greeting Gideon had shared with her earlier. “Elijah.”
Elijah took her hands in his, and his thumbs rubbed against her palms. He turned them up so that he could study them. “What happened to you in that fire was a travesty. Are you going to help me figure out who set your house on fire?”
“That’s why I came,” she said.
Elijah’s eyes brightened. “I have really missed you, Joan.”
She stood silent and then slowly smiled.
“Finally, justice will be served for us both,” Elijah whispered.
Tamping down his anger was harder than Gideon had imagined. He had been through the police department’s files on the College Fire. He knew Elijah had taken Joan’s class in college, had pictures of Joan in his room, and was dumb enough to leave his DNA at the scene. Elijah Weston was all smiles now, but he had the look of a man biding his time. Gideon did not know what Elijah’s endgame was, but sooner or later, he would strike.
Confessions of an Arsonist
When the stress rises, I set small fires. They relieve the pressure building in my head, like little safety valves. But when it gets too great, only an inferno will do. And that’s exactly what I did. It was glorious.
CHAPTER NINE
Missoula, Montana
Sunday, September 6, 2020
11:45 a.m.
Joan knew Elijah was as toxic as the deceptively beautiful milkweed’s delicate and bright blossoms. She was not fooled, regardless of what Gideon’s expression suggested. It was because Elijah would never break her heart. The same could not be said for Gideon, who threatened a far greater wound if she allowed him to get close.
She stood back. “You look good.”
“So do you,” he said. “I’m glad to see you’re doing so well. The press was very unkind to you in Philadelphia.”
She felt Gideon’s scrutiny sharpen. “I live to fight another day.”
“That’s all we can ask. Do you want to try my spaghetti sauce?”
“I would.”
He generously filled a tasting spoon with sauce and held it up. She wrapped her lips around the edge of the spoon and genuinely savored the sauce. For a moment, the rich flavors of onion, garlic, and tomato transported her back to Ray’s pub. “Marvelous. Reminds me of home,” she said.
Elijah smiled, clearly pleased with himself. “It should. It’s your mother’s recipe that you told me about in one of your letters.”
The recipe had been Ray’s, and he had scribbled it down on a napkin so she could pass it off as her mother’s. She doubted her mother had ever cooked much for her, and her dad’s idea of pasta was SpaghettiOs. “I never forget that sauce.”
“It won me tremendous goodwill in prison. No one is going to beat the hell out of you if they know you can cook a great meal later that week.”
“Glad it helped.”
He set the spoon down on a paper towel. “But you didn’t come here to talk about food.”
She was not reluctant to broach the one topic driving this meeting. “You’re right. I’m here about the beauty shop fire.”
“I have a solid alibi.”
“He’s right; he does.” Pickett’s gruff reminder had her turning to face the older man, as lean and grizzled as any cowboy on the range.
“Mr. Pickett, you were with him at the time of the fire?” she asked casually.
Pickett folded his arms over his chest. “I picked him up from the prison on Friday, and he has stayed in my line of sight since. No way he could have snuck out and set any fire.”
“The entire time?” Gideon repeated, locking eyes with the old man.
“That’s right,” Pickett said.
Elijah shrugged, as if to say, See, I told you. She calculated the distance between the boardinghouse and the arson scene and guessed even a fit man like Elijah would need at least ten minutes to sprint over there. Setting the fire took time if an arsonist hoped to survive. And then there was the matter of Lana Long. She would likely have slowed him down. And then the return trip. At the very least, the entire adventure would have taken forty-five minutes.
“Are you sure your Saturday libation didn’t start a little early?” Gideon asked.
“It never starts before nine p.m.,” Mr. Pickett said, his voice firm with pride. “Never.”
“Elijah, did other residents see you in the house?” Joan asked.
“Yes,” Elijah said as he looked to the thin man with bloodshot eyes. “Rodney here helped me get settled in my room. And then we played cards up until dinner. Mr. Pickett was with me when we heard the fire trucks about seven fifteen p.m.”