Page 64 of Heating Up (Nugget)
“Nah, that’s like finding a needle in a haystack. Everyone here gets gas for their vehicles, farm equipment, you name it. What we need is someone who saw an individual carrying a gas can to the scene. I have a footprint I found at the origin of the fire, but nothing to match it to. Too bad there aren’t any security cameras in the square.”
“This ain’t Rodeo Drive or whatever equivalent you had in Chicago.”
“Nope,” Aidan agreed. “But I enlisted Owen.”
Rhys chuckled. “You and your sister are quick studies. No one knows the doings of this town like the barber. Any other McBrides want to work in Nugget?”
“You’re stuck with just us for now.” Aidan leaned over the table closer to Rhys. “My gut says this person will strike again.”
“Yep, mine too.”
“Owens seems to think it’s the Rigsby boys. You have any thoughts on that?”
“I’d sooner put my money on the father. I don’t see a motive, though. As far as I know, he doesn’t have any kind of quarrel with Carl Rudd.”
“To make me look stupid,” Aidan said. Revenge was a top motive for arson. “He clearly has issues with my authority. What better way to make me seem incompetent to my supervisors than to set fires I can’t solve?”
“I don’t know, seems like a longshot. But I’ve been wrong before. A footprint isn’t enough for a warrant.” Rhys shook his head. “No witnesses, no nothing. Broad freaking daylight.”
“And you don’t think Rudd has anything to gain from the fire, financially or otherwise?”
“Nope. And setting things on fire doesn’t strike me as Carl’s style.”
“What about the owner of the property?” Aidan checked the notes he’d made on his phone. “Trevor Thurston. You know the guy?”
“Yep. He owns most of the square, including the Bun Boy, which he runs with his wife. Solid citizens who’d give you the shirts off their backs. You look into his financials?”
“Nothing glaring. But gambling debts . . . a drug problem . . . they don’t tend to show up on bank records, you know?”
“He’s a pretty smart guy. Seems to me if he wanted to burn the place down and collect the insurance money he would’ve gotten it done.”
The fire had been anemic at best. A lot of smoke with little damage. Firefighters had it out in less than thirty minutes.
“Could’ve just been bored kids, I suppose.”
“Could’ve been,” Rhys agreed. “We’ll just have to wait and see. You ought to join us for basketball one of these days. We play at lunchtime. A few of the Cal Fire guys come, but they suck. Maybe you’ll be better.”
Aidan laughed. His sister had told him about the pick-up games and about the friendly competition between the Nugget police and fire departments.
“You bet,” he said.
Rhys got up. “Sorry I interrupted your breakfast. Catch you later.”
After he left, Aidan continued eating. He’d finished the pancakes and was making good work on the steak and eggs when a middle-aged blond woman slid into the empty chair at his table.
“Did Dana tell you about my kitchen?”
“Uh . . . I don’t think so.”
“You don’t even know who I am, do you?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “I’m Donna Thurston, owner of the Bun Boy, and until you sign off on my open-flame permit I can’t install the Santa Maria barbecues I just paid a buttload for.”
“Okay . . . I can do that. But can I finish eating first?”
“Of course you can. In the meantime, let me tell you my theory on the sporting goods fire.” She didn’t even take a breath, just launched in to, “It was Carl.”
Aidan sat up.
“He’s been sneaking around his wife’s back, smoking again. She’d kill him if she knew. He goes outside to the back of the store where he thinks no one is looking, then throws his cigarette butts on the ground when he’s done. I told Trevor it was just a matter of time, especially in this drought, before Carl burned the whole town down.”
