Chapter 11

It didn’t matter how many times Steve had seen a similar scene; it never got any easier. Today was especially hard, since it was Camille’s house, and she was the one standing by him trying to keep it together as she took in the ruined mess that used to be her home. He thought about saying one of the usual platitudes about how good it was that no one got hurt but decided to stay silent. It was true, of course, but it was also true that losing a home and belongings to a fire was a terrible, traumatic experience. Camille didn’t need to hear once again that she was lucky to have survived. It would most likely just make her feel guilty for grieving about things, and that was nothing she should have to feel bad about.

It was killing him not to be able to do anything to make her feel better, though. She looked so pale and small and sad, huddled in the oversized coat he’d loaned her. Underneath that, he knew her hoodie and shirt had small, burned holes and smelled faintly of smoke, an odor that washing hadn’t completely removed.

He wished they were at a different point, that he could hug her and tell her how glad he was that she was okay, that he could’ve held her as she slept in his bed, wearing his clothes… He shifted his weight, uncomfortable with where his mind had gone. Once the image popped into his head, however, it was difficult to dislodge.

“I can’t believe this is what’s left,” Camille said quietly, immediately snapping his attention back to where it should be. The wind caught a pale strand of her hair, blowing it across her cheek, and she absently tucked it into her hood. “It was so fast. One minute I was safe in my home, and the next it’s like this.” She swept a hand out, indicating the charred skeleton of the house looming above the broken and blackened pieces of what remained. “Can I go in there to see if I can find anything?”

At the crack in her voice, Steve couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t let her stand there, looking so alone and devastated. Wrapping his arms around her shoulders, he tucked her against him. Her body went stiff at the contact, but then she relaxed into him, leaning her slight weight into his side. She felt even smaller than she looked.

“Soon,” he said, answering her question. “We need to make sure that what’s remaining won’t fall on you first.”

“I don’t mind waiting, actually.” He felt her reach behind him and grab a handful of his jacket, as if to help hold herself up. “I’m honestly a little relieved. Digging through that and finding pieces of my life—well, what used to be my life—is going to be tough.”

“You’re tougher, so you’ll be okay.” He tightened his grip on her shoulder, pulling her in closer against him. The worst part of being a firefighter was when he couldn’t protect people from things like this. “I mean, look at everything you did today.”

She pushed far enough away to be able to look up at him, wearing the tiniest of smiles. “I made a list and shopped—with your help. It wasn’t exactly award-worthy.”

He beamed at her, disproportionately elated by her small attempt at a joke. “You braved the DMV, Christmas-shopping-time Target, Borne Bank, and your first visit to your house, all while talking to your insurance agent and canceling utilities. If that isn’t award-worthy, then I don’t know what is.”

Her smile grew, making him warm with pride. He’d actually done it—he’d made her feel a little better. Turning, she gave him a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. By the time he’d unfrozen from his initial shock at the unexpected gesture and how very, very good it felt, she was already releasing him. Stepping back, she turned and headed to his truck. As warmth spread through his chest, he followed.

“Were you serious about…?” Trailing off, she looked around, as if checking for eavesdroppers. As he got closer, she finished in a loud whisper. “About the Zoe thing? With my car?”

He laughed. Something about Camille’s exaggerated attempt at keeping Zoe’s not-quite-age-appropriate skill a secret struck him as extraordinarily funny. “Yeah,” he said. “The closest dealership is southeast of Denver, so that’d be an expensive tow.”

“I know I’ve said it about a thousand times today, but thank you, Steve. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.” She grimaced, her gaze faraway, as if she was thinking about terrible things. “I do know, actually. I would’ve run back into my house and probably died.”

“No. Mackenzie would’ve stopped you. She was right behind me. I just got to you first, so she ran back for the med kit and blanket.” He opened the passenger door for her, using the movement to hide his discomfort. It’d always been tough for him to listen to people’s heartfelt gratitude. He didn’t know how to let them know that he understood how much they appreciated his help. A part of him didn’t feel like he deserved the thanks when he was just doing his job. If it wasn’t him, another firefighter or cop or EMT would’ve stepped in to do the same thing. He did his job, and he wasn’t comfortable being called a hero.

