Page 69 of Ink and Ashes
I flinch at that sentence. Bysomeonehe meansme.
“Dude,” Colson says, glaring at Dom.
Dom winces. “Sorry. That came out wrong.”
I swallow. “No. You’re right. I need to watch my back.”
Colson rests his hand atop mine on the table and butterflies take flight in my stomach. I tilt my head up to meet his gaze, a whirlpool of emotions swimming in his emerald eyes.
“We’ll be watching it too.”
Dom and Colsonhave been super helpful in the investigation over the past few days. They’ve been talking to people in town on my behalf, and we’ve been able to rule out a handful based on their alibis at the times of the fires. We’ve also visited the scenes of the final two fires, and we managed to find a candle wick tab at the scene of each. Which confirms my suspicion that candles are the arsonist’s form of ignition.
It’s a strange choice, given that it does leave evidence behind, and it makes me wonder how nobody has caught anything before. But as both Colson and Dom pointed out to me, plenty of campers use candles in areas they aren’t supposed to, and when it burns enough, the evidence left behind is easy to miss.
They aren’t wrong, but something about this whole thing has seemed strange to me. Especially because I have reason to believe whoever’s behind these fires has been setting them here for years and has likely done so in other towns too. But the number of fires labelled to have been caused by a candle in the wildfire database is so minor, it doesn’t seem realistic that this guy has used the same ignition method the whole time.
Either that, or he’s stopped covering up his tracks. And if that’s the case…well, I’m not too sure what it would mean. Just that it wouldn’t be good.
Now that I have a better idea of who the arsonist isn’t, I’ve been focusing more on who it is. Once things settled down, Mary and Emmett let me review the security footage from the front of the inn. It confirmed that my car was deliberately set on fire, though the angle didn’t reveal who did it. I’m still waiting to hear back from the police about whether their street cameras picked up anything.
Watching it back was haunting, though. Seconds after the arsonist set fire to my car, I walked out the front door. There’s absolutely no way they weren’t watching from a distance, and I’ve been cursing myself for not paying more attention to my surroundings after it happened. I was in so much shock, I didn’t even think to look for anyone.
The video wasn’t the best quality, but it’s not hard to tell it was a man, as I predicted it would be. That’s notsuper helpful though, because all of my suspects so far are also men.
The only person the video does clear is George, and that’s only because I know he was at the Gazette at the exact same time—and I checked the cameras there to confirm. Not that I really thought it could be him, anyway. I’ve been keeping a closer eye on him while at the paper, and while he’s been eager about what I’ve found on the fires, he’s not interested to the point that it’s raised concern.
Which rules him out, at least.
But that still leaves Liam Parillo, Tony Watkins, and Ray Morgan—though I haven’t told Colson or Dom about my suspicions toward the latter. Part of that is because I’m not ready to share that the arsonist might be a firefighter, and the other part is that technically, I can rule Ray out too. Seeing as he arrived on the fire truck with the rest of the crew after I called them, he couldn’t have set the fire to my car.
But just because it isn’t Ray doesn’t mean it isn’t a firefighter. There are aspects about these that don’t fit with what a civilian would know about fire. I should really tell Dom and Colson that theory, if only for the fact that lying to them feels wrong. But I’d really like to avoid thinking of the arsonist being a firefighter unless I have to.
Today, they’re coming with me to speak to Tony, and I plan to try to talk to Liam again later this week. If nothing checks out there, then I’ll tell them.
“You ready for this?” Colson asks, looking over at me from the driver’s seat of his truck. His expression is soft and caring—a complete shift from the cold, grumpy exterior he presented when we first met.
“As I’ll ever be.”
He reaches over and places his hand atop mine, squeezing once before he opens his door and exits the truck. I follow suit, and Dom does the same from the back seat.
I blow out a breath as I shut the door, looking up at the old, dilapidated house a few kilometres outside of town. It’s pretty much exactly as I expected for the house of a drug dealer: boarded up windows, peeling paint, broken floorboards and lightbulbs. Iknow before I even take a step that Tony Watkins, whoever he is, is not going to be happy about our presence here.
Colson and Dom stand a few feet in front looking back at me expectantly. With one more exhale, I move toward the house.
We make our way up the rotting front steps, both men telling me, “Watch your step,” as we do. I roll my eyes as the words come from their mouths, but I’ll admit, I do appreciate their care.
When we reach the front door, I knock firmly. A beat of silence passes, then I hear a loud crash, followed by footsteps. A moment later, the door swings open.
“What?!” the man who I assume is Tony Watkins bellows.
He looks about as disheveled as his house, donned in a ratty old T-shirt covered in who knows what and jeans with holes—that clearly weren’t there when he bought them—covering them. His hair’s a mess, and judging from his pinpoint pupils, he’s high as a kite.
With any luck, maybe his intoxication will lower his guard for me a bit.
When he takes a good look at the three of us, his frown morphs into a smirk.
“Colson. Dom,” he greets the men, then looks down at me. “And little miss investigator. Been wonderin’ when y’all’d start sniffin’ ‘round me.”
