Wildfire (24 page)

Chapter
24

“The gall of the man.” She revved the mustang and screeched
out of Jack’s yard. Gripping the steering wheel hard, she wished her fingers
were on his neck.
He’d
started the kissing and manhandling.
She
hadn’t asked for any of that. The two kisses they’d shared— her lips tingled as
warmth hummed somewhere between her breasts at the memories.

A montage of his reactions tumbled through her thoughts— fear,
revulsion, relief. No room for doubt. Damn dragon senses. Jack seemed to make
every nerve ending in her body come alive, every sense leap to new heights. A
tremor danced through her. She’d heard his thoughts as clearly as if he’d
spoken them inside her head. She’d smelled his emotions —the sour tang of fear;
the cool, wet scent of relief— as if she’d had her nose pressed to his warm,
naked skin.

She almost ran the car off the road. Her hands shook as she
pulled to the side and parked underneath a golden-leafed pecan tree. Every
little breeze created a shower of leaves.
Every little thought set off a
flutter of feelings.
Obaa-chan
had once said if two dragons were
emotionally close —really close— the connection could be amazing, like being
one. Her breath stuck in her throat —a painful, pregnant pause.
Close
.
When
had she become close to Jack?
She didn’t want to be close. She knew better.

He’d called her a beast.
Beast
. The word sank like a
cold, hard rock and settled into the murky depths of her stomach. What else
would he call her? After her thirteenth birthday, when she’d first started
changing, she’d been curious. Curious enough to stand in front of a mirror
while undergoing her transformation. She’d seen the dragon. And yes, it was a
beast. No denying the truth.

Anger seeped out of her, replaced by soul-chilling
emptiness.

A sprinkling of tears landed on her hands, arms, clothes.
She snuffled like a horse as she wiped away the telltale wetness. Releasing a
shaky breath, she restarted the car. Work. She needed to focus on work.

Lynn arrived at the
Herald
extra-early, 7:45 a.m., and
found Hernandez’s approval of the FOIA letter waiting for her in her email
inbox. She opened the document for a final review and was half-way through it,
when her cell phone rang. Startled, she dug through her backpack, grabbed the
phone and flipped it open. “News,” she barked.

“Hello, Lynn?” Her mother’s voice came faintly across, soft
and unsure. Totally unlike her.

“Mom?” Lynn said surprised. “What’s going on?”

“Everything is ok now,” Ayako replied. “But I’m calling from
the hospital.”

“What happened?”

“Your dad had a heart attack. But he’s been stabilized.”

“Oh my God. Oh my God.” She reached for her backpack. Her
fingers traced the flying dragon carved into the red leather flap. Dad had
spent an entire weekend hand-tooling the backpack for her sixteenth birthday.
Worry flailed inside her.

“He’s ok Hana-chan. His doctor said he’ll be as good as new
in a few days.”

Lynn took a deep breath. She searched for a piece of paper
and pencil on her desk. “Are you ok?”

“Yes,” Ayako replied. “Especially now that your dad’s out of
danger. But I’m tired.”

“I’m coming home,” Lynn said. “I’ll come today.”

“You don’t have to rush,” she said. “I mean, you have your
work and Dad is getting the care he needs.”

“Mom, I want to.”

Her mother cleared her throat. “Well, it will be nice to see
you,” she said. “We both miss you.”

Lynn found an empty piece of paper and a pen that wrote, and
balanced the phone in the crook of her neck. “Ok, give me details, like
hospital name, room number and name of doctor.” She scribbled down the answers.
“I miss you both too,” she said and hung up.

She looked up and met Missy’s worried eyes.

“Everything ok?” Missy asked.

Lynn shook her head and felt tears stinging her eyes. She
hurriedly blurted out the news. “I have to go home.”

Missy nodded. “Is there anything you want me to take care
of?”

Lynn looked across at Hernandez’s darkened office. “Oh,
where is he?” she said. “I can’t leave without talking to him.”

“Don’t worry,” Missy said. “You just do what you need to do
and I’ll fill him in.”

“Thanks,” Lynn said. She made a quick call to Jen and
updated her. Since most of her things were in Houston, she planned to head
straight there from the office. Jen made her promise to be careful.