“Hmm.” The sound was noncommittal, but Steve had a feeling what he’d said hadn’t made a difference. She was still going to thank him over and over for saving her and Lucy’s lives. If it meant he could continue spending time with her—even if it was at the DMV—he was surprisingly okay with that.

She climbed into the truck, and he closed the door carefully before moving around to get into the driver’s seat. As he buckled his seat belt, he caught another glimpse of the remains of the house, a stark, black silhouette against the gold of the late-afternoon sun. He paused, disturbed by the menacing grimness of the scene.

“Drive!” Camille whispered harshly, making him start. “Go! Now!”

“What is it?” Tense and alert, he scanned the area for real danger. His hand automatically reached for his truck radio mic, so he’d be ready to call for backup. There was nothing that he could see, though. The neighborhood was quiet as always.

She groaned dramatically. “It’s too late now. She knows we’ve spotted her.”

“Her? Who?” Steve leaned forward so he could see out Camille’s window. He caught a glimpse of Mrs. Lin hurrying toward the car, and he suddenly understood Camille’s rush to leave so she didn’t get caught in a conversation. The realization was so anticlimactic that he snorted a laugh as his hand dropped off the mic. It was obvious that Camille was trying to glare at him, but she couldn’t hold it.

“It’s not funny,” she wailed quietly. Despite her words, laughter bubbled in her voice. “We’re trapped now. Next time I say ‘drive,’ you put your foot on the gas and floor it, got it?”

“Got it.” He struggled to regain a straight face as he lowered Camille’s window. Mrs. Lin was only a few steps away, carrying stuffed shopping bags.

“Good. I caught you.” Mrs. Lin was puffing a little from exertion. “I thought you were going to drive off like mannerless heathens, leaving me coughing on your exhaust.”

Steve fought the urge to chuckle again. It was Camille’s fault. Normally, he knew people thought he was serious, even stern. He’d rather stay quiet and listen than talk. When he was around Camille, though, he became as happy and chatty as Maya on a sugar high. Camille made him feel lighter somehow, even when dealing with something as serious as a fire.

“No mannerless heathens here,” she lied through her teeth, as if she hadn’t been demanding that Steve do just that. He swallowed another laugh. “We’re just in a hurry, since we’re headed to the fire marshal’s office, hoping to catch her before she leaves for the day.”

Glancing at the dashboard clock, he saw it was four forty. Even though Camille was using their rush as an excuse, it was actually true. They needed to move if they wanted to talk to Jackie.

“The fire marshal?” Mrs. Lin’s voice was full of prurient interest, and Steve felt all of his good humor drain away. Camille didn’t need nosy townspeople questioning her about her loss for their own gossipy amusement.

“Something we can do for you, Mrs. Lin?” he asked, knowing his tone came out short but not caring. Camille’s feelings came first, and he was willing to be rude if necessary. In fact, he was willing to do a lot more than that to protect her.

“No. I have something for you, Camille.” She lifted the two stuffed shopping bags she was holding. “This isn’t much, just a few things from me and Gladys, but everyone in town heard what happened and wants to help, so you should be getting much more in a few days. What’s in here isn’t like your usual sloppy getups, but at least this way you’ll have something to wear until you can manage to go shopping.”

Suddenly realizing what Mrs. Lin was doing, Steve hopped out and circled the truck. “Here,” he said, feeling much more kindly toward her than he’d been a minute ago. “Let me help.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Lin. That was so kind of you and Mrs. Murphy.” Camille got out of the truck as well. She moved as if to hug the older woman but awkwardly came to a halt when Mrs. Lin raised her hand and shook her finger in Camille’s face.

“No getting up to any of your usual tricks with any of those Springfield boys, understand? It’s bad enough when I was the only one watching, but now there are easily corruptible children to think of. Don’t be leading them into any trouble, missy.”

Steve stiffened. He didn’t care what Mrs. Lin thought about him, but he was furious that she’d accused Camille of doing anything that might hurt the kids. This was Camille’s neighbor and her grandma’s friend, someone who’d known Camille her whole life. Mrs. Lin had to know her better than that, which made what she said so much worse, since her only reason was to be cruel.

“You—oof!” Camille’s elbow caught him in the ribs, cutting him off. The nudge surprised him more than it hurt, and he got the message and closed his mouth, keeping his rant inside.

