Page 15 of Good Girl and Grinches

In the couple of days we’ve been playing house, I burned energy and time shoveling snow, but pretending nothing happened, forcing trite conversation over meals, and stealing away to our separate rooms is killing me. I’m almost glad it’s Monday.

I tell her, “I have to work today, but let me know if you need to run any errands.”

“Like getting a Christmas tree? Why don’t you have one? Or even decorations?”

“We don’t do that festive stuff.”

“Festive stuff… like celebrate Christmas?”

“What’s the point?”

“You’re kidding, right?” She seems stunned.

“I guess we got burned out—celebrating with Mom, then with Dad and your mom, then extended family stuff…”

“So the three of you don’t do anything?”

Seeing the light drain from her crushes me. “I’ll take you out to get a tree and decorations tonight if it will make you happy.”

“It would, and if I’m going to stay here, I need to get my own clothes and a few other things, like my laptop so I can keep working on my event-planning mini-courses.”

“Your courses, you’ve been at them for a while. How are they going?” I’m more than willing to change the subject.

“About five more months and I’ll be done. I’m doing a lot of networking with local vendors.”

“Why don’t you tell me all about it while we run to your place. I’ll take you before I start work.”

Not wanting to let her go alone, I drive her to her house. I scan the street as we approach. And when I go inside with her, I’m assessing every little detail. The perfectly aligned photos on the wall. The pottery she’s designed, thrown, and painted, is spaced evenly on her shelves. Colorful sticky notes are placed in a tidy square on her fridge.

But something is off. My investigative instincts kick in. The same ones that used to tell me when to pull my crew out of a burning building. The same ones that tell me which charred remnants to overturn in an investigation. The same ones that are about to take my career to the next level.

“Do you see my sketchbook?” she asks as she exits her bedroom.

I step toward an end table and point at a notebook teetering on top of a pencil—the only thing in the room that isn’t orderly.

Her expression falls as she picks the notebook and pencil up. “I don’t remember setting…” Her voice trails off, then after amoment, she adds, “I was sketching before the auction. When I realized how bad the roads were getting, I rushed out, probably set it down without thinking.”

I let her have the assessment. It’s reasonable.

My phone buzzes. A message from Ghost:Same accelerant signature as warehouse blaze. It appears a timer was used. Also have a new fire to investigate.

The warehouse is one of the fires we’ve pinned on Ty. A timer? That means Ty’s presence at the auction doesn’t preclude him from being a suspect.

Confirming that Sabrina has what she needs, I guide her to the car, fighting to keep my expression neutral. Whatever game Ty’s playing, he won’t get near her again.

Ten

Sabrina

Paint-your-own pottery night has always been fun but this time I fidget with my lip-gloss tube while staring blankly at the next nesting doll I’m going to paint out of the set of four.

Everything’s been crazy in the days since the auction. I’m horrified by the events Naomi endured between her father trying to sell her and being held against her will. Her tragedy is real.

Meanwhile, my own drama seems imaginary. Sure, my sketchbook was out of place, and yeah, Ty gave off serious creeper vibes at the auction. But that’s it.

Thankfully everything worked out okay for Naomi. I hope for the same.

Hanging out with my girlfriends this evening marks the first time I’m away from my stepbrother’s watchful eye. Flame didn’t like the idea of me going alone, but I insisted I'd call when I got there and when I was heading home.

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