Next she did a public data search on Henry’s brother-in-law,
Ben Barton, and got his current address in Houston. She printed both the
address and the FOIA letter. She shoved the address in her jeans pocket and
sealed the letter in an official
San Angelo Herald
envelope. Before
hurrying out, Lynn gave Missy all her contact information in Houston. Then she
hot-footed it to the county clerk.

The county clerk’s cheerful smile shriveled up as she read
the letter. “Wow, that’ll be a lot of paper.” Martha put the letter down and
pursed her lips. “It’ll take time to pull together.”

Lynn nodded. “I know it’s a lot of work and I really
appreciate your help,” she said. “Anyway, you don’t have to rush because I’m
not sure how long I’ll be in Houston.” She proceeded to fill in Martha about
her father.

A look of sympathy flooded the older woman’s face. “Oh no,”
she said. “You just go be with your dad and don’t worry about this. I’ll have
it ready when you get back.”

“Thanks, Martha. You’re a sweetheart.” She headed for her
car and Houston.

If it weren’t broad daylight, she’d have turned dragon and flown.
San Angelo, a one-airline town, didn’t even have a direct flight to Houston.
Forced to drive the rental, Lynn made it back in five hours instead of the
usual six or seven. She pulled into the visitors’ lot at the hospital, parked
the car and ran to the front entrance. The merry jingling of a bell and the
Salvation Army Santa attached to it stopped her. With a start Lynn realized it
was already November and Christmas was right around the corner. Time flies when
you’re fighting off bad guys and getting your heart broken.
Jack’s face
loomed in her memory, about to kiss her one moment, wide-eyed and scared the
next. Tears trembled through her, leaked out the corner of her eyes. No time
for this. She had
to see her dad.

Lynn opened the back pack and scrabbled around in it until
her fingers found a pack of tissues and some change. After discreetly swiping
at her eyes, she tossed her change into the red kettle and continued on her
way.

“God bless you!” the Santa called out.

Please let Dad be okay
.
She
hurried to the elevator and punched the button for the third floor.

Lynn checked in at the nurses’ desk. The woman on duty
smiled sympathetically and gave her directions. “Perfect timing,” she said.
“Your Mom’s with your Dad.”

As she rushed through the corridors, Lynn barely noticed the
Christmas decorations the hospital had put up and they did nothing to cheer her
up. Her eyes scanned the numbers and names on the doors. Finally, she arrived
at room 315, the name “John Alexander,” her dad’s name, was written in green
marker on the board next to it. Pulling in a breath,
she opened the door and stepped into the darkened room.

Her father lay with his eyes closed in the hospital bed,
hooked up to various monitors and IVs. The hushed beeps of the machinery mixed
in with his rasping breaths. Her mom perched on the bed, her back to the door,
holding his hand. They both glanced at her as she tiptoed to the bed.

“How’s my intrepid journalist?” His voice came across in a
dry, scratchy whisper like old, fragile paper. It warned: handle with care, or
all that preciousness would disintegrate to dust.

Lynn rushed over and hugged him, careful not to squeeze him
too tight. “Not feeling too intrepid at the moment,” she mumbled against the
regulation gown. “I hate seeing you in a hospital bed.”

Her father put his arms around her. “I hate being in one.”

“It’s good to see you.” Her mother’s cool, calm, polite
voice interrupted the moment.

A frisson of resentment sparked through Lynn. No matter what
happened, whether dealing with
Obaa-chan’s
death or a crying, broken
mess of a daughter, Ayako Alexander remained professional and in control. Well,
at least she knew Dr. Mom was fine.

Lynn managed a nod at her mother.

“I better go check on my other patients.” Her mom gave her
dad a quick kiss and rose from the bed. She turned to Lynn. “I’ll see you later
for dinner?”

“Yeah, meet you at the house.”

As the staccato clip of her mother’s steps faded, Lynn took
her place on the bed.

Her father took her hand in his. “So how are
you
?”

