Page 20 of Slow Burn
“That supposed to mean?”
Her chin jutted forward. “You know what they called my mama?”
A flash of irritation shot through him. Layers of cemented anger and resentment were coming to the surface, decades of history that she was holding onto like he should take it, too. But he had enough of his own to lug around.
“No, can’t say as I do.” He sure could guess, though, based on Henry Wetzel’s comments the other day.
“White trash.” She shook her head, the anger simmering like a flame in her dark eyes. “Only time anyone treated her well was when she dated my dad in high school.”
“Daniel Abbott,” he said. He didn’t know much, but he knew that.
She nodded. “Golden boy quarterback. Parents owned half the town and couldn’t abide that kind of mark on their family. Sent him away to college, and he came back with Lydia on his arm—someone they approved of.”
Cole watched her expression change, watched the way she nibbled on her lip again, how she twisted her fingers together. The emotion was there, staring him in the face. Her upset about Lydia’s words made sense.
It never occurred to him how much drama there was surrounding her life—aside from the blaze. He was a few years older, and their paths never crossed back then. The whispers about him around town made it easy to miss what they might’ve said about her. Made him realize how selfish he’d been as that angry teenager.
He leaned back, tongue in his cheek, trying to fit the pieces into the puzzle he only knew a small portion of. High school sweethearts, but Daniel had married someone else. He knew Daniel’s other daughter well. Natasha was about the same age as Jocelyn, if he remembered correctly. Within a year or two, which meant…
Jocelyn raised a brow, knowing what he must’ve been realizing. Daniel had been a very busy man. So who was first?
The fact that he was married to Natasha’s mom, Lydia, told the truth there.
Jocelyn waved her hands back and forth like she was trying to erase that part of the story. Maybe she wished she could.
“That’s a therapy session for another day,” she muttered.
His mouth quirked up, though she didn’t smile at her own quip.
“Even if people’s opinions of my mama weren’t at play—and don’t tell me it’s not when they were quick enough to believe she was so drunk that she didn’t wake up to a fire in her room—there’s still one big thing not mentioned in any of the news stories.”
He picked up his coffee for a sip. “And what’s that?”
“There’d been a string of fires around town at that time. Suspected arson.”
Cole froze, coffee halfway to his mouth.
nine
“Sometimes, what’s dead must be burned away to make room for new life.” - Cristen Rodgers
Nothing boosted Jocelyn’s ego quite like landing that line and watching Cole take the hit. His brows slowly lowered over those pale blue eyes, his shoulders pulling tight.
“Suspected arson,” he repeated, setting his coffee down.
She’d already noticed his hands—long-fingered, calloused, more like a craftsman’s than a restaurant owner’s—and dragged her stare from the cup he’d set a little too hard on the table. “Still unsolved.”
He leaned forward, expression shrewd. “What do you mean by ‘a series’?”
A dark chuckle slipped from her, half frustration, half thrill at making him work for it. “For the year before my mama’s death, there’d been several suspicious fires—houses, businesses. Always accelerant, always strategic ignition points. No victims, no connections. Different methods each time.”
He frowned and looked out the window, chewing on her words.
That burn ignited in her stomach again. Someone was finally listening. Other than her therapist—who didn’t know the half of it—no one had cared enough to hear her out. Nan avoided the topic. Friends acted like it was some late-night crime show they hadn’t subscribed to.
And so, Jocelyn licked her lips, eager to drop her next bomb. “The weirdest part?”
His head swung back, expression wary.
