The Arsonist

Mrs. Sampson ignored what Darcy had said. “Why did they fire you?”

There was no point arguing. “I wrote an exposé on a developer. He used shoddy materials in his buildings. Turns out he was a major advertiser with the paper. I refused to drop the story. I got fired.” It all had sounded plausible when she’d made it up, but now she found she had trouble meeting her mother’s gaze.

Mrs. Sampson started to sweep up the burned flour, again. “That doesn’t make sense. I see your name in the paper a lot. Your articles are good enough.”

Unreasonably pleased, she stood a little taller. “You get The Post?”

Mrs. Sampson shrugged. “From time to time. I buy it from the drugstore.”

Darcy stood five inches taller than her mother, yet she still felt like a five-year-old at times. “Any articles you liked in particular?”

“No. Would you get the dustpan?”

Grateful for the task, she dug the pan out of the broom closet and knelt down so her mother could sweep the pile of flour onto the pan.