Page 114 of Serial Burn

“I say you need another perspective. Regardless, what do you want from me?”

“We were hoping you could tell us where we might find him,” Nathan said. “We understand he works for a pool supply business in addition to his job at the school?”

“Yes.”

“Does he have a physical address for this business?”

“Yes, of course, but I’m not sure ... hold on.” There was a pause, then, “I think it’s this one.” She gave them the address.

“All right, thanks,” Andrew said. “Does he have another phone number? Any other way to reach him?”

“No, just the one cell phone. And I mean, his office phone, but if he’s not there...” She huffed. “This is so stupid. I’ll try to get ahold of him. What’s your number if I find him? I’m going to wring his neck ... uh ... not literally. I just don’t have time for his drama.”

“Ma’am, do you know if he’s setting these fires?”

“The fires in the news?”

“Yes, the church, the gym, the general store, the bank.”

“I’m confused. Is he a kidnapper or an arsonist?”

This wasn’t going well. “Would you mind meeting us to continue this? I think it would be better if we did this face-to-face.”

“Um ... sure. When?”

“The sooner the better. We’re trying to find a missing woman.”

“Of course. Of course. I uh, can meet you in an hour? I’m sorry it can’t be faster. I have to go to this interview. I can’t miss it. I need this job. My kids are in full-time day care, my husband left me two months ago, my friends are tired of babysitting, and—”

“Mrs. Ashcroft, I’m sorry to hear of your marital troubles and understand the need for a job. I’m sure we could let the companyyou’re interviewing with know we had to talk to you right away. We need to do this now.”

“I’ve got to go.” She hung up.

Nathan blinked, then shook his head. “Seriously?”

Andrew grunted. “I’ll get Lindsay to ping her phone.”

The only prayer Nathan could think to offer was, “Please, God.”

TWENTY-EIGHT

Jesslyn had been working for what seemed like an eternity, but the clock on the wall said it had been an hour and twelve minutes. The molding was off, her fingers sore and bleeding in some places, but she’d found a ballpoint pen to help pry some of the wood loose. She listened. Faint sounds from above reached her, but Derek didn’t appear to be coming back anytime soon. Maybe he had more customers. If she made a lot of noise, would someone hear her? Yeah, Derek. And then he might come back down and...

She set the tank lid aside and considered putting her jacket back on. Derek had promised to keep it cool inside and had definitely followed through. And if she hadn’t been able to get out of the coat, she’d be glad of it.

She took off her boots, then kicked off the heavy pants. Her station gear underneath wasn’t exactly the height of fashion, but the polyester and nylon material might offer her some protection against any glass shards.

Guess she was going to find out.

She slipped her boots back on, then tossed the pants and jacket through the window’s opening and well away from the broken glass.

“Well, here goes nothing,” she muttered. She checked once more for any glass sticking out, then turned sideways and stuck one footthrough, sucked in her gut, and pushed her upper body through. Her full hips might be her downfall. She pressed hard against the opening.

Please, God, get me out of here. Don’t let me get stuck.

But it was going to be tight. She wiggled and rocked and broke out in a sweat, but with one final twist that must have pleased whatever physics rules were necessary to torque her way out, she was through the opening and standing next to a stack of boxes as tall as she was. Pool chemicals.

She glanced around, ears tuned for Derek’s return. To her left was a worktable loaded with more boxes of chemicals. Chemicals, chemicals everywhere. And he kept matches in the desk drawer.

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