Out Of The Ashes

Jake snorted and flopped down into a chair beside their mom. “You cooking? Righteous. I’m about to starve. And I can’t believe you’re calling that dump a perfectly good building. Just yesterday you and he were in a screaming match about everything that was wrong with it.”

Kari felt her stomach churn. That very public argument was one more nail in her coffin. It was her motive. She could hear the DA’s opening argument already— revenge because her landlord wouldn’t repair the building.

She met Jake’s eyes. They were coolly speculative. “Jake...”

“You didn’t light it up yourself, did you, sis?” her brother asked.

“No!” She began dumping the dirty dishes in the sink, rinsing them out and loading them in the dishwasher. “Of course I didn’t.”

“So, was it? Arson?” Jake pressed.

“Yes, Jake, it was, but don’t badger your sister. She’s got a lot on her shoulders.”

“So do you, Mom. I mean, she burned up your retirement money, didn’t she?”

Kari slammed the dishwasher door shut a little too hard. “I did not burn—”

“Relax, sis. It’s too easy to get your goat.” Jake gave her that crooked little grin that worked on so many people—for at least a while until they realized that he had no interest in actually following through on any of his promises. “I was just joking.”

“Jakey!” her mom scolded. “Don’t even think about joking about this. Kari could get in real trouble—and think what she did for you. You should be grateful. If the police knew...”

Jake fixed Kari with a level stare. “But they don’t know. And they wouldn’t believe her now anyway. And, Mom,” he added, not moving his gaze from Kari, “I swear, scout’s honor, it wasn’t me. You can’t keep blaming me for every fire in a fifty-mile radius.”

Kari wanted to believe Jake. And she understood well enough how badly it felt to be the usual suspect in whatever trouble that surfaced.

His mom rushed to smooth things over. “Of course it wasn’t you, nobody said it was you—”

“Sure sounded like that to me,” Jake grumbled.

“I tried to call you—” Kari began.

“See? You’re still trying to pin it on me!” he snapped.

“No, that’s not what I—”

The doorbell rang—the front door bell. Jake was apparently ready to snatch at any excuse to end the conversation, because he leapt out of the chair and said, “I’ll get it.”

As he went down the hall to answer the living room door, Kari’s mom hissed, “Now, see? You’ve hurt his feelings.”

“Mom, I didn’t—”

But Jake’s voice rose and fell in counterpoint to whoever was at the door. Something about the timber of that other voice—male, deep, the barest hint of amusement in it, caused Kari to stiffen.

She heard Jake say, “Sure, she’s in the kitchen. You’re just in time for whatever she’s cooking. C’mon.”

Footsteps sounded closer and closer as Jake approached the kitchen with his companion.

She froze and watched.

“Hey, Kare...somebody here to see you. Didn’t know you had a boyfriend.”

Jake strolled back into the kitchen. Kari looked past his shoulder to see none other than Rob Monroe in his wake.

“Pardon me for tracking you down,” the arson investigator told her. “But I have just a few more questions for you.”

CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_da6ebfa6-4eac-5034-9bd1-2d593b5a1306)

ROB TOOK ADVANTAGE of Kari’s flustered silence to let his gaze slide around the kitchen. It was straight-up middle class suburbia, updated sometime in the past few years with granite counters and stainless steel appliances, but Rob knew a working kitchen when he saw one. And this kitchen? It wasn’t a working kitchen.

This one wasn’t like Ma’s—it showed none of the telltale wear that a kitchen offers when it’s used every day. No, Chelle Hendrix’s kitchen looked fresh out of a home improvement store brochure. And there was something about it that made him think that the whole thing was a wannabe setup. The appliances didn’t look substantial enough for the industrial look they aspired to. The floor and the cabinets and the hardware were all too...shiny, perfect, basically unused. There were no scuffmarks, no scratches, no worn finish around the doorknobs. Ma’s kitchen was scrupulously clean and cared for, but worn around the edges. This kitchen? It was too pretty to be a working kitchen.

But it sure smelled like a working kitchen. Something golden brown and delicious assailed Rob’s nostrils—blueberry muffins, if he knew his baked goods, and thanks to Ma and a family of good cooks, he did.

The guy who’d let Rob in—there was enough resemblance in the face to peg him as Kari’s brother—lounged against the too-pretty stainless steel fridge. “So, cool, you’re with the police, huh? I thought you were Kari’s main squeeze.”

Kari coughed in embarrassment. “Jake, Mom, this is Rob Monroe. He’s—what did you tell me? Fire marshal and arson investigator? He’s determining the cause of the fire at the bakery.”

“You mean the whole downtown, huh, sis?” her brother corrected.

There was something of a smirk in that correction. Rob couldn’t explain the instant and visceral dislike that flared up within him at Jake’s response. Maybe it was because, despite all the teasing that the Monroe brothers inflicted on their sisters, they knew the value of basic human kindness. He’d never kick Maegan, Cara or DeeDee when they were already down.

But not everybody was like him or his brothers. He pushed the thought away and concentrated on Kari’s reaction. Her head bowed, and she managed a tiny nod.

“Yes. You’re right, Jake. It wasn’t just my shop that burned. Thanks for reminding me not to be so self-absorbed.”

Rob did a double take. Kari’s tone was completely devoid of sarcasm—in fact, a mix of humility and gratitude bubbled up out of her words.

If he’d been surprised that she hadn’t clocked her brother, he didn’t miss the flash of irritation in Jake’s expression.

“Oh, yeah, Miss Goody Two Shoes. Guess you’ll be wading in and saving the day, huh?” Jake retorted.

Kari’s mouth compressed in real anger. Before she could say anything, Chelle piped up, “Jakey! Don’t poke fun at your sister!”

Chelle could have been talking to a nine-year-old, not someone about Rob’s age. But it must have given Kari the distraction she needed, because Rob heard her draw in an audible breath. He looked around to see her place both hands on the counter and press down hard. Control was obviously very important to Kari Hendrix.

“You’re right, Jake. You know me way too well. I really should do something for those folks. They’ll be going through and trying to salvage things now—right, Rob? The buildings have been released? People can go through them?”

Rob considered this. “Yes and no. If the building in question is structurally sound, then they can go in during daylight hours. But some of the structures will need to be reinforced. And...well, yours is a crime scene.”

Kari bit her lip. “Right.” She turned to her mother. “Mom, do you mind if I use up the rest of the blueberries and the flour? I’ll buy you some more. But I want to make a big batch of muffins for my downtown neighbors... Jake’s right. It’s not just about me. They’re going through the same thing I am.”

Chelle waved her hand expansively. “Mi kitchen es su kitchen, I told you that. Jakey, go get some money out of my purse and run to the grocery and get her whatever she needs, okay? She’ll make a list.”

Jake barely concealed a roll of his eyes. “Sure, sure. I’ll grab her a superhero cape while I’m at it. I think they’ve got ’em on aisle three. Hey, sis, just text me the list, okay? I’m outta here.”

He sauntered out of the kitchen, presumably toward wherever Chelle kept her purse.

The timer beeped on the oven. It galvanized Kari. She called after Jake, “Wait! The muffins! You said you were hungry?”