Fourth Grave Beneath My Feet - Darynda Jones Page 0,105

remembered the address, and whirled around so fast, the world tilted off center. Hurrying back, I tore the Post-it Note with the address of the latest fire off the folder. Then the world tilted for another reason entirely.

* * *

When I pulled up to the scene of the fire, the smell of smoke billowed in through Misery’s vents, acrid and irritating. Firefighters were still working on it, shooting water in the air from huge red trucks. The whole area was taped off, and bystanders stood off to one side, watching the firefighters do their job, filming the massive wall of smoke on their phones.

I stepped out and looked up. No way was this an accident. No way was this a coincidence. This was it—the very building I’d been talking to Reyes about not three hours earlier. The one where I’d first seen him. The one where the picture was found.

I called Cookie. “Hey, hon. I need you to check something out for me.”

“You got it.”

“I want you to get that list of all the addresses the arsonist has hit. It’s in the folder. Then crosscheck those with the known addresses Uncle Bob had on Reyes Farrow when he was first arrested for Earl Walker’s murder. I have his file in the cabinet.”

“Right, I remember it.” Her words were drawn out and wary. “Do you think there’s a connection?”

“That’s what I intend to find out. Or, you know, for you to find out.” I hung up and strolled to an officer on duty. “Where’s the woman?” I asked him.

“Excuse me?” He started toward me with his palms up in warning. “You need to stay one hundred feet back.”

“The woman the arsonist dragged out before he torched the place. Where is she?”

The guy glanced around. “How did you know that?”

“I’m working with APD on this case under the supervision of Detective Robert Davidson.” When he didn’t budge, I showed him my PI license and my APD ID that identified me as a consultant. “Would you like Detective Davidson’s number?”

Before he could answer, I heard Uncle Bob’s voice. “Charley,” he said, lumbering up to me. His knee must’ve been bothering him again. “I didn’t expect you to come over. As far as we can tell, the building was empty except for that one woman. She is not happy to be out.”

I nodded. It had to be Ms. Faye—and, no, she would not be happy, but worry of a different nature knotted my gut. It must’ve shown.

“What is it, pumpkin?” Uncle Bob asked.

I offered him a weak smile. “Maybe nothing. I just … I hope it’s nothing.”

“Hon, if you know something about this case—”

“I’m not sure I do. Cookie’s looking into it now. If I get anything, I’ll call.”

He nodded.

“So, could Ms. Faye identify the arsonist?”

“Nope. Said it was too dark, but he was tall and thin.”

I wouldn’t exactly call Reyes thin, but I could see where Ms. Faye might. She had an odd way of seeing the world.

“Your Agent Carson has some pretty good leads on those bank robbers.”

“Yeah, sadly,” I said.

“Friends of yours?” he asked, his brows raised.

“Very good friends of mine. Well, except for one. He wants to take me out. And, no, not on a date,” I said, before he could ask.

“Oh, you mean like take you out take you out.”

“Exactly.”

“Well, glad we got that clear. How’s your other case coming along?”

I gave him my defeated expression. The one where my lips looked very much like they belonged in the duck family. “It’s not.”

“I’m sorry, kid. Let me know if I can help.”

“Thanks, Uncle Bob. And be careful with Ms. Faye. She has an arm on her—”

“Oh, no, already learned that.” He rubbed his shoulder. That woman was a menace.

I climbed back into Misery, going over what I knew to be fact in my head. Reyes had smelled like smoke. His shirt had been singed and he had scratches on his face, something Ms. Faye was very capable of, even with him.

For once in my life, I prayed I was wrong.

* * *

Since I was close, I decided to check in on Harper before heading to my next stop. I walked in the back to the sound of an ink gun buzzing away. One of them must’ve been working on a friend, because they didn’t open for hours.

I found Pari at her desk. “Hey, you, how’s Harper?”

“What did you do?” she asked, fumbling to find her sunglasses.

“Nothing.” I felt it was better to play innocent now while I could still