Page 76 of Playing With Fire

She glanced behind her. Alma was doing a fine impression of a lookout as she wandered over to peer into the dense shrubs lining the path, all the while keeping an eye on Bonnie’s back as the manager grudgingly inspected minute cracks in the tennis court. Bob Ruskin had his hands on his knees, and they could hear words like “physio” and “black and blue”.

Jodi poked her head right through the doorway and instantly wished that she had brought a mask. The acrid air coated the back of her throat as she took a few tentative, shuffling steps into the murk. Unknown lumps crunched underfoot, and a fine spray of soot landed on the bare skin at the back of her neck.

The camera in her smart phone automatically switched on the flash, and Jodi took more photos before moving back carefully. Not carefully enough to avoid banging the back of her head on the door frame, sending a cascade of black grit down her back.

Elated by her achievement, Jodi was oblivious. With any luck, she thought, once they looked at the raw files, they would be able to see whatever was in the room. She slipped her phone in her pocket.

Two things happened at once.

Alma gave a breathy warning squeak which would have instantly ruled her out of any decent criminal gang, and Bonnie Browning came storming across the grass.

“Come out of there this instant, Jodi Ruskin! Didn’t you see the tape? It says, No Entry. And that means you, madam!”

Bonnie’s bosom heaved with anger. She ignored Bob Ruskin’s attempt to explain more about Doris’ bruised ribs, and did Bonnie agree that the court was a trifle slippery after rain and dangerous for nonagenarians?

“Just getting some shots of the interior,” said Jodi breezily. “Happy to share them with the village insurer.” She brushed away the soot which had magically appeared on her shoulders and tried her best to look sympathetic. “A lot of valuable equipment lost, I expect?”

“Not at all. A bunch of charred old rubbish,” snapped Bonnie. “Which is exactly what you look like.”

“Oh?” said Jodi. Shit, there was even soot in her hair. She probably looked like a chimneysweep. “Then probably a fire hazard.” She pursed her lips.

Bonnie’s eyes were daggers. “Don’t be ridiculous! I see where you are going! I can tell you, Ms. Nosy, that the only things inside were a bunch of decrepit tools and a few bottles of weed killer and anti-mold, and some old camping stuff.”

She stepped closer. “If you use those photos in that dreadful rag or quote a single thing I have said, my father will sue you so fast and so hard that you will lose every financial asset you have...I most certainly did not give you permission—”

“Organic?” Alma piped up. Bonnie blinked. “Organic, natural pesticides that don’t kill the birds? Some chemicals are poisoning the planet. We learned about this in school. You see, the birds eat—”

Bonnie’s voice was cold. “Thank you but I know what birds eat. Everything we use here is designed to protect the environment as well as our dear residents.”

She turned back to Jodi. Her gaze was calculating. “Disgusting burned out sheds are not the only thing you’re sniffing around, Jodi Ruskin,” she hissed.

Jodi’s skin prickled, and not just from the grit working its way down her spine. Bonnie zeroed in, oblivious to Alma’s lecture and the fascinated attention of Rev. Bob Ruskin, plus a couple of women in tracksuits carrying tennis racquets who had slowed down to watch.

“My impeccable sources tell me that local hero Ricky Sharp hasn’t come home to be a good son like he claims. So sad, what happened to him in New York City. Dreadful. And what a terrible way to find out the truth.” She shook her head.

Much as she wanted to walk away, Jodi was transfixed. She wanted to blurt out that she knew all about the fire thanks very much, and that Ricky had been the one to find Chrissie Caitens’ body, but the words stuck in her throat.

Bonnie’s last words hung in the silence.

The truth?

Bonnie continued. “And if I’m honest, I’ve got to say that Ricky has not shown a lot of gratitude for the folks who have tried to help by giving him a job and being a support.” She mimed zipping up her mouth. “But some of us know how to keep a secret.”

Alma, meanwhile, was clearly running out of content. “And don’t forget about the whales, they eat those teeny fish that start with a ‘k’ ...”

Jodi swallowed. She ignored the cold weight which had settled in her chest and pulled out her phone.

“Whoa! Is that the time? Gotta get this young lady here to her...ah...next thing.” She blew a kiss in the direction of her grandfather, who winked, and grabbed Alma’s hand.

“Thanks Bonnie,” Jodi trilled brightly. She headed off towards the parking lot at a sharp clip. “You’ve been a great help!”

A couple of minutes later they dived into the Miata, giggling as though they had been chased across a field by a large and angry bull. Jodi couldn’t resist pulling out her phone while Alma buckled up.

“Excellent,” she muttered, flicking through the photos. “Just a bunch of junk, but it’s the principle. A free press is what it’s all about Alma. Remember that.”

She checked for geriatric traffic and eased out into the road.

“Nice work, by the way,” Jodi said admiringly. She snuck a lightning glance at her small passenger. “We make a good team.”

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