A stab of pain tore through her heart as she remembered her
encounter with Henry, a fight she’d almost lost but for Jack. The pain twisted
inside. Jack. Then the phone call about her dad. Life could be better. Another
thought dogged the first— it could also be worse. At least, she hadn’t lost it
again and ended up in a hospital bed herself. Lynn met his gaze and answered
honestly. “Much better than when I left here,” she said. “It’s been great
hanging out with Jen and the job’s wonderful.”

“We’ve been reading you. Your mother’s taken out an on-line
subscription to the paper,” her dad said, and then broke into a wide grin. “Ok,
tell me all the juicy, off-the-record stuff.”

Lynn regaled him with stories about all the various
assignments and their sideshows. She told him about traffic-stopping livestock
and the interesting characters she’d covered, like Tavistock. While her words
skipped over Jack, her mind taunted her with images. She told him about the
fires, including her leads and her hunch about the culprit.

Her father let out a low whistle at the end of her
monologue. “That’s one heck of a story,” he said. “Just be careful, ok?”

She nodded, taking in the dark circles under his eyes, the
shock of gray hair, the tired smile. He looked old. Vulnerable.

“I’m thinking of moving back to Houston soon.”

Her father raised his eyebrows quizzically. “Why?”

Lynn took a deep breath as she straightened his covers. “I’m
your only child and I feel I should be nearer to you… in case you need me,” she
said. “I want to be here for you.”

Her father recaptured her right hand in his left. His grip
felt warm and strong. “You know what’s the best part of us all being adults
here?”

Lynn shook her head.

“We can all lead our own lives and still be family.” After a
pause, he cleared his throat. “The best gift you can give me and your mom is to
live your life to the fullest.”

She looked at him, her eyes burning hot with unshed tears.

“That way we don’t worry about you,” he said. “And you can
stop worrying about me. This heart attack was a wake-up call. I fully intend to
take better care of myself and to really listen to your mother about diet and
exercise.”

Lynn grinned.

He grinned back. “So we got a deal?”

“Deal,” Lynn said and sealed it with a hug.

Lynn’s stomach growled, reminding her that she’d missed
lunch, so she grabbed her Houston map from the car and walked to a deli near
the hospital. After ordering, she found herself a window table overlooking the
sidewalk.

She spread the map on the table and pulled the piece of
paper bearing Ben Barton’s address from her pocket. Her food was delivered just
as she had hunkered down to study the tangle of throughways, freeways and
byways that made up the Houston road system. She thanked the waiter, bit into
her sandwich and continued planning. By the time lunch ended, she’d figured out
the most straightforward route to Barton’s apartments on South Gessner.

Somehow, knocking on the door of a perfect stranger and
asking questions seemed less daunting than returning to Paradise Valley and facing
Jack again. Or, in the more immediate future, having dinner with her mom. Only
the two of them, without her dad to play referee. Yeah, going to a known
criminal’s apartment and asking intrusive questions sounded downright appealing.

Chapter
25

Lynn found Barton’s apartment complex quite easily. There
was nothing green about Green Haven Apartments. The buildings looked aged and
shabby, with yellow paint peeling off in places and graffiti decorating the
walls. The strings of colored lights and faded plastic decorations dotting many
of the balconies made the atmosphere even sadder. The hot Houston sun beat down
on the cracked pavement alongside the buildings, denying that Christmas was
less than a month away.

She pulled into a parking spot in front of the building,
hopped out, and locked her car. A few feet away a group of six young men worked
on a low rider. Loud Tejano music blared from the car’s interior. All of them
stopped what they were doing and gave her the once-over. Some smirked and one gave
her a lazy wave. Lynn ignored them and continued on her mission. She found
Barton’s apartment on the top floor and jabbed the door buzzer.

A lean, muscular man in a sleeveless undershirt and frayed
jean shorts opened the door. He stood barefoot. A heart tattoo, with “Angie”
written across it, decorated his left arm. He wiped his hands on a faded dish
towel. “Yeah?”

Three curious children peered out from behind him, shoving
and giggling. He shooed them away and turned back to her.

“Ben Barton?”

After a beat he said, “Yeah. What do you want?”

She smiled and held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Lynn Alexander, a
reporter with the
San Angelo Herald,
and I’d like to talk to you about
the fire—”

The man sneered, showing teeth. “For God’s sake,” he said,
“can’t you all leave well enough alone? It was seven years ago and I’ve done my
time.”

