Page 24 of Through the Fire
“What’d you see this morning?”
“Smoke.”
“Before that, were you watching the area?” When he shook his head, she glanced out the bank of windows, noticing how tiny Monroe was from their vantage point. “Were you using binoculars?”
“A telephoto lens on the camera, at first,” he said. “After I saw the smoke, I switched to those.” He pointed at a pair of binoculars on one of the rolling carts scattered around the space.
“After you started watching the smoke, did you see anyone around the house?”
“The angle’s wrong.” Picking up the binoculars, he offered them to Kit. She lifted them to her eyes and scanned the town. “It’s the house on the far southwest corner of Monroe.” She scanned over the snowy streets and buildings until she spotted the blackened shell of a house. “See how it’s set back against the trees and the house to the north blocks the view of the yard?”
Although the lack of information was disappointing, she’d known interviewing Wes was a long shot. Still, it was good that she’d done this. If she hadn’t talked to him, she would’ve felt like she’d skipped an important step in the investigation. She turned her head, still looking through the binoculars, and spotted a house surrounded by trees a mile or two east of the burned house. “Is that Jules’s house?” She held the binoculars still so Wes could look through them.
“I’m not sure. Who is Jules?”
“One of the diner waitresses. She’s dating Theo, another cop.” She eyed Wes hopefully, but he looked blank.
“Sorry,” he said, stepping back. “I don’t know many people. If you want to take a picture and ask someone else about it, just push that button on the side. I’ll send the photos to you.”
She eagerly found the house she was pretty sure was Jules’s again and pressed the button. It clicked, and she took a few more of the burned house and the surrounding area. “That’s pretty awesome,” she said, handing the binoculars back to Wes. “Did you make those?”
He gave a bashful half shrug as he turned the binoculars over in his hands. “Not really. I modified them a little, but that’s it.” She had a feeling his “modified a little” still meant some fairly impressive changes, but she didn’t push it.
“Do you have pictures of the smoke from when you spotted it?” she asked. Although her instincts told her that Wes wasn’t responsible for either the dead body or the fire, she needed to be sure. Facts trumped gut feeling, after all.
“Yes.” He shifted to one of the monitors and brought a photo up on the screen. “Here.” She moved next to him, once again noticing how good he smelled in a woodsy, clean sort of way. Shaking off the distraction of having him so close, she focused on the photo. The smoke was obvious, but the house looked intact, and she couldn’t see any flames. She glanced at the time stamp, which was right before dispatch had sent them the fire call. She wasn’t surprised at the proof that Wes couldn’t have started the fire. He had such an honest and straightforward manner that it was hard to imagine him being capable of doing anything even slightly shady, much less arson and murder.
“Can you send me a copy of this, too?”
He nodded.
Reluctantly, Kit headed for the stairs. “Let me know if you think of anything else.” Automatically, she reached in her pocket where she usually kept business cards and then remembered that they hadn’t even been ordered yet, much less printed. “I can give you my cell number.”
He waved toward the window at the mountain peaks surrounding them. “No reception here, but I can email these pictures to you if you give me your address.”
Happy that he’d have at least one way to contact her, she rattled the address off as he entered it on one of his laptops. “Thank you again for your help today.” During the interview, she’d almost forgotten about her close call, but now fatigue was dragging at her muscles, reminding her how much adrenaline had been rushing through her body earlier. “I probably wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t intervened.”
“I’m glad you’re not dead,” he said, making her snort.
“Yeah, me too.” With a final wave, she headed down the stairs.
As the tower door swung shut behind her, she couldn’t resist looking up at the observation deck, but the sun reflecting off the glass kept her from getting a final glimpse of Wes. She felt let down despite herself. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea, but the excited flutter in her belly wasn’t listening to reason. Wes was just so wonderfully interesting.
She was already thinking of an excuse for returning to the lookout tower sometime soon. It seemed that Wesley Alden March was addictive, and she couldn’t wait for their next encounter.
* * *
After checking to see if anyone was watching, Alex quickly picked the lock on the back door to the garage. It was old and so simple that a five-year-old could’ve broken in, and it only took her a few seconds before the knob turned in her hand and the door swung open. Picking up the gas can next to her, she slipped inside, carefully and silently closing the door behind her.
The Lincoln sedan was old but in beautiful shape, and Alex would have bet a good amount of money that Mrs. Jones only used it to drive to the grocery store and back once a week. Now that Alex had her keys, the poor old lady wouldn’t be driving anywhere. As soon as she’d seen the car through the garage window early that morning, the keys dangling so temptingly on a hook by the door, she’d known it’d be the perfect getaway car. Alex sent a silent thanks to Mrs. Jones for unknowingly providing it.
She topped off the tank and retightened the gas cap. It had already been mostly full, but Alex knew better than to rely on chance. An empty tank, an unnoticed witness, an undeleted text message—those were the tiny details that could ruin a plan. Everything needed to be double- and triple-checked, because nothing was going to derail her plan. Not now. Not when she was so close.
The door to the house opened, and Alex whirled around, still holding the gas can, to see Mrs. Jones staring at her, her mouth open slightly in shock.
“Hello.” Alex smiled her sunniest smile as her brain worked frantically. “I’m Susan. I work for your son? He sent me over to make sure you had enough gas in your car.”
Mrs. Jones’s mouth closed, but her eyes widened in obvious fear as she took a step back. “I don’t have a son,” she said, her voice high and shaky.
