Page 74 of Playing With Fire

“Can I play on Gramps’ iPad?” Alma asked hopefully.

The words sent a fresh pang of sadness through Jodi. For the first time, she understood the true depth of courage shown by foster parents. Not only nurturing the confused and often angry children who entered their homes and their lives, but knowing that parting was almost inevitable.

She drove through the town and then slowly down the winding lane to the retirement village, watching for runaway wheelchairs and senior citizens whizzing by on e-bikes.

“Sure, honey,” she told Alma, who was bouncing up and down in her seat, waving to some of her favorite old folk. “After you spend ten minutes at least in proper conversation. I know Gramps always asks you the same stuff, but that’s because he really is interested. Tell him something new.”

“Can I tell him about my mom?” Alma’s brown eyes were excited.

Jodi was momentarily thrown. “I guess so.”

Her mind flipped back to the two deeply unhappy teenagers who had been foisted on their grandfather more than a decade ago. Gramps, no doubt comfortable in his settled, widower life, enmeshed in church and community, had never by action or word made them feel unwanted. In fact, he had implied that their mom was bringing Jodi and Jaylee to live with him as a favor.

Bringing a gift. Not leaving a burden.

She shrugged off any further meandering down memory lane and parked. A sense of urgency, that they were running out of time to solve this mystery, had being growing on her all night.

“Now, I need to take some photos while we’re here, so you stay with Gramps.”

Alma appeared behind her, her day pack already on.

“What kind of photos? Like flowers and stuff?”

Jodi wrestled briefly with her conscience and decided that the partial truth was the best choice.

“There was a suspicious fire in the old garden shed, you know, over by the tennis courts? And I need some photos for The Monitor.”

“Suspicious? Like someone started it on purpose?” Alma sounded shocked.

Jodi nodded. “So you stay with—”

“Well, howdy!” A familiar voice boomed in the distance. Gramps, his face wreathed in smiles, was making his way down the pathway from the independent living units.

Alma waved vigorously. “Gramps,” she yelled. “We’re going to look at the fire and take pictures!”

“No way.” Jodi shook her head. “And keep your voice down, honey.”

Alma’s expression turned crafty. “I need a news story for current affairs on Monday. This is a scoop, right?”

Out of the corner of her eye Jodi saw Bonnie Browning appear, as though the manager had been lurking in the shrubbery.

“Shit,” muttered Jodi. “I mean, fine. But you can’t touch anything.”

Alma looked offended. “Of course not, I’m not a dummy. And this story is way better than telling people about our new kitten.” She frowned. “The one we have to give away.”

“What new kitten?” Jodi shook her head, puzzled. This was what came of trying to multitask, she reminded herself severely.

“It’s a rescue cat,” said Alma sadly. “Someone left it in a box on the doorstep, but Hattie says we gotta take it to the animal shelter because the twins are super allergic.”

***

It was a good ten minutes before The Temple Mountain Monitor investigative team headed for the scene of the crime.

Team, because there was no way Rev. Bob Ruskin was going to miss out on the excitement. And of course no one was going anywhere without Bonnie Browning.

“I’m afraid that official clearance is needed before taking photos or video on the premises,” Bonnie explained in a pleased voice, a little puffed from hurrying to catch them up. “So if you could apply through the usual channels—”

Bonnie’s heels and smart magenta knit dress made Jodi feel like a soccer mom in her old jeans and faded Toronto Raptors t-shirt.

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