Page 54 of Heating Up (Nugget)
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Clay’s mouth pinch tight.
“We didn’t mean it to happen,” Sean said.
Aidan took a deep breath and nodded. “This time you boys were lucky. But there can’t be a next time.”
“We know,” Justin said. “It’ll never happen again.” He seemed so solemn that Aidan suppressed a smile.
“You can bet your ass it won’t.” John Rigsby stood up from the table and glowered at all four boys. He turned his attention to his own. “The two of you are gonna pay, that’s for damn sure. All that money you were saving for dirt bikes will now go to rebuilding the barn.”
The man had every right to be angry, but something about his attitude didn’t sit right with Aidan. It was almost as if John was putting on a show to demonstrate what a hard-ass he was in front Aidan and Rhys.
Aidan turned to the police chief. “I think we’re done here. Rhys?”
“Yup.” The chief nodded.
No one seemed more stunned than the kids themselves.
“You’re not going to arrest us?” Cody asked.
“Nah,” Aidan said. “But I am going to confiscate the fireworks. You guys know how lucky you were that this didn’t turn out to be a full-fledged catastrophe . . . that no one wound up in the burn unit? I want you all to think about that.” He made sure he included the parents in that last statement. What was Rigsby thinking, keeping all those fireworks in his shed where anyone could get to them?
“My boys would like to volunteer to come down to the fire station and wash latrines,” Clay McCreedy said and eyed both his kids as if daring them to contradict his offer. “It’s the least they can do after putting Cal Fire to so much trouble and expense when you folks have your hands full.”
“What about my barn?” Rigsby asked and glared at Clay. Aidan got the distinct impression there was no love lost between the two men.
“I’m sure you’ve got insurance, John, but my boys will do their part.”
Rhys stood up. “I think we’re good here. Deputy Fire Marshal McBride and I need to know if there are any other fireworks, pyrotechnic chemicals, or mortar tubes besides what we found in the shed near the barn.”
“Uh, that’s my private property,” John said, folding his arms over his chest. Aidan viewed the gesture for what it was: a sign of aggression.
“Not anymore.” The chief moved toward the door. “Do we need to tear this place apart?”
“Not without a warrant,” John spat, and got in Rhys’s face.
Aidan moved between the two, not because the chief couldn’t handle himself but because he wanted to neutralize the situation in front of the kids. “We just got done saying we’re not charging anyone with a crime here. We don’t need a warrant because these are exigent circumstances. I found enough illegal pyrotechnics to burn down half of Plumas County. We’re taking them, and if you don’t want us adding more chaos to what has already been a trying day”—he made a point of looking at the boys—“I’d step up here.”
He was practically bumping chests with the guy, who looked like he spent a lot of time bench-pressing. Of course the onesie Rigsby tried to pass off as a shirt probably gave the illusion that he was more pumped than he really was.
“I know you were some hotshot arson investigator in Chicago, but here you’re just a firefighter, not even a captain,” John said. “So don’t threaten me.”
There was some truth to what Rigsby said. In California, Aidan was starting almost from scratch. He would have to work his way up to make captain, and most arson investigators here held that rank. Still, the state fire marshal’s office wasn’t about to overlook Aidan’s expertise and experience, especially when the department was strapped for resources in rural locales like Nugget. He’d been designated a peace officer, despite the lack of rank, and was expected to investigate suspicious fires in the wilds of the Sierra Nevada.
“This isn’t a threat,” Aidan said and turned to Rhys. “Let’s call in a team to go over this farm with a fine-tooth comb.”
“I’m on it.” Rhys grabbed his radio, but John, who’d been receiving death glares from his wife, stopped him.
“Fine.” He puffed out an impatient breath, like he was doing them a favor. “I have more in the basement.” It was always the ones who came on strong that folded the fastest.
Aidan would rather think John Rigsby was trying to teach his kids right from wrong. More than likely, though, he knew he and the chief were well within their rights to rip the place apart.
Rigsby led them downstairs to a semifinished room with a pool table, opened a huge storage closet, and pulled out shitloads of the stuff. Rockets, missiles, aerial repeaters, firecrackers, and Roman candles.
“What were you planning to do with all this?” Rhys asked.
“Sell it. I was working for a guy, rewiring his house, and he had all this stuff from a stand he used to operate every year around the Fourth of July in Nevada. He gave me a good deal.”
Not such a good deal because it was all getting removed—and never returned. “You can’t bring fireworks into the state without the California State Fire Marshal seal on it.” Aidan turned over the packages to demonstrate there was no such seal. Another reason to confiscate it.