Lynn panicked as the door started closing. She hadn’t come
all this way to leave without talking to Barton. She was a journalist after a
story. An intrepid journalist. Before she knew what was happening, Lynn found
herself jamming her foot in the crack of the door and pushing back.

“It’s not about you,” she said. “I want to talk to you about
Henry Chase.”

Barton stopped pushing and eyed her suspiciously. “What
about him?”

Not about to waste the temporary reprieve, Lynn rushed on.
“He’s now in San Angelo, where I work, and there’ve been a number of mysterious
fires there recently. I know he was in jail for arson once, but I want to make
sure that wasn’t a one-time mistake before I do a story linking him to the
fires.” She took a breath. “I wouldn’t want to hurt an innocent man.”

Barton laughed and opened the door. “Ok, Miss Reporter, I’ll
talk to you,” he said. “It’ll be my pleasure.”

She entered the sparsely furnished apartment. The three children
—about twelve-years-old down to five or six— pored over books at the kitchen
table. On the wall behind them, a large red and yellow tin sign advertised “
Eva’s
Palm Reading.
” Decorated with a large hand, the crescent moon and stars,
the sign added a retro-coolness that was out-of-place with the ordinary
apartment. “Nice sign,” Lynn said.

“Family heirloom.” Barton turned to the kids. “You lot, take
a break from homework. Go on down and play, but stay near the apartment.”

They put away their books and then filed out the door
lickety-split. Barton pulled out a chair and sat down at the kitchen table.
Lynn followed suit.

“Their mother works full time,” he said. “I’m a handyman,
and I look after the kids.”

Lynn nodded. “Bringing up kids is an important job.”

Barton shrugged. “So what questions did you have?”

Taking a deep breath, Lynn pulled out her notebook, pen and
tape recorder. “I’d like to record our conversation,” she said. “And the
interview is on the record, for printing. Are you ok with all that?”

He stared at the black recording device for a long moment
and then nodded. “Yeah, sure,” he said. “I don’t have nothing to hide.”

Lynn smiled at him. “Ok, so tell me about the fire at your
electronics shop.”

Barton’s shoulders hunched and he pulled away from the
table. He narrowed his eyes and pressed his lips together. He looked pissed. “I
thought this wasn’t about me.”

“It isn’t,” Lynn said. “I just want to hear your side of the
story.”

Barton exhaled and slumped in his seat. “You know about the
fire?”

“What I read in the papers.”

He nodded. “Well, that was pretty much like it was.”

“So you asked Henry, your brother-in-law, to burn down your
shop?”

Barton gazed down at his hands, clenched together into fists
on the table. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

He looked up, surprised. “For the insurance money.”

She heard the unspoken “
Duh
” loud and clear, but
plowed on. “Yes, but what did you want the money for?”

Barton sighed and slid further down his chair. “Angie was
pregnant with our third child. It was a hard pregnancy and she was on bed rest.
So she couldn’t work and the store wasn’t doing well.”

He paused and looked away at an empty wall. “Having had two
kids, I knew how expensive a baby could be and I was worried about money,” he
said. “So, I thought up the insurance scam.”

Lynn looked up from her notebook. “Weren’t you afraid of
getting caught?”

Barton shook his head. “I knew Henry’s reputation.”

“And what was Henry’s reputation?”

Barton shrugged. “He’s been playing with fires ever since he
was a kid. As he grew up, Henry hung out with a rough crowd and he’d do fire
jobs for money.”

Lynn’s pulse quickened. “So he’d been involved in arson
before?”

“Oh, yeah.”

Lynn cleared her throat. “How come the news articles don’t
mention that? I mean, they treated your fire like his first.”

Barton let out a raucous laugh. “Nah, Henry wasn’t a virgin
when it came to fires,” he said. “He was just so good, he never got caught
before.”

“So what happened?”

Barton got out of his chair and then sat back down again. He
gnawed his left thumbnail for a bit. “My bad luck,” he finally said. “That
off-duty cop happened to be at the right place at the right time. Then Henry
seized his chance and played it like his first time. And I did my time.”

