Page 138 of Serving the Mogul

“Yes.” My throat was tight, and the word came out a whisper. I cleared my throat and said, “Is that why you’re here?”

I braced myself. I suspected I knew what she would say next.

“No.” She blew out a breath. “I did an initial review of the scene, along with one of my fellow marshals from the fire department. There are multiple parts of origin, which leads us to believe the fire was intentional.”

I stared at nothing, keeping my gaze fixed.

Beth leaned forward and said, “Ms. Siegler. Did you hear me?”

“Ys. Multiple parts of origin,” I said, the words curiously flat. “What does that mean?”

“The point of origin is just that,” Beth said. “Say there was a grease fire in the kitchen. The point of origin would be in the kitchen at the stove. There were four points of origin in your home, Tina, and traces of an accelerant, although that will take time to confirm.”

I straightened abruptly, and said, “Excuse me.”

I threw the phrase at her as I hurtled for the breakroom and my small, private restroom.

I barely made it.

Heaving up the coffee, the only thing I had this morning, my mind was lost in the churning of blood that roared in my ears. That blissful silence lasted only a few seconds, and then I heard myself retching.

“Here, take this.” Beth held a damp paper towel in an outstretched hand.

I don’t know how much time passed, but it was exactly what I needed. I dabbed my burning face and wiped my mouth.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“Of course. Take a few minutes, then come out and talk with us, okay?”

“Yes.” Eyes closed, I listened to the click of the door shutting behind her. Once I was alone, I stared at my pallid face in the mirror over the sink.

The fire had been intentional.

On purpose.

My stomach twisted again, but I breathed through it.

What the hell was going on? Right now, everything feels wrong.

They were talking quietly by the back door when I came out of the bathroom, squeaky hinges announcing me.

“I keep meaning to oil those,” I said.

“Are you ready to talk or do you need a few minutes?” Beth asked.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be ready. But let’s do this.” I went to the fridge and stared at it stupidly for a moment, memories of James and me flashing through my mind. Maybe I should have listened to him. I should’ve taken the day off with him, like he said. I would have James to help me through this, and not have to face this horrible news alone.

But now it was too late.

I opened the fridge and grabbed a ginger ale, then turned to face my unexpected—and not particularly welcome guests.

“So, it was intentional,” I said. “You mean like…arson.” It was difficult to say the word aloud. Hearing it made it seem more real.

“Yes.”

It was the man who spoke—Detective Baylor. “It looks like arson. The investigation is still ongoing, but considering what Beth already knows about the multiple points of origin, we don’t expect to uncover anything otherwise.”

Nodding, I clutched the green can in my hands. My fingers shook as I popped the tab. I focused on keeping my hand steady as I took one small sip, willing the soda to settle my stomach.

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