Page 18 of Ink and Ashes
“Sure am.”
“I guess you probably don’t see a ton of the wildfires then, but out of curiosity, what’s your take on them?”
“You mean, what do I think they’re being caused by?”
I pull my lip between my teeth, and she smiles.
“Honestly, I couldn’t tell you. I should know more about fire, given who my family is, but everything they tell me goes in one ear and out the other. The spike in fires this year is alarming, even if no one else is willing to admit it. But I couldn’t tell you why I think they’re happening.”
I tilt my head down. “Thanks.”
“Have you had much luck getting anything out of anyone else?”
I huff. “Talked to Ethan and Hayden briefly, but I think they only gave me the time of day because they want to sleep with me. Aside from them, only Colson and now Ray.”
Her lips twitch and I can tell she’s fighting back a laugh.
My shoulders drop in resignation. “I probably shouldn’t even bother trying to talk to anyone else today, should I?”
The laugh escapes her as she links her arm through mine, and I smile at the contact. I’ve never had any real girlfriends, but something about Cassidy makes me wonder if she could be.
“You could try speaking with our chief, but quite frankly, your best bet is to get Colson on your side,” she says as we begin walking toward the app floor. “The whole team looks up to him, and he’s the one who spends the most time on the scene of the fires. Once you convince him, I’m sure everyone else will be morewilling to hear you out.”
I roll my eyes, expecting that response. He’s a natural born leader, and everyone seems to do exactly as he says. Which means that, unfortunately for me, I need him on my team.
I just have to figure out how to get him there.
I leavethe station with plans to meet up for coffee with Cassidy soon and a determination to convince Colson I’m right. Now, my next task will be talking to people around town to see if any of them can provide more information.
Aside from a few of the firefighters and George at the paper, no one knows about my theory. A lot of people know I’m looking into the fires, but nothing more. I’ve been too focused on finding evidence to worry about who suspects could be, because without said evidence, I can’t exactly narrow my list down based on anything more than a gut feeling. Right now, this entire town is my suspect pool, and until I find a reason to make that number smaller, I’ll be wary around everyone I meet.
But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to talk to people to see if anyone can help me find something. And that means sharing my theory with them too.
Which is why I finally decide to venture over to Cedar Lane Café. I know from the few times I’ve driven by that it’s a popular spot in town, so I figure I have a good chance of finding at least one person willing to speak with me.
The bell above the door rings upon my entry, and I take a moment to study the space. It’s quaint and small, with classic cozy café vibes. There are wooden accents and plants all over the place, and handwritten chalkboard menus above the counter. It reminds me of my go-to café back home in Toronto, giving me a sense of comfort I haven’t felt since I left.
There’s a steady crowd in here. An elderly couple is seated by the window reading the paper, and a group of women who look tobe around my age sits at a table to my left. They shoot glares my way as I walk inside, but I pay them no mind.
I head toward the counter where the rude woman from the farmer’s market is, and I stifle a groan.
“Hi,” I say as I approach her, a smile written clear on my face.
She scoffs. “You again?”
“Me again.” I clear my throat, forcing myself not to snap a snarky remark back at her. My eyes shift to the menu above her head. “May I please get a honey lavender latte and an everything croissant sandwich?” I ask, mustering the kindest voice I possibly can.
She rolls her eyes as she punches my order into the computer. “It’s fifteen dollars.”
My eyes narrow as I glance at the price of the items, and I know she overcharged me. That must be what it costs to be unwanted in this town, so I just take a twenty out of my wallet and hand it to her over the counter.
“Keep the change,” I say with a knowing glance.
She scowls and snatches the bill from my hand. I take that as my cue to move to the other end of the counter to wait.
As I walk past, I notice a man maybe a few years older than me leaning against the wall behind the counter. He has his gaze trained on me, and when our eyes meet, he makes his way over.
“Ruth giving you a hard time?” he asks.
