Page 47 of Playing With Fire

“We were there, yeah. Hanging around.” His eyes shifted sideways briefly. “But we did not set a fire at the old folks’ home.”

Ricky heard a hiss of breath from Silas.

Josh nodded. “I mean, like, it’s full of old dudes. On walkers and shit.”

Ricky tamped down his rising impatience. Now he simply wanted to get this over, to make the best of a very bad lot.

“You need to tell the truth, boys,” he said gently. “What’s ahead now is going to be hard, I know that, but things will go better if you admit guilt and take your punishment.”

As one, the boys folded their arms and shook their heads. The seconds slipped by.

Ricky tried again. “So what were you up to?”

The boys glanced at each other but remained mute. The mute, stubborn and hopeless silence which is the only resistance of those who dwell outside the safety of home and family.

Ricky turned to Silas. He raised both eyebrows.

Your turn, his expression invited.

The tall, stocky man regarded his foster sons for a few more seconds. He gave a quick nod, as though signing off on a Wall Street deal.

“We’re done here,” Silas said. The old armchair gave a creak as he rose to his feet. “You can go, boys. After you’ve apologized to Hattie, you take yourselves outside and I want to see that woodpile up to the roof and every leaf off the lawn.”

The boys’ eyes lit up.

Ricky was aware of their quick, sideways glance, but he couldn’t tell if it was triumph or vindication. He stared at the preacher in disbelief.

“The woodpile, that’s it? I’m afraid this has gone way beyond Huck Finn. This is out of your hands, Silas, and mine too.”

Silas stood eye to eye with Ricky.

“I said, we’re done here,” Silas said calmly. “Because if Joshua and Judah say they didn’t light that fire, then I believe them.”

***

Jodi was waiting in her car outside the rectory, tapping away on her cell as she cobbled together her breaking story. Her chest was tight with tension.

Maybe, just maybe, she had been wrong about the twins. God knows that the two of them had had enough bad role models in their short life. Bad role models, plus being told often enough that they were worthless pieces of shit.

She glared at the hero shot, the Chief looking like St. Peter himself as he stared grimly at the mess inside the shed.

There were couple of hefty Browning quotes, father and daughter, which needed a judicious edit for length, political fluff, and legal minefields. And a few colorful bystander comments of the I-thought-the-whole-place-was-about-to-go-up variety.

According to the residents, the probable villains fell into two main camps: Al Qaeda and drug cartels from Canada. Jodi wasn’t planning to air either theory.

She sat up straight when Ricky’s tall figure slipped out the front door of the rectory and headed down the path. He walked with the compact stride of someone only just controlling their temper. His expression was grim.

She wound down her window. Cold air rushed in.

“Ricky.”

His eyes lit up. A brief smile softened his face, and Jodi felt a private, delicious thrill that snaked down to her toes. She couldn’t stop her own goofy grin.

“Hi,” she said inanely.

Was this what it was like to be in love, she wondered. To feel your heart soar at the sight of the other and to read that same secret joy in their face?

Girl, you are living in the clouds.

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