as they’d done the same thing.

The Monroes were like that, too—squirmy when the microscope was turned on them. He understood how a person could be uncomfortable with attention focused on herself, and then completely at ease when she could focus on the needs of others.

“Oh, Kari, you outdid yourself on these,” Chelle told her after an enthusiastic bite from her muffin.

Kari smiled, ducked her head. “Thanks, Mom,” she murmured as she tested one for herself.

Rob liked that. No “aw, shucks, it was nothing,” no “These? These are horrible!”

Now he tried one of the muffins. It was like biting into a piece of paradise: warm and comforting and with a burst of summer as a blueberry exploded into his mouth. The balance of sweetness and earthiness mingled perfectly, along with just the right cross of crunch and chew.

“Wow.” He managed to swallow the bite of muffin and not instantly stuff the rest of it in his mouth. Self-control. That was the ticket.

“You like it?” Kari glanced at him shyly.

“It’s head and shoulders above my attempts. But then, I do use one of those boxed mixes,” Rob admitted. He took a bigger bite of the muffin, trying to decide if it would be bad to eat two or three or the whole bowlful.

Kari shuddered. “Ugh. Really—I know I’m talking myself out of a job here—but muffins are just as easy to make from scratch as a box. And so much better.”

“You’ll have to teach me sometime.”

Chelle scarfed the rest of the muffin and said with a wink to Rob, “Oh, you can’t trust Kari. I follow her same recipe, and mine never turn out like this. She leaves something out when she writes it down.”

“I don’t,” Kari protested with a laugh. “You saw me, Mom. You saw me cook them in front of you. Just follow the recipe and don’t overmix. That’s the only secret.”

At the word secret, some of Kari’s confidence seemed to wilt. It was as if she had been instantly reminded of the morning’s events. She put down the half-eaten muffin and stared across the table at Rob.

“So you had some questions,” she said.

Rob let the sweetness from the muffin linger in his mouth for a second longer before he washed it away with a swig of milk—and like the muffin, it was perfect: not too cold, not too warm, no ice to mess it up, an exactly appropriate amount of bubbly froth ringed around its surface.

He dragged his thoughts back from the task of filling his belly...and from his appreciation of the woman who’d provided the food to do that. “Yes. Oh, and you’ll need to give a formal statement sometime today. You left this morning before I could finish.”

“Ha. That’s a polite way of putting it. I tucked my tail between my legs and ran,” Kari said. She toyed with a muffin, shredding it between fingers that were long and slender but still managed to look as though they could manhandle a bowlful of bread dough.

“Well...yeah. Mind telling me why that was?”

“It was—just too much. That bakery is my dream, the goal I’ve worked toward since I was fifteen. To see it all up in smoke and know that somebody intentionally did it...” Kari trailed off.

“But you did the same thing, didn’t you?” Rob scrutinized her face for any reaction his provocative question gained him. “You burned down someone’s dream, right?”

He’d not been able to pull up the case, so he was flying blind here. He had run Kari’s name through the system, and it came up clean except for the sealed record she’d had as a juvie. Not anything else—not so much as a parking ticket in the years since she was fourteen.

That 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?”