Autumn's Shadow (19 page)

"His love is beyond our understanding. His love changed me. I don't want to think what my life would have been without him."

Though drawing away, Jayleen looked up at her. "What did you do that he had to forgive you?"

Keely shook her head. "A person doesn't have to do anything we think of as evil to need God. Sin is sin. My mother sent me to Sunday school and I learned about Jesus when I was very small. I realized then that I needed him. I don't understand how except that I felt his love and I wanted it in my life." She shrugged. "I don't know how to explain it. But it's real, Jayleen. And it's yours for the asking. Do you want Jesus to wipe away your sin and become a new child in him?"

Jayleen frowned. "I don't know . . ."

Keely read by the girl's expression that Jayleen expected ...what? For Keely to pressure her, reject her? She chose her next words with care. "Pray about it, Jayleen. If you ask God what he wants you to do, he'll answer."

Jayleen stared at her and then turned back to the array of orange ceramic pumpkins of all sizes.

Keely went over to the window to finish up what Carrie had left undone, her heart thanking God for giving her such an opening. But she grieved for Carrie.

In the cool midnight air, he shut off  his car. He got out and slammed the door. He didn't have to be quiet. He didn't feel like being quiet. No one lived near enough to hear anything, see anything. He unlocked his trunk and took out the full gas can. He felt in his pocket for the matches. This would get them all crazy again. Tomorrow was Halloween. He was just celebrating a day early. Besides, he'd had enough.
I'm not taking their garbage anymore. They're going to be sorry.

Chapter Eleven

The look on Keely's face in the hellish light from the raging orange-gold flames had been dreadful to witness. Burke had stood beside her, helpless to stop either her pain or the flames. But now the firefighters had pumped enough water onto the blazing Family Closet to quench the inferno. Mud around charred remains and the lingering acrid smell of smoke and gasoline were all that was left.

Rodd walked over to them. "It's out. As soon as the firefighters clear out, we'll cordon off the site. I'm going to leave two deputies here on guard. I don't want anyone tampering with possible evidence."

Burke nodded, his anger over this latest tragedy still blazing inside him.

"Ms. Turner," Rodd said, "I'm so sorry about this. I know how hard you've worked to make the Family Closet something good for this community. I won't stop till I find out who did this."

Burke agreed with every word his friend uttered. And each one was a punch to his middle. God didn't seem to be helping Nick turn around.He asked himself grimly,
If God isn't having any luck, how can I?

"Burke, why don't you drive Ms. Turner home," Rodd suggested.

"No, I ...my car ...," Keely mumbled. Her hair hung over her smoke-smudged face; her shoulders were bowed.

"I'll have one of the deputies drive it home for you when his night shift ends at 7 a.m. You aren't in any shape to be driving anywhere by yourself. No argument. Take her home, Burke."

Burke nodded again. "I'll come right back."

"Your shift ended at eleven. Go home. You'll be more use to me if you're well rested. At daylight, I'll want you to go over everything with me, step by step, so we don't miss anything."

"Okay." Burke was relieved. Rodd had only told him to do what he'd have insisted on himself. "I'll be back at seven." Burke took Keely's elbow and led her toward his Jeep. She looked stunned, destroyed. Her eyes held the look of disbelief. She was taking this personally. Of course, that would be her natural reaction.

Worry dragging at his insides, he got her settled into her seat and then drove them off into the chilly night. He turned the heater on high and hoped the car would warm up quickly.

Driving the empty county roads to her house, he tried to think of words to say to the silent woman beside him, but he was at a loss. He'd seen Keely take one hit after another this fall, but this one had taken her down. I'm no good at comforting. But I'm here and she needs, no deserves comfort. But no words came.

Finally he turned up her lane and drove around the stand of pines to her house. Without waiting for an invitation, he went inside with her. Keely stood in the center of the entryway, looking like a lost child.

Maybe if he got her talking she could release her grief and anger. "The place was insured?"

She didn't respond.

"Keely? It was insured, wasn't it?" Speak to me.

