Studfinder (Busy Bean #5) - L.B. Dunbar Page 0,45

and turns to me. “Rita, we need to talk.” The directness of her tone startles me. My comments can be over the top at times, but Scarlett knows this about me. Still, I quickly apologize, concerned by the tenor of her voice. My best friend waves it off as she leads us out of the mayhem of the crowd.

“I don’t know how else to tell you this other than being straight with you.” She reaches for my wrist and holds on tight once we stand off to the side of the vendors.

“Whatever it is, I can handle it,” I assure her, but genuine fear creeps into my veins.

“I know you said not to look into him, but I couldn’t help myself.”

“Scarlett,” I hiss, tilting my head.

“You’re my best friend. You’ve been through a lot, and I just don’t want to see you hurt.”

“What did you do?” I ground out. The fine hairs on my arms rise.

“I did a little research.”

My heart races faster. My belly feels ill. I should scold Scarlett for playing sleuth. I want to remind her that snooping into people’s lives could lead to misinterpretation and misrepresentation, which is exactly what she did to Bull before she knew him. A reprimand would be justified, but I don’t do it. Curiosity has the better of me.

“And?” I pause, trying to laugh off the anticipation but sickly sweat breaks on the back of my neck.

“Rita, he went to jail.”

My shoulders fall, and relief washes over me. “Duh, chickie. I know this.” So does she, as I’ve told her how he is a worker in the restorative program of Building Buddies.

“He went to jail for setting a fire.”

My brows pinch. “He was an arson investigator,” I state to defend him. He was a fireman. Firemen don’t set fires. They put them out. Still, my heart hammers faster.

“He set the fire at Waterson Community High School.”

“No,” I whisper, my body breaking into feverish perspiration.

“I’m sorry, honey,” Scarlett whispers to me, still clutching my wrist.

“I don’t believe you,” I say too quickly, too emphatically. My nostrils flare. My chest heaves. This cannot be true. Scarlett has been wrong in the past. She’s skewed information. It’s what she did as a gossip reporter. She lied.

“I don’t believe you,” I repeat, louder while my tongue grows thick, and my throat burns. Bile churns in my stomach.

Scarlett stares at me, pinning me with those large dark eyes of hers. “Remember it was an accident. I’m certain there’s an explanation.” The weak hope in her voice does nothing to dispel the anger rising inside me. There could be no excuse, accident or not. There can be no justification for killing an innocent man.

A man inside a high school, working late one night as the conscientious principal he was, double-checking something during his summer vacation when the building caught on fire. When the high school burst into flames, and a portion exploded, taking with it the life of the man I intended to marry.

Ian.

Incredulous. I do not want to believe any of it, but I break away from Scarlett, racing away from the farmers’ market. I don’t want to think anything until I speak to Jake. I’m a woman of facts and principles, and the best solution for answers is to go to the source.

I didn’t know Jake’s exact address other than he lives in Ashbury, a small town on Montpelier’s west side. Calling Albert, I make up some excuse for needing Jake’s address. Seconds after hanging up the phone, I don’t even remember what I said, certain the excuse was not feasible but necessary.

Pulling up in front of the small, run-down home, the ramp before the house hardly stalls my ire. I stomp up the slight incline and harshly knock on the front door. When a man in a wheelchair opens it, I’m still not deterred although my breath catches at the similarity between brothers. Fuller in shoulders and rounded in face, he’s still a twin to his older brother minus the salt-and-pepper scruff.

“Well, hello beautiful,” he says, immediately flirting with me and giving me the charming smirk of a Drummond.

“Don’t hello beautiful me, cookie. Where’s your brother?” My body vibrates as I speak through the screen door. I’d like to open the barrier and let myself inside but refrain.

“Rita?” The questioning sound of my name and the smile I hear within his voice quickly fades when he sees me standing on his porch. “Rita, what’s wrong?”

Jake steps outside, and I step back, putting much-needed distance