Page 56 of Playing With Fire

Jodi stared at the images. “You’re suggesting that these fires are carefully planned. And that the arsonist wants them to look like an amateur bit of mischief.”

He drummed his fingers on the table. “It’s a working theory,” he said finally. “But without some serious lab work, I’m only guessing. And the Chief, to be frank, thinks it’s bullshit.”

Jodi felt the sudden, wild elation of hope. Until cold logic forced its way back.

“Still, the boys could have done this,” she admitted slowly. “They are smart, and they are survivors. No idea why they would do this, but they can search online as well as the next kid. And we know they sometimes roam around town on a school morning.” She let out a breath. “And we have confirmed sightings of them in parks and the retirement home.”

His eyebrows went up.

“I saw Ida at church, and she sees the twins a fair bit at the village. And Bubbles, I mean Everett Thompson, has spotted them regularly in the city parks.”

She ate a slice of pear. The cheese was looking lonely on the plate. Should she nuke some of the frozen Girl Scout cookies? Find that emergency dark chocolate lurking at the back of the larder?

Jodi forced herself to focus.

“Ida is sure that Josh and Judah wouldn’t hurt a fly. She thinks they hang around for the free cake. Some of the old dears make quite a fuss over them apparently.”

Ricky frowned. “They wander in and out? I can’t imagine that the manager would approve. Bonnie seems...”

“Overbearing? Controlling?”

Ida had also mentioned that Bonnie was planning to have her father’s handsome assistant deliver a series of talks and demonstrations to the residents about fire safety.

Jodi plowed on. “But Everett Thompson also told me, for the price of Bubbles demolishing a perfectly good pair of shoelaces and then sitting on my feet, that Bonnie seems to know the twins. At least, well enough to talk to them.”

Ricky grunted. “So, what else do we know about the boys...”

Jodi took a breath. “...we know that they have been smoking, because there’s no hiding that smell.”

Ricky leaned forward again. His knees were a strong, comforting warmth against her back. He ate another chunk of cheese, followed by a slice of pear, and sipped his wine with a hum of pleasure.

An idea tugged at the back of Jodi’s mind. Something about fires.

“Wait,” she said, sitting up straight. She grabbed her phone.

“There were other minor fire incidents last year. The council had set up an arts program after the pandemic to divert at-risk kids, and it closed when the money ran out. Some people blamed the trouble on the council for closing the program too soon. We ran a story. Had a couple of quotes from the mayor and...Bonnie Browning, of course. She was the programs officer. But maybe it was our firebug, just starting out.”

She twisted around and found herself almost face-to-face with Ricky, who was leaning forward. He smiled lazily and cocked his head. A question lurked in his eyes.

Jodi pulled back a fraction, out of the danger zone. Possibilities swirled in her mind. “I’ll get Dougie Moon onto it.”

Ricky stretched back in the chair. He swallowed a yawn. “Sorry. Early run this morning. These days I’m usually wearing my flannel jammies and drinking cocoa at nine o’clock at night. So, tell me again about this Dougie.”

Jodi pushed away the diverting image of Ricky padding around the house in rumpled pajamas.

“Dougie. Local boy, came back to town after college, mostly because the job market was flat as a pancake.” She shrugged. “Though that’s all changed, so I expect him to be heading for New York City any day. He’s ambitious, that’s for sure, though he fancies himself as an eco-warrior. And his real name is August.”

Ricky stifled a laugh. “August Moon?”

Jodi grinned. “His mom was into some hokey stuff before the millennium and...that’s what she called him. So being an actual millennial himself, he changed it as soon as he could to...um...reflect his own...his own whatever.” She rolled her eyes. “He’s a nice kid, but it’s time he did some real journalism instead of suggesting op eds about the kangaroo cull in Australia and the rising sea level in the South Pacific.”

“That’s a thing?”

“Yup.” She flicked through her contacts. “According to Dougie, you want to pat a kangaroo or snorkel in Fiji, you better do it soon.”

“Damn,” said Ricky thoughtfully. “Why would the Aussies cull those cute kangaroos? I mean, it’s not like they don’t have the space.”

She shrugged. Her thumbs flew across the keyboard.

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