"Yes, but that won't help us now." She looked to him."Don't you see—" her voice cracked—"it's not just losing the building that's the problem. We can't replace what was inside, not in time. The single parents we work with are counting on being able to buy or work for winter clothing for their kids and Christmas presents. After the back-to-school rush, the holiday season is our busiest."

Her distress washed over him, taking his mood down with hers. "I didn't think about that."

"We had boxes and boxes of jackets, boots, hats, and mittens to distribute and sell. And Christmas presents. The garage was lined with boxes full of washed and repaired and even donated new toys and books." She began crying."Why did I keep everything there? I should have made sure that donations were kept at different location."

Of course, she'd tear at herself.  Again, why wasn't God helping out this good woman?
She doesn't deserve this-where are you at, God?
"Keely—" he took her cold hands in his—"you couldn't have guessed that this would happen."

She looked away but let him keep holding her hands."It's the fire setter, isn't it?"

"It might or might not be." He gripped her hands, trying to communicate comfort through his touch. "We haven't examined the evidence."

"I should have expected—"

"You couldn't have predicted this," he reiterated, rasping out each word, his throat raw from the smoke he'd inhaled.

"But I'm the one in charge. I should have done something. I can't bear it."

Words still failed him. Against his better judgment, or any sense at all, he reached for her and pulled her into his arms. She trembled against him but didn't resist. He stroked her hair, feeling its silk between his fingers at last, making himself ignore how much he longed to draw her even closer. He hadn't held anyone like this within recent memory, not since Sharon had fallen ill. He pushed this out of his mind and concentrated on the woman here and now. Was she crying for the loss she'd described or for something even more hurtful? Did she suspect that her brother might have set the fire? He couldn't ask that question.

He'd wait for daybreak to see what the fire told him. And when he got home, he'd check the odometer on Harlan's truck. He'd started checking it each morning and evening to see that Nick didn't abuse the privilege of using the vehicle and to make sure he was only driving as far as should be expected. How many miles between Harlan's and the thrift shop? Had Nick resented having to volunteer at the Family Closet enough to start the fire?

He'd also check Harlan's gas can again. It had been full the last time he'd checked it, knowing how teens often drove on gas fumes. He didn't even think of asking for a search warrant to check out Grady's trunk and gas tank for evidence. Franklin still hadn't relinquished the bullets.

No wonder he understood what Keely might be feeling. But he had no comfort to give her. She wept against his shoulder. He pulled her closer and murmured soft words, trying to ignore how much he wanted to kiss her soft lips, so near his own. Finally, he moved away. He wasn't worthy of this woman, just as he hadn't been worthy of Sharon.

Voices. Burke opened his eyes, then closed them. The bright October sunlight streamed from the windows across from him in Harlan's living room. The sunshine blinded his eyes. When he'd come in last night, he must have fallen asleep on the couch. Sitting down here was the last thing he remembered. He groaned as he recalled how crushed Keely had looked.

"This seems to be the problem," a quiet voice said from the kitchen. Harlan? What time was it? He glanced at his watch. Nearly 7 > a.m. He'd have to get up soon, but he couldn't move, too drained after dealing with the third fire, the most destructive yet.

"Why don't we just call a plumber?" Nick's muted voice sounded from the kitchen.

"I don't need a plumber," Harlan objected. "Who do you think put the modern plumbing in this house?"

"You?" Nick sounded impressed.

"Yes, and this is a good opportunity for you to learn some. Now you get down here and watch me. There may come a time when you can't get me or a plumber. And, Nick, it's better to know how to do stuff like this for yourself. Hand me that wrench and I'll show you what to do."

Burke knew he should get up and offer to help, but an unusual lassitude had him in its clutches. Keely's face came to mind, when she'd been forcing back tears last night. Who had wanted the Family Closet shut down, destroyed? And why?

Stiff and feeling every lump in the old sofa, Burke thought of Grady as well as his nephew. Nick had been home in bed, hadn't he? The truck's odometer had registered more miles than the previous morning, but he hadn't calculated if there was a major discrepancy. He'd have to talk to Harlan about any errands he and Nick had run. He needed to get up and get to the crime scene. But  still he couldn't move.

