Page 39 of Slow Burn
Bethany caught on, offering a soft smile. “My grammy’s opinion matters more than most in my world.”
Jocelyn took a breath, hesitating for a moment. But she let herself soften just a smidge. “I appreciate it. Your condolences and your help.”
Bethany beamed. “Anytime. Let me know if you need anything else.”
“Thank you,” she said as Bethany headed back toward the front desk.
Jocelyn turned to the tables filled with plastic bins and hanging folders. Moving to the first, she checked the dates to get her bearings. She’d scoured the internet for national coverage of the fire, but local reports had been scarce. Digitizing clearly wasn’t a high priority in a town this size, where not much usually happened.
When she found the right time frame, flipping through the dates, anger stirred low in her gut at the lack of outcry for investigation in what was reported. Most of the coverage fixated on John Hauser’s heroics that night—and the tragic story of the little girl he’d saved, abandoned by a neglectful mother who’d drunk too much wine and left a candle burning by a gauzy curtain.
It shouldn’t have been a surprise, nor should the rage have clawed so violently through her. That had been the narrative her whole life, and she’d been told to move forward time and time again.
But how could she when her search so far had just brought more questions? And though that gave her a dose of frustration, it came with the sense that she was on the right track. All thepreconceived notions were slowly crumbling, even if she was the only one chipping away at them.
All this time wondering if there was more to it had led her to take the first step. And now the little fissures in the accepted version of events proved that her lack of peace came from the truth being intentionally buried.
And so she dug through copies of newspapers, ink marking her skin as evidence of her effort as she skimmed article after article for mentions of the other fires. As she’d told Cole, arson had been labeled likely even back then, though there’d been no defining feature linking them beyond geography. All in Cedar Hollow or nearby towns. And Cedar Hollow, small as it was, served as the county seat and the home base for the investigations.
Now she had the possible link of Ned Turner.
The problem was that none of the articles she came across mentioned anything about Ned Turner. Not even once did he come up in the reports about the fire in the house he owned.
Anger stirred again, and she flipped through the papers with more aggression as the articles on the fires moved farther and farther from the front page. Slamming her hand against the bin didn’t change the facts, but it made her feel marginally better.
Then a name caught her eye, drawing her to read the quote she’d already skimmed.
“We did everything we could,” said firefighter Eric Ward, one of the first responders. “It’s a tragedy. Fires move fast, especially when accelerant is involved. There was nothing anyone could’ve done. Even John Hauser barely made it to the scene in time.”
She had read it already, but this time, the words landed in her gut like stones.
Accelerant.
Her mind spun back to what she knew. She didn’t remember the fire report she’d gotten from Amber mentioning it? Or had Ward been speculating because of the wine glass in the window sill, and as a low-level crew member, he was repeating guesses? Or had there been suspicions initially that were discarded later?
Or worse, covered up?
In light of the other suspected arson cases, she couldn’t rule anything out.
The rest of the article was more of the same of what she already knew, that John Hauser was off-duty that night and happened to be walking by, that he’d seen the smoke, heard the pop and crackle of flame, and had come running.
That one quote from Eric Ward was the only mention of possible accelerants in the whole article, and she flipped through some of the stories run after, just to see if it came up again. Nothing that she could find, and she huffed in frustration.
Maybe she needed to comb through what she had again to compare what she’d found here. At least she had that line to pursue for now. Once she finished, she would see how far Bethany’s goodwill stretched by asking if she might know where to find Ned Turner and make that tomorrow’s priority.
For now, she lugged the box with the relevant articles to an open table and sat. Pulling out the folder she’d been putting together for the last year, she settled in with her notebook open and pen poised.
sixteen
“In the heart of the blaze, truth reveals itself naked and without mercy.” - Unknown
The nerves bounced around inside Cole, sparking up all the energy he’d worked out of his body earlier that day. After the unresolved exchange with Jocelyn, he’d spent several hours out at his property getting two new walls framed on the house. Once he’d cooled down with an icy shower, he’d stopped by the Nail to check in—earning Terra’s wrath for showing up on his night off.
None of it had burned off the jitters in his gut anyway, and he walked the second-floor hallway of the Hollow Inn toward Jocelyn’s door feeling like that damn woodpecker out on his land had taken up residence in his stomach, hammering at his insides.
For all he knew, their interaction earlier had turned her opinion of him and his folks, and she had no intention of going to supper at all. He’d have to face his mama’s disappointment for screwing that one up.
He hesitated before knocking, the metallic numbers on her door glinting like they knew exactly how foolish he felt. His palmscraped along his jaw, then he forced his knuckles to the wood. His gut clenched, braced for whatever came next.