Lynn put her pen down and looked Barton in the eye. “I appreciate
you talking to me but, being a journalist, I have to ask you if you have any
proof of Henry’s other involvements.”

Barton held her gaze for a moment. “I think I do.” He
scraped back his chair and left the room.

A few minutes later, he emerged from the bedroom carrying a
battered bible. “My wife’s,” he said, setting it down on the table. He flipped
through it and brought out a yellowed newspaper cutting, which he pushed toward
Lynn.

It was an article from a Louisiana paper, about twenty years
old. A fatal house fire had killed Peter and Eva Chase. The only survivor was
twelve-year-old Henry Callaghan Chase. The article mentioned the fire was under
investigation.

Lynn wrote down the details in her notebook. She was
surprised by the middle name, but didn’t remark on it.

Barton cleared his throat. “Eva was Angie’s mom. They
investigated and questioned Henry a few times but couldn’t ever find anything,”
he said. “Me and Angie were already married then and he came to live with us
after that.”

Wow
. “Weren’t you uncomfortable having him live with
you?”

Barton shrugged. “He was family and a kid,” he said. “We had
our suspicions and we made sure never to leave him by himself. Then he started
hanging with his friends and was hardly home.”

“Do you have anything else?”

Barton shook his head. “That’s it.”

“Do you know where I could find some of his friends?”

“Nah. Troublemakers, all of them,” Barton said.

Lynn studied her notes for a while and then cleared her
throat. “Where did Henry get his middle name? Is Callaghan a family name?”

Barton shrugged. “Angie’s mom used to be Eva Garcia, and for
a while she went by Eva Garcia-Callaghan, before she married Peter Chase,” he
said. He flipped to the front of the Bible until he came across a penciled in
family tree. He turned the book towards her.

Lynn’s pulse quickened as she pored over the names. She
frowned. Eva’s parents were Tomas and Rosa Garcia. “How did she end up with the
surname Callaghan?”

Barton scratched his chin. “Well, the story I’ve heard is
that some rich West Texas rancher by the name of Callaghan got Eva pregnant and
then paid her to leave town. She moved to Louisiana with a nice little nest
egg, added Callaghan to her name, and set up her fortune-telling business in
New Orleans.” Barton waved a hand at the palm-reading sign.

“Fortune-telling?”

“Yeah, Eva claimed she was psychic.” Barton snickered. “She
claimed all sorts of things.”

“Like what?” Lynn rested her arms on the table and leaned
forward.

“Like knowing I was trouble.” He laughed. “Claimed she could
sense a winning scratch-off or a lottery ticket.”

“Was she right?”

“Sometimes, but never about any big jackpots worth real
money.” He shrugged. “I think she just got lucky.”

“Then what happened?”

“She raised Henry and ran the business, met Peter.” He scratched
his jaw. “Whatever money she had, her and her husband blew on drinking and
gambling.”

Lynn studied her notes. “I’m confused. Where does Angie come
into the story?”

“Eva had her as a teenager with some man by the last name of
Schultz. At least, that’s the name she gave Angie. Grandma Rosa raised her,
which is why she’s so normal.” He glanced at the clock and stood. “I’ve got to
start supper.”

“Can you tell me anything else about this Callaghan
connection?” she asked, rising from her chair.

Barton shook his head. “Nope, told you all I know.”

Lynn nodded and chewed her bottom lip. “Where did Miss Garcia
live before Louisiana?”

Barton shrugged. “Someplace called Ben Ficklin.”

Disappointment pooled in her gut. She’d been sure he’d say
Paradise Valley or San Angelo. “Where is that?”

“It used to be a community a few miles south of San Angelo,
got wiped out by a flood.”

Bingo.
Lynn put away her things, and held out her
hand. “Thank you, Mr. Barton, I really appreciate you speaking to me.”

This time Barton shook her proffered hand. “Good luck with
your article.”

She hurried back to the car. Lynn’s thoughts churned as she
tried to process all the information and connect all the dots. Were Jack and
Henry related? Did Jack’s womanizing grandfather get a young woman pregnant and
then pay her to leave town? Or was it another rancher called Callaghan?
Somehow, she didn’t believe in coincidences.