“I have no tricks to get up to,” Camille said, somehow keeping a smile on her face as she held Mrs. Lin’s narrowed gaze. “And I think Steve’s children are more likely to lead me into trouble than to follow me there, so I think they’re safe.” She paused, looking thoughtful. “Safe from me, at least. If they manage to blow up the ranch, that’s on them.”

Mrs. Lin gaped at her, startled into silence. Steve couldn’t hold back a grin. It was the first time he’d seen June Lin speechless, and he loved that Camille had won the argument—for now, at least.

“Camille, we should go,” he said, putting the bags in the back seat with the box of sculptures they’d retrieved from her Buick, as well as all of Camille’s purchases. Rose Varez, the manager at the bank, had known about the fire even before their visit earlier, and she’d helped Camille withdraw cash from her account and given her some temporary checks to hold her over until her new bank card arrived. It was a good thing, too, because Camille had refused every offer Steve had made to pay for anything. He knew it would’ve crushed her pride if she’d had to accept money from him because she couldn’t access her account.

“Right. Can’t miss the fire marshal.” Her smile brightened, becoming more authentic—likely because escape was imminent. “Thank you again, Mrs. Lin. And thank you for watching for looters for me, too.”

Mrs. Lin glanced around, as if checking the area. “Well, no problems yet, but I imagine they’ll be trying tonight.”

“Make sure to get some sleep.” Climbing into the passenger seat again, Camille waved as Steve closed her door and hurried around the truck. “Bye, Mrs. Lin.”

Steve could only manage a short nod in farewell as he eased the truck away from the curb. Camille rolled the window up, and they traveled the short distance to Jackie’s office in silence. As Mrs. Lin’s words replayed in his mind, he grew more and more annoyed.

“I don’t like how she talks to you,” Steve finally said as he parked in the lot next to the county building.

“Me either.” Despite her words, Camille didn’t sound too concerned, and his irritation on her behalf rose even more. “Whenever she implies I’m a harlot—or just calls me that outright—I remind myself of how she was after Grandma died, so depressed and remote, and I try to be grateful that she’s gotten her feistiness back. Besides, for her to successfully slut-shame me, I need to feel shame, and I try not to fall into that trap.” She shoved open her door and hopped out. As they headed for the building entrance, she added, “Plus, I was so shocked that she and Mrs. Murphy got together to actually do something good that I wasn’t paying much attention to what she was saying.”

Steve chewed over Camille’s answers in his head as he held the door and then followed her inside. “I still don’t like that she implied you’d hurt the kids,” he grumbled.

She gave him a smile over her shoulder, looking surprised and pleased. “Thank you.”

His brows drew together. “For what?”

“For both knowing that and for being willing to take on Mrs. Lin for me,” she said as he caught up to walk next to her. “Now, which way?”

“Straight ahead. It’s the last office on the right.”

As they walked into the fire marshal’s office, Steve glanced at Camille and saw that her smile of just a few seconds ago was gone, and the grim set of her mouth was back. He knew the thought of the upcoming meeting was forcing her to mentally relive the fire, and it bothered him that he couldn’t save her from the horrible memories, or from having to recount the entire experience to Jackie. He resisted the urge to put an arm around Camille again, knowing that it was one thing when they were alone at what remained of her house, and another in front of Len Gershowitz, Jackie’s assistant and probably an even more prolific gossip than Deanna Lin. Steve didn’t care what was being spread around Borne about the two of them, but he worried that Camille might be bothered by it.

Already, Len was looking back and forth between the two of them, his eyes bright with interest as he gave Camille a sympathetic grimace. “I’m so sorry about your house.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly, looking even more miserable.

“Hey, Len. Is Jackie still here?” Steve wanted to get this done so that he could take Camille home. There the kids could cheer her up and get her mind off of what had happened. He knew from personal experience that they were good at that.

“Sure is. Jackie!” Len hollered without leaving his chair. “Camille and Steve are here to talk to you!”

“Send them in!” Jackie yelled from inside her office.

