and all hell broke loose.”
“The fire and the trial must have been really hard.”
Miss Weston glanced back at the television. “I got to go. I taped The Wendy Williams Show, and I want to watch it.”
“I don’t watch television. Who is she?”
“A talk show host.” And before she could ask another question, Miss Weston had vanished inside her house.
Joan was mulling over what Miss Weston had said as she was driving back toward town when she spotted a small roadside diner. Miss Weston had insisted that Elijah had been framed. But it made sense that a mother would want to believe her son hadn’t committed such a heinous crime.
She parked at the café and walked up to a take-out window, ordered a burger, fries, and a chocolate milkshake. She took her food to a small battered picnic table and sat, angling her body toward the mountain range. It would have been warmer if she’d sat in her car, but for some reason, she craved the open air, even if it had a bite. She nibbled a hot fry, greasy and salty in just the right way. She unwrapped the paper to find a fat burger doused in ketchup, mustard, and extra relish, as requested.
She and Gideon used to stop here after their weekend hikes. They would sit at this very table, more worn and weather beaten now but pretty much the same. She had often protested, wondering why anyone would give up a perfectly warm fast-food restaurant to sit in the open and eat food off a paper plate. Memories pressed forward.
Gideon unwrapped his burger and grinned at the sight of the double patties. “Stop being a baby.”
“But I like real restaurants.”
“This is real.” He took a huge bite, chewed for several moments. “This is Montana.”
“I know.” She glanced around the open sky. “It’s everywhere.”
“You always complain about long hikes, the snow, and the cold. Why did you come to Montana?”
“The scholarship money,” she said. “I didn’t think I would actually have to experience the great outdoors to get an education.”
Gideon chuckled and scooted closer to her until his shoulder brushed hers. He smelled of fresh air, pine, and a scent that was all his own. Joan almost never felt safe, but in his arms, she did. He was a big guy, strong, and he had a kind of code. He stuck by his responsibilities. Took care of his own. And he was not the type to leave a girl.
And all that had not stopped her from leaving him.
Now, as a cold wind blew up the mountainside and slid under the loose folds of her large cable-knit sweater, she placed her untouched burger down and pushed her fries away. She realized she had not felt safe in a very long time.
She took a pull on the milkshake, tasting the real chocolate syrup they used here. Nothing powdered, nothing canned. Real ice cream and chocolate, with a splash of whole milk.
Joan’s phone rang. She rubbed her cold, damp fingers over her jeans. She did not recognize the number, but it had a Montana area code. “Joan Mason.”
“It’s Gideon. Those files you requested about the College Fire have come back from storage.”
“That was fast.”
“We’re not quite as big an operation as you have back east. Fewer layers to cut through.”
“Can I come now?”
“I’ll be waiting.”
“See you in twenty.”
Joan hung up, gathered her uneaten food, and tossed it all in the trash can. A part of her did not want to relive the College Fire. But she had the growing sense that if she did not, there would be more fires and more deaths.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Missoula, Montana
Monday, September 7, 2020
12:30 p.m.
Gideon set the three worn and dusty file boxes on the small round conference table in the police station. The boxes were packed with forensic data, witness statements, crime scene photos, and police reports. As he stared at the collection of boxes, he thought how paltry it was, considering the level of destruction the College Fire had created. In his mind, the files should have filled this room.
His phone rang, and he gratefully turned from the boxes and answered it. “Detective Bailey.”
“There’s a Joan Mason here to see you,” the deputy said.
“I’ll be right out.”
He strode down the long, tiled hallway, hoping that Joan would find something in these files that would give her peace. Maybe she could leave Missoula and return to her life in Philadelphia, so he could get back to mending the life he was rebuilding for Kyle and himself.
She stood