Page 57 of Slow Burn
Jocelyn didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.
“But why?”
“You were her best friend, Sally. Didn’t it ever strike you as odd? Mama never drank that much. She never would’ve left a candle burning next to those curtains.”
“They found the wine glass.” Sally Anne’s voice carried doubt, but not conviction.
“One glass, on the windowsill. They think it was wine on the curtains that made them torch so fast. But how did it spill there when she was found across the room?”
“Even if there was somethin’ off about that fire, why would it be connected to this one?” It sounded like she was mostly asking herself the question.
Something like triumph lit inside Jocelyn then. “What do you remember about that night?
Sally Anne faltered, her gaze drifting upward as if memory lived in the ceiling. “Lord, it was so long ago. I was workin’ at the Nail back then—before I met Heath.”
“The Nail?” Jocelyn asked.
“Way before it was Cole’s, it was this beat up old place. Had its regulars. Still does. Some of those guys still give me a little nod when we come in for dinner sometimes.”
“Who?”
“Donny Shankman, Jack Friedl, Frank Leone…” Her voice slowed.
Jocelyn sat forward at that. “Was Frank there the night of the fire?”
Sally Anne nodded. “Soon as he got off work, like usual.”
“Except when he was with Mama,” Jocelyn murmured.
Sally Anne considered. “True. And now that you say it, I remember thinkin’ it was odd. It was her night off.”
Jocelyn’s pulse raced. “How did he seem?”
“He was… down. Wouldn’t say why. Just seemed off. Sat there sulkin’ most of the evening, suckin’ a beer.”
“Talk to anyone?”
“Not really. Lydia Abbott said somethin’ to him that lit him up for a minute.” Sally Anne rolled her eyes. “That woman could chap the hide off a fence post.”
Jocelyn didn’t smile. “Then he left?”
“Must’ve. I wasn’t payin’ close attention, but he wasn’t there when I got the call about the fire.”
The eagerness under Jocelyn’s skin nearly had her bolting out the door to find Frank. Instead, she forced her focus back. “Thanks, Sally. Do you know if I can get my things from my room?”
Regret painted Sally’s face. “No, Honey. Your room took heavy damage. Most of that wing did. We’ll get you money from the insurance—help you replace what you lost.”
“I’ve got it covered.”
“But—” Sally Anne stood just as Jocelyn did.
Jocelyn touched her arm. “You just focus on getting this place back on its feet.”
Sally Anne still looked dazed when Jocelyn slipped past her, the weight of new information burning hotter than the fire that had started it all. The cramped air had been stifling, but stepping into the hall didn’t loosen the knot in her chest. If anything, it cinched tighter.
Frank Leone.
He’d been there. Acting off. And Sally Anne had remembered enough to make Jocelyn’s suspicions sharpen to a point. It flew in the face of what he’d told her.
