Page 16 of Rest In Pink

“Thinking about it,” I said as he closed and locked the door behind us. “Why?”

“You want a shower and so do I,” he said, smiling that lazy smile I’d come to know would lead to good stuff. “And that’s going to end only one way. But there’s something else I was thinking about once I got you in bed again—”

“I’ll stay the night,” I said, and forgot about Cash.

I smiled at him, and he kissed me, and we headed for debauchery in the shower.

His shoulders were definitely going to be relaxed by the time I was done with him.

Chapter Eight

My cell phone rang an hour and a half later, when we were tangled in the sheets and each other, mindless and satisfied.

Since we were both satisfied and it wasn’t Sunday, I picked up.

“Detective Cooper,” I said, trying it on.

It was Steve Crider, sounding breathless. “Fire at the Cardboard Museum, Vince. Chief wants all hands on deck.”

I said, “Roger that,” threw the covers over Liz, and crawled to the end of the bed for my clothes.

She lifted her head, sleepy-eyed and dazed from a lot of sex. “Wha . . .?”

“Stay here,” I told her. “I will return.”

She nodded and let her head fall back, which meant she was really asleep. Because awake, she’d have tried to go with me.

* * *

Ten minutes later, I was there. The storefront that housed the museum was a fireball, and the flames were intensifying fast. It was, after all, a building full of cardboard.

George appeared at my side, covered in soot.

“You went in there?” I asked, shocked.

George coughed. “I called it in. Noticed the flames. I checked the doors. All locked so I’m hoping no one is inside.”

Mac and his buddies got a line going, but it was a losing battle.

The fire captain showed up and made the right decision to give up on saving the museum, hosing down the surrounding buildings to keep it from spreading.

“Where did it start?” I asked George.

“No idea,” he said. “I was driving down Front Road and saw smoke billowing out. Called it in, tried to use the fire extinguisher from my truck but the fire was under the roof and already spreading. So, I checked the doors.”

I knew George tended to drive around town at night; he had nothing at home to keep him there. The fire seemed to be dying; cardboard burns fast and the old, thick brick walls helped contain it. Much like at the factory, which reminded me. “You know, there’s a chance that fire at the factory a couple of months ago was arson.”

George shot me a look. “Why do you say that?”

I had to cover Mac’s butt. “Maybe ask Captain Olson?”

George frowned but now wasn’t the time to interrupt Olson who was looking very capable ordering his men about. We waited as the fire burned out, occasionally trying to send the curious onlooker home with the proverbial “nothing to see here”, except, of course, there was a fire to see here, so they’d move back ten feet and continue watching. Luckily it was out in less than an hour.

Olson led Mac and a couple of guys through the wreckage, checking. I hoped there were no bodies. After a half hour of sifting through the debris with their long poles, they came back out. Olson walked over, his big helmet, heavy jacket and pants stained with soot.

“Looks clear,” he told George as he removed the helmet. “We’ll go through again in the daylight. Could you keep it secure until then?”

“I’ll detail someone,” George promised. “What do you think caused it?”

---