Man's Best Friend (The Dogmothers #5) - Roxanne St. Claire Page 0,92
who was he to argue with this happy man? “Good to see you in such high spirits, sir,” Declan said, wondering if this was the right time to maybe ask a question or two, maybe dig a little deeper into the things he’d talked to Kirby Lewis about. “So, I was looking at your impressive lighter collection the other day.”
“Oh, those things.” He lifted a bony shoulder. “I rarely even pick one up anymore. I was just thinking about the Dunhill Alduna, though. Nice piece of workmanship there.”
Declan shifted in his seat, not quite sure he wanted to take the conversation where it could naturally go, but when would he get another chance? “I know a little bit about lighters.”
“I guess so, in your line of work.” He sipped his tea and looked at Declan over the rim.
“Do any of those in your collection burn at 1300 degrees? I know that’s unusual.”
“The Ronson Whirlwind,” he said without a second’s hesitation. “There are two of them down there. One’s gold with a blank engraving spot. The other’s a petrol lighter with a map of Scotland on it. And yes, there’s another one, too. Newer model.”
“And you remember them all?”
“Mostly.” He tapped his temple. “My memory is the only thing left that works at full speed.” He gave in to a wide grin and looked down at his body. “Although, if I spend more time with the Greek goddess, I think a few things might come back to life.”
Declan gave a soft snort, kind of wishing he didn’t have that particular image in his brain. “Careful what you tell Finnie, then. She’ll have you and Agnes Santorini on a honeymoon before you know what hit you.”
He gave a throaty laugh and spooned some more applesauce. “You know who’d hit me? Penny, when I got up to the pearly gates. I’m blowing off steam. But the memory’s sharp. Go ahead, test me.”
Shifting on the window seat, Declan thought about all the things this man might have stored in that still-functioning memory of his. Like…the truth about what happened that hot August night.
He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Do you remember the fire?” he asked.
Putting down the teacup, Max let out a long sigh. “Of course I do. I remember what pajamas I was wearing. I remember what I ate for dinner that night. And I remember that my daughter-in-law isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed and maybe shouldn’t have been allowed to play with chemicals.”
“You know, Max, there are actually two schools of thought about what happened that night.”
His watery old eyes suddenly looked very, very sharp. “You want to clear Evie’s mother’s name?”
“Her name doesn’t need to be cleared,” he said. “She did everything right with those chemicals, including putting the container outside. The official report said it was a wind gust that knocked the container over.”
“Hmmm.” Max lifted his spoon, studying the applesauce like it held the answers to life.
“Do you have any reason not to believe that assessment?”
“Not really.” He stared into his teacup for a minute. A long minute. Then he looked up at Declan. “Do you?” he asked.
Declan eyed the other man. “I’m looking into it,” he said quietly. “Considering all aspects of the investigation.”
“They closed the investigation,” Max said, a tiny bit of defiance in his voice. “Called it an accident after a good long time and a lot of money and interviews.”
“I know that.”
“But you don’t agree?”
He rubbed his hands over his jeans, not entirely sure how much to share. “I met with an arson investigator who thought maybe the accelerant was lighter fluid, not combusted rags.”
Max stared at him.
“And it’s his opinion that the fire might have started inside the sunroom, not outside on that patio. Maybe that’s the reason my father tried to get into the sunroom, which is something no one seems to understand.”
Max still didn’t say a word, but Declan could see something in his eyes. Hurt. Fear. Maybe regret. He didn’t know.
“Do you have any idea why he would have done that?” Declan asked.
“I was out in the street when the upstairs veranda collapsed.”
“Yeah, I know. But that day? Do you remember, maybe, spilling lighter fluid when you were cleaning your collection?”
Old gray brows drew together, and his gaze grew narrower. “You want some advice, son?” He didn’t wait for Declan’s answer, but pointed an arthritic finger at him. “You go looking for trouble, you know what’s going to happen?”