"Nick, hand me some of that Teflon tape to seal this connection." There followed a brief exchange about plumbing.

Burke stared at the ceiling. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw white smoke billowing against a night sky, orange gold flames engulfing the back porch where he and Keely had sat the night after they'd first met. Who'd wanted to destroy what Keely, Penny, and so many others had worked so hard to bring about? It couldn't be Nick. It couldn't.

"How about when we're done, we go to the Black Bear Cafe and have one of their huge lumberjack breakfasts?" Harlan suggested.

"I'm in." Another pause while tools clanged against old metal pipes.

Had someone acquired a taste for the excitement arson created, or was someone with a grudge using the school fires as a smoke screen? After last night, Burke wondered now if they had a fire setter on their hands or a copycat.

Also, Carrie Walachek had been frequenting the Family Closet. Her father had been forced to help shingle the roof. Had Walachek realized how much pain destroying the thrift shop would cause Keely? But what if more than one person was involved? How would they ever unravel this?

Maybe I'm fooling myself, but I don't think it's my nephew. I'm not taking any credit. If anyone's done him good, it's been Harlan Carey. I'm no good at relationships. When Sharon got sick, she needed me and I just stepped back and let her go.
He pushed this aside. He wished there wasn't a fire setter, and he didn't want it to be Nick. But he didn't want it to be Grady either—for Keely's sake.

"How's Jayleen Kainz doing?" Harlan asked in a casual tone.

Suddenly alert, Burke listened for Nick's comment. Was Nick interested in Jayleen? Competition over Jayleen had sparked more conflict between Grady and his nephew. Nick had been sentenced to one month probation for fighting at the A&W. So had Grady. Evidently, someone, maybe his lawyer, had talked Turner out of pressing a charge of false arrest against Burke or the sheriff's department. It would have been hard to win with all the witnesses to the fight.

"Jayleen's still really messed up. She can't decide whether to try to get her baby back or to let the Weavers adopt her."

"I see." Harlan then began discussing pipe threads.

So Nick and Jayleen were getting close enough to discuss important issues. He closed his eyes. He and Keely also never discussed anything but problems. Why couldn't they ever have a peaceful moment alone? And why did he think he deserved one. She did but not him.

He couldn't stand that he might have to tell Keely that her brother was responsible. How much would that wound her? As much as it would hurt to find out that his own nephew was guilty? Burke's temples throbbed.

"Getting back to Jayleen," Harlan said, "I'm glad I never had to make a decision like that."

"You didn't have to because—" Nick's voice became belligerent—"you cared about your kid, didn't you?"

"Yes, I loved Daniel. When he was killed, it devastated me. But you realize that Jayleen never intended to hurt her baby."

"Yeah, I know. She got hooked up with the wrong guy." Nick sounded convinced of Harlan's sincerity. "Not all parents are like you, Harlan, and love their kids." Nick's words came out in a savage rush. "Some fathers don't care about their kids."

The resentment, the bottled-up rage in Nick's voice chilled Burke. How much fury did his nephew have stored up against his father, against him? Was it enough to spur Nick to set fires and gain the worst kind of attention in order to punish his father and his uncle for their neglect?

Burke's guilt rose him in him, choking him. The shame forced out a prayer.
God, forgive me. Please don't let my mistake, my lack, hurt Nick.
A verse from the past Sunday's sermon repeated in Burke's mind: "The Lord is close to the broken-hearted; he rescues those who are crushed in spirit."
I'm crushed, God, so I should qualify
.

"Do you mean your father?" Harlan asked point blank.

Burke drew in a sharp breath. He'd never had the nerve to ask his nephew this.

"He cheated on my mom. He divorced her and then moved away. Bailed on us completely. I hate him." Nick's every word dripped with bitterness.

I know his father doesn't really care. And I let myself distance myself from my family. But I care now. I didn't see this coming, didn't see past myself, didn't see that my sorrow over failing Sharon made me fail everyone
.

"I don't blame you," Harlan declared with a tartness in his voice Burke had rarely heard. "If I met your dad, I'd have a hard time not blistering his ears. What did he mean by leaving you and your mom?"