Page 1 of Burning Caine

Chapter 1

Samantha

ThereweredaysIthought my job title should be Professional Lie Detector. I crested the top of the ladder and stepped onto the roof. Sure enough, within ten seconds, I knew it was one of those days.

Frowning, I knelt and ran a gloved hand across one of the golf-ball-sized dents in the reinforced metal. One among dozens. There was no way hail had caused this damage. I snapped several pictures with my phone, using a tape measure to document the roof’s condition.

My phone buzzed before I could finish, displaying Cliff’s name. My boss. What did he want?

“Samantha Caine speaking.”

“Sam, system says you checked in at Clark Orchards for an estimate on the machine shed. That accurate?”

“Yeah.”

“Status?”

“It’s the worst hail damage I’ve ever seen.” I rolled my eyes and walked the length of the thirty-foot shed, mentally cataloging each dent. “Looks like a hundred-year storm opened up right above the building and then vanished into the night.”

“Come again?”

I took off my ball cap to wipe the sweat from my brow while I scanned the orchard. The blossoms on the apple trees had long since faded, and the fruit was just big enough to see. No apples on the ground or signs of damage. I closed my eyes and inhaled the fresh country air deeply, imagining I was back out on the road instead of stuck in small-town Michigan again.Dealing with my fifth fraudulent claim since I’d moved home a month ago didn’t help.

Tucking my long ponytail under the hat when I put it back on, I let go of the sarcasm. “The house roof, gutters, and downspouts are all fine. The machine shed roof, on the other hand, is covered in indentations one inch in diameter. One inch. Cliff, every single dent is exactly the same size.”

“Another fraud?”

“Looks like. Policyholder says he hasn’t gotten up here to look at it—afraid of heights. Contractor came by to tell him he was doing roofs in the area after the hailstorm and that the shed was banged up. I’d bet a month’s pay someone went to town with a ball-peen hammer. So, the insured’s lying, the contractor did it, or both. Either way, I’m sending it to the Special Investigations Unit.”

“Good call. How much longer you need?”

“I have to finish my inspection, talk to the insured, and update the system. Shouldn’t be more than another hour. Maybe hour and a half max.”

“Pretend you’re lazy for a minute,” he said, and I suppressed a laugh. “Do the bare minimum and skip the system till you’re in the office.”

Something was up. Postponing work, especially updates in the claims management software system, wasn’t like Cliff.

“I need you off that claim ASAP. The old man called about a friend of his—had a house fire this morning. Mike already picked up the property portion, but there’s a specialty artwork claim on a high-value painting by someone named Chah-gull.”

Chagall, I mouthed, shaking my head.

“Name of the painting’s not English. I’m not gonna try to say it. Sounds like the artwork loss will top the dwelling and contents losses.”

I bit my lip to keep quiet. If Cliff was calling because Roger Foster, president of Foster Mutual, wanted me on this, it was going to be something interesting. Something I could dig my hungry teeth into. Paintings by Chagall could run from the tens or hundreds of thousands, and sometimes even north of a million dollars. It had been too long since I’d handled something juicy. I made my way to the ladder; I’d completed enough for the referral to SIU.

“You’ve got the expertise, so I want you over there when the fire investigator and medical examiner leave. I’ll send you the details, but the police should be ready for you in thirty.”

He hung up before I could say anything else, so I pocketed my phone and headed down the ladder. This claim was going to be a big deal. An M.E. meant there’d been a death.

I stored my gear in the truck and grabbed one of my business cards. As I rang the doorbell, my phone buzzed, likely Cliff’s details on the Chagall claim.

The homeowner opened the door. “All done?” He didn’t step into the house to imply I was welcome, and I didn’t try to enter.

“Yes, Mr. Clark, I’m done,” I said. “I’m afraid the damage on the machine shed roof is inconsistent with what I was expecting to see. I’ll have to forward it over to our Special Investigations Unit for some additional attention. You can expect to hear from one of our team within the next two business days.”

His eyebrows knit together as he processed what I’d said. “So, you aren’t going to replace the roof?”

“In the meantime,” I said as I offered my business card, which he didn’t reach for. “My contact information is on my card, so you can call with any questions you may have about my visit. The general claims support line is on the back in case you want to speak with someone about any further steps we’ll be taking.”

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