Page 78 of Playing With Fire

Jodi’s eyes skittered away briefly. “About that...Alma’s therapist cancelled, and she was really keen to see Gramps, so we...got there a bit early. And then things kind of took on a life of their own. I’m sorry.”

Ricky nodded. He guessed there was no rule that said a journalist had to wait for his permission before she took a few photos, even if she had indeed stepped over the crime tape as Bonnie insisted.

The phone bounced around again as she moved, and he caught a glimpse of greenery and a snatch of birdsong. Then Jodi’s ear, up close, and finally her face again.

“There is nothing I’d like better than to join you on that patio,” he said truthfully. “But I urgently need a shower. I smell like an ashtray that hasn’t been emptied in years. And I’m sure some of those spiders managed to creep into my boots.”

She looked away, twirling a lock of hair.

“This is not just a social call,” she said quietly.

Ricky’s spirits took another dive. He cursed his foolish heart.

“Of course. Yeah. Understand.” His voice was suddenly brisk. “So tomorrow morning? Your office? I should be fit for human company by then.”

She paused, choosing her words.

“I found something today that you need to see.”

That was definitely a guilty face. His expression tightened.

“You searched the crime scene—the taped-off crime scene—and removed evidence?” he ground out.

His mind began spinning with potential implications. None of them good.

“No,” she said patiently. “To both questions. I took photos, that’s it. However, my clever assistant Alma found something in the bushes nearby that she did...ah...put in her pocket. So this is me informing the appropriate authorities of that find and offering to hand it over like the good citizen and journalist that I am.”

There was silence. Ricky stared at his phone, only now noticing that the late afternoon light had faded into darkness. The reception area of the village still blazed with light, and he had the uncomfortable thought that Bonnie Browning was in her office, peering through the blinds so she could catch him before he left.

He started the truck, just as a shadow crossed behind the blinds.

“Five minutes.” He ended the call and peeled out of the parking lot.

***

“So what does an old matchbook prove? That the pizza shop in Seneca Falls gave out so many freebies that they are still circulating in the old folks’ home?”

“But Silas told us that they found the boys’ stash three months ago. So, they didn’t leave that matchbook. Someone else did. Someone who wants to incriminate the twins.” Jodi tried to remain patient.

“Maybe.” Frustrated, Ricky ran his fingers through his damp hair, which now stood up in dark spikes. “None of this is evidence. Especially when the so-called evidence has been removed from the scene.”

Jodi bristled, though she knew he was right. Any first-year journalism student knew that much basic law. She ruthlessly squashed a warm buzz of pleasure that Ricky had showered at her place and seemed to be making himself right at home.

And in spite of her determination to stay on task, to keep things purely professional, the worm of suspicion planted by Bonnie would not be dismissed.

Ricky was stretched out on the lounger, feet crossed and a cider in his hand.

Maybe she should ask him straight out. Jodi looked up from drawing circles in the condensation on the coffee table and realized he was waiting.

“There are a couple of possibilities. Just because the boys pocketed a couple of packets doesn’t mean that there aren’t more matchbooks out there. Maybe everyone in town still has a bunch from the pizza place in their top drawer. And, well a lot of folks do collect stuff...”

Ricky’s gaze was thoughtful. “Coincidence? Conspiracy? Collusion?”

Jodi rolled her eyes. “This is not helping, is it?” she said sadly. She peeled at the label of her cider bottle, frowning at a chipped nail. This whole mess, and that included Ricky Sharp, was ruining her carefully curated life.

“I’m sorry, but a matchbook in the bushes doesn’t rule the boys in or out.” His sudden smile made her treacherous heart flip flop like a teenager. “But I agree. Too many coincidences.”

He put his cider on the table and sat up, pulling his jacket close. He shook his head at her offer to move inside out of the chill.

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