Len waved them toward the door, and Steve followed Camille inside. “Camille.” Jackie, looking a little more harried than usual, stood up behind her desk and offered her hand. “Sorry about the house, but I’m glad you didn’t burn with it. Hey, Steve.” After shaking both of their hands, Jackie gestured for them to take the two chairs facing her desk before retaking her own seat.

“Steve said you needed to get my statement?” Camille said, and Jackie reached back to grab a few sheets of paper out of a printer.

“Yeah, I do. Here.” She handed Camille the paper and then shuffled some things around, hunting for a pen. She picked up a yellow highlighter, appeared to consider it, and then dropped it again and resumed her search. “Aha! Knew there was one around here.” She seized the pen she’d discovered under a mound of papers and offered it to Camille. “Just write what happened last night. I find it best to wait to ask you any questions until you’ve given me your statement.”

“Okay.” Camille scooted forward, as if to use Jackie’s desk as a writing surface, but stopped, blocked by the messy piles of papers and folders. “Um…?”

“Right. Sorry about that. Len!” She bellowed the last word, making Camille visibly jump.

“What?”

“Is there a clipboard up there?”

There was a pause, and then Len called back, “Yes!”

Jackie started to stand, but Camille rose, putting out a hand to stop her. “I’ll go get it.” She slipped out of the office before Jackie or Steve could argue. Through the open door, Steve heard Len start to pepper her with questions, and he grimaced. Retrieving the clipboard was going to take a few minutes.

“Still looking like the old wiring was the cause?” Steve asked.

Jackie settled back in her chair, her mouth pulling down on one side as it always did when she was thinking. “Seems likely, but I’m keeping an open mind. Her neighbor sure had a boatload of possible suspects.”

At the word suspects, Steve tensed and leaned forward. “You’re thinking it could’ve been intentional?” He kept his voice low, not wanting to add one more stressor onto Camille’s already full plate.

“It’s always a possibility.” Jackie gave a slight shrug, her alert gaze fixed on Steve. “You’re closer to Camille than I am. What’re your thoughts?”

He immediately bristled at the implication that Camille could have had anything to do with her house fire. The image of her face when he told her it hadn’t been her fault flashed in his mind. She’d been so relieved and grateful, and he didn’t want anything to ruin that and return the heavy load of guilt he knew she’d been carrying. He tried not to let his feelings show as he asked, “My thoughts about what?”

“You were one of the first ones on scene last night. What were your impressions?”

“My impressions?” He sat back, mirroring Jackie’s position, well aware that the fire marshal was intentionally keeping her questions vague. It was the same reason she was having Camille write her statement before asking any questions: to prevent influencing her report. Steve had been around cops enough to know that someone’s first answer was usually the most truthful one. He spent a few seconds organizing his thoughts before speaking, focusing on what he knew and discarding any nebulous gut feelings. “The point of origin looked to be in the north wall of the workshop, which had originally been an attached garage. My first assumption was that the cause was most likely electrical…that mice had chewed and nested in the old wiring, to be specific.”

“Hmm…” Jackie played with a paper clip, unbending and re-bending it until it came apart in her hands. Looking down at the two bits of metal in surprise, she tossed them toward a trash can. “Camille was in the workshop when it started?”

“I believe so. I know she exited through the front workshop door and tried to go back into the house to get her cat.”

Jackie shuffled through the papers in a manila folder. “The neighbor called nine-one-one at…” She paused, skimming one of the reports. “Two seventeen, after hearing the fire alarm. Was that Mrs. Lin?” She read a little further and then shook her head. “A Mr. Walter Franklin, looks like. So, the first responders arrive on scene at two thirty-four.” She looked up at Steve from under narrow brows. “You came from the ranch? Pretty quick response on your part.”

Resisting the urge to shift his weight, Steve kept his body still and his gaze even. Somehow, what was supposed to be a chance for Camille to give her statement had turned into more of an interrogation—of both her and Steve. “In the past fifteen years as a firefighter—most of those in more remote places than this—I’ve learned that getting there fast is critical. I have it down to a science now.”

Although Jackie kept her head down, Steve had the impression that the fire marshal was doing more listening and thinking than reading. “You seem to be pretty good friends with Camille.”

When Steve stayed silent, Jackie finally raised her eyes from the papers.

“No answer to that?” she finally asked.

