Page 28 of Slow Burn
The breath stuck in Jocelyn’s throat. Ned Turner. A name she’d skimmed past in every old file. He’d only ever been mentioned in passing, as if the town itself wanted to skip over him.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d set the fire for the insurance money,” Etta added.
Jocelyn tapped her fingers against her thumbs. “He still live in town?”
Etta nodded, those eyes piercing Jocelyn with keen understanding. “You lookin’ into this fire, baby girl?”
There was censure in her tone. Suspicion, too, and maybe even the edge of anger. But it was thebaby girlthat slammed Jocelyn back to that night. The way Etta’s long, fake nails had tapped against the glass of chocolate milk before she’d handed it to Jocelyn. The shimmering pink lacquer had mesmerized her as it caught the light of the lamps around the older woman’s living room, but it was that whispered “here ya go, baby girl” that stuck like a fly in sap. The sad drawl and the pitying looks became the standard in the weeks that followed.
But Etta had been the first, and it’d been a balm that night.
Jocelyn looked at Etta’s hands now, nails bare and brittle-looking. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” she admitted.
And it was true. She wasn’t an investigator. Just a daughter digging at an old grave.
“Ned ain’t no gentleman,” Etta warned, the edge softening. “He won’t tell you a thing just ‘cause you ask. He harassed your mama plenty.”
Suspicion surged hotter. If Ned had anything to gain from that fire, then he was worth pressing. Cooperation or not, his response could be very telling.
“Thanks, Ms. Etta.” Jocelyn touched her arm and dug a card from her purse. “Call me if you need anything. I can bring you a sugar-free treat—Nan’s diabetic, too. I know the tricks.”
Etta’s smile warmed. “Aw, sure, Honey.” She slipped the card into her pocket.
twelve
“The most powerful weapon on earth is the human soul on fire.” - Ferdinand Foch
Cole figured it was about right that Jocelyn Murphy walked into the Nail the same day his mama ordered him to invite her to supper. And that was what she’d done—ordered him. Sat like a weight in his gut as he watched Jocelyn cut a line for the corner booth, folder in hand, jaw set hard enough to tell him she wasn’t there for wings and a beer.
The room was quiet for now, but he knew what was coming. Thursdays meant sing-o night—families piling in, kids hollering, a DJ cranking music so loud it rattled the glasses. If Jocelyn planned on digging into that folder, she wasn’t going to get far once the place filled up.
Didn’t take a genius to know what she was carrying. Fire reports. Old ghosts. Her eyes gave her away—guilt slipping through before she shoved it down under all that determination.
He told himself not to care. He wasn’t interested, not in her or her questions. Mama might’ve wrung a half-hearted promise out of him, but the more folks in town tried to push him towardJocelyn Murphy, the more he wanted to dig his heels in. And the fact he couldn’t stop noticing how damn good she looked sitting there? Just one more reason to keep his distance.
So he handed her section to Bea and steered clear. Safe plan.
Except he kept looking over anyway, catching every sigh, every shake of her head. His scowl deepened until Terra snorted on her way past.
“Better fix your face. You’re scaring the kids,” she said. “What’s your problem?”
Cole shot her a look. “Thought you were off thirty minutes ago.”
“Just stickin’ around to watch you work at staying thirty feet from that Murphy girl like she slapped a restrainin’ order on you.” She hauled a tub of dishes toward the back, grinning.
“Shut the hell up and go home.”
Her laughter trailed after her as she headed out through the back.
Soon after she left, Garrett Harrington pushed through the door, lugging his DJ-ing gear like a man dragging a corpse. Cole pulled the sing-o cards and markers from under the bar, and moved around the restaurant to pass them out across the tables. Which meant he had to head Jocelyn’s way. No dodging it this time.
She looked up when he stopped. “What’s this?”
“Sing-o.”
Her brows rose.
“Bingo. With a DJ.” He jerked his chin toward Garrett.
