Page 8 of Whistle

My heart twisted. “I’ll pay you, then. I have my own money.”

Another awkward silence. “I’m sorry, but my calendar is full.”

“I’ll pay double your rate.”

Another pause. “What are the charges?”

“Arson.”

He made a sound and then disconnected the call.

I sat there for long moments, listening to the dial tone buzz in my ear. Then I pulled the phone down and redialed his number.

He didn’t answer.

I laid the phone on the table.

“You want a public defender?” the officer asked.

“What are your questions?” I replied.

He shuffled some papers on top of the table, then said, “I’d like you to walk me through your actions forty-eight hours ago at the address of 22614 Delaplane Road, Malibu.”

I wrinkled my nose. “I don’t know that address.”

“You don’t know a Rick and Maeve Cobalt? They have a son, Lucas Cobalt.”

My lip curled at the mention of Lucas, and unruly hate swept through me. “Well, considering Lucas is rotting in a cell for killing my sister, yeah, I guess I could say I know them.”

“And is that why you set fire to their home? Was this an act of revenge?”

The roar of fire filled my ears as my mind exploded with images of wild red and yellow flames devouring a white structure. I swallowed, tugged on a strand of my hair, and caught a whiff of the bonfire scent.

No. No way. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Suddenly out of patience, the man sat forward with intense, flashing eyes. “Cut the shit, Lawson. We have security camera footage of you dumping gasoline all over the bushes and perimeter of the Cobalt’s guest house. After you were done with that, you punched through a window and went inside where you started several fires, including one on the gas range, and then walked out the front door with a bottle of vodka, lit up a cigarette, and flicked the butt into the puddle of gasoline by the door.”

His description was vivid, enough so that my mind unlocked access to the scene and it played out inside my head, making it impossible to deny.

“It’s not a question of if you did this. We know you did. Do yourself a favor and cooperate. Maybe you’ll get four years instead of five.”

Trembling, I swallowed again. Wringing my hands, I said, “It was their guest house? Not their main house?” I didn’t really need the information. I remembered now. But I was fumbling, trying to make sense.

How could I let myself go that far off the deep end?

I am so fucked.

“That’s right. That’s why it’s second-degree arson and not first. You’re lucky no one was in the house.”

I stood there and watched it burn, feeling satisfaction and a sense of vindication that was nowhere to be found now. I stood there so long that Maeve and Rick came out of the house screaming.

Rick tackled me, and I fought back, smashing my fist in his nose, leaping to my feet.

“You took everything from me! My entire life, and you just sit here in your mansion with your money and your family and collect sympathy like you’re the ones who were wronged!”

The anger I spewed at them rivaled the flames devouring their guest house.

Rick launched himself at me, his fist slamming into me so hard I fell onto my ass.

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