“It wasn’t a question.” Although he kept his tone polite, he felt annoyance built in his chest, as well as that same instinct to protect Camille that he’d felt earlier with Mrs. Lin. He could still hear Len chattering in the other room, and it made him antsy to go rescue her from the separate—less formal—interrogation that was happening out there.

“Okay, how about this.” This time, Jackie picked up the highlighter and started popping the cap on and off again with sharp clicks. It made Steve glad that he didn’t share an office—or even a fire department building—with the marshal. Her constant fidgeting would drive Steve crazy. “Any reason Camille would light her own house on fire?”

“No.” Anger burned low in his gut, but Steve kept it contained. Jackie was pushing to get a reaction, and Steve wasn’t going to give her one. He understood why the fire marshal was doing this. It was all part of her investigation. “She’s devastated at losing her home. Also, if she’d planned it, she would’ve made sure her cat was safe first.”

After considering that, Jackie gave a slight nod. “How about anyone else? Is there an ex, someone with a grudge, a neighbor who doesn’t like how she trims her hedges?”

“Not that I know of, but you’d know the answer better than I would, since she’s lived in Borne most of her life.”

That pinched his pride, but it was true. While Jackie had been Borne’s fire marshal for almost twenty years, Steve had only been back a few weeks. As far as the town politics and gossip went, Jackie would be more likely to have heard about any local drama, even if it involved Camille. Steve had barely known her when she was young, and he had a lot to learn about her now. He wanted to, though. He wanted to know everything, and for her to really know him as well.

“True, but Camille Brandt is a mystery.” Clicking the cap on the highlighter, Jackie pointed the pen at Steve. “You’re the closest thing she has to a friend, which isn’t too surprising, considering she never leaves that house of hers.” She grimaced. “She never used to, at least. Anyway, except for your brother Joe, she’s the closest thing Borne has to a local hermit. I figured if anyone knew what was going on in her life, it’d be you.”

“Well, as the official Camille expert,” Steve said flatly, “I can tell you that she had no part in that house fire, and I don’t know anyone who’d want to hurt her.”

“Good to know.” Apparently, Jackie chose to ignore the thick sarcasm. “Just so you know, I’m with you on this. All signs are pointing to this being caused by the faulty wiring, but I need to do a thorough investigation, just on the off chance this was intentionally set.”

“What?” Camille said, standing in the doorway clutching the clipboard that she must’ve finally wrestled from Len. Her face was starkly pale. “Intentional? You think someone set fire to my house on purpose?”

“No, she doesn’t,” Steve said, glaring at Jackie for her horrible timing. “There’s no sign that it was intentional. Jackie was just saying that she has to investigate this fire as thoroughly as she does all fires, in order to get rid of all doubt.”

Camille looked back and forth between them, her grip still tight on the clipboard. “Who would want to burn my house down?” she asked, sounding bewildered, and Steve couldn’t stand seeing her lost expression for another second. Standing, he moved over to her and gently extracted the clipboard from her white-knuckled hands before tugging her against his chest. She went willingly, leaning against him.

Holding her with one arm, he handed the clipboard to Jackie with the other. “No one wanted to burn your house down,” Steve said, trying to put as much confidence as he could into his voice so that Camille would have no choice but to believe him.

“He’s most likely right,” Jackie said, which wasn’t all that helpful. Steve gave her a look that she ignored, focusing on the pages clipped to the board instead. “You finished your statement already? I thought you were talking to Len this whole time.”

“He talked.” Camille’s voice was a little muffled by Steve’s coat, but she didn’t attempt to move away. “I wrote.”

“Efficient,” Jackie said approvingly, her eyes skimming over the pages. “This looks good.” Her cell phone chimed, and she glanced at it before turning back to Camille and Steve. “I have to head home now. The grandkids just got dropped off for the weekend, and Margie’s going to lose her mind if I leave her alone with them for much longer. If I have any questions, I’ll call you. What’s your number?”

Camille took a step back, and Steve reluctantly released her. It felt right to have her in his arms, just as he’d expected. After rattling off her number, she paused, looking stricken, as if she’d just remembered that her cell had burned along with everything else. “I don’t have a new phone yet.”

“You staying with Steve out at the ranch?” Jackie asked, a gleam of the usual Borne love of gossip in her eyes. When Camille nodded, Jackie made a note and attached it to the statement. “I’ll call you there. I have the house number and Steve’s cell.”

“You’ll let me know if you find out anything else about the fire?” Camille asked.

“That I will,” Jackie said, pulling a business card out of a wire holder balanced on a teetering pile of folders. She held it out to Camille. “Call me if you think of anything you missed.”

“Okay.” Camille turned to leave but then paused. “There’s one other thing. It’s not related—I mean, I can’t imagine how it would be—but you might know the reason for it.”

Jackie blinked at her, obviously not following Camille’s rambling comment. “The reason for what?”

“There was someone—a firefighter—on my porch one night a few weeks ago, but he didn’t knock or ring the doorbell. At least I’m pretty sure he didn’t. Mrs. Lin took a picture of him, but you can’t see his face. Do you know if there was a fire call nearby or any other reason there’d be a firefighter at my house?”

A prickle went up Steve’s spine. It was most likely innocent, but the fire made everything seem suspicious.

“What date was this?” Jackie asked, bringing up the call log history on her computer. Camille told her, and the fire marshal quickly found the right day and time. “There was a gas leak at the house a few doors down from you that night. I bet they were asking people to evacuate.”

“Why didn’t they knock, then?” Camille asked.

With a shrug, Jackie closed out of the call log. “Maybe they did, and you didn’t hear. Could’ve been right as they cleared the house, too, so the evacuation order ended.”

Although Steve hadn’t been at the call, the chief had mentioned it to him the next day. His tension eased at the information that there had been a good reason for a firefighter to be at Camille’s house. He almost laughed at the way he’d immediately become suspicious.

“Okay.” Camille sounded as though she was relieved by the explanation as well. “Thank you.”

She turned again to leave and Steve followed, placing a hand on her lower back and sweeping her quickly through the outer office, so Len didn’t have a chance to ask any more questions. Even with her bulky borrowed coat, Camille felt fragile under his touch. It bothered him that he’d been the one to encourage her to come here. It almost would’ve been worth it to talk to Mrs. Lin an extra fifteen minutes so that they missed their chance to see Jackie and could wait until Monday, after Camille had the weekend to recover from her traumatic experience.

They were both silent until they were in the truck. “You okay?” Steve asked, knowing it was a stupid question even as he said it. Of course she wasn’t okay. Her house had just burned down.

“Yeah,” she said, to his surprise. “I will be, at least. It was just that I hadn’t even considered… Even when I was worried that I might have accidentally started the fire, I never thought about someone else…” She broke off again, the sheer incredulity in her voice making his heart hurt. He hated that she had to think about someone being capable of doing such a horrible thing to her.

“You know it’s very unlikely, right?” he said. Since he couldn’t erase the idea from her mind, he hoped he could at least set her a little more at ease. “Jackie has to consider the possibility for every fire, since that’s part of investigating, but there’s no evidence to support arson. In fact, everything she’s found so far points to mice making a nest in your ancient wiring.”

“Okay.” The word came out in a long gust of breath. “That makes sense. Someone wanting to set fire to my house doesn’t make sense, since no one could possibly hate me that much.” Glancing at Steve, she must’ve noticed his lips quirk up at the corners, because she gave an amused huff and quickly added, “Not because I’m especially un-hate-able or anything.”

That got a chuckle out of him. “Un-hate-able?”

She poked him in the ribs, right in a ticklish spot, and he flinched away, really laughing now. “You know what I mean. I hardly ever go anywhere. No one knows me well enough to build up that kind of hatred—except for Mrs. Lin, maybe, and she releases her aggression in other nearly as painful ways.” Her joking words had an undercurrent of true bewilderment, and his amusement fading, Steve again wished with everything in him that she’d never had to even consider the possibility of arson.

“You are, you know,” he said, reaching over and taking her hand. He felt her flinch in surprise before gripping him firmly, almost desperately.

“I’m what?”

“Un-hate-able.” He glanced at her quickly before refocusing on the road, and she stared at him, a smile starting as if she thought he was joking and was waiting for the punch line. When he didn’t laugh, her grip on his hand tightened. “Completely un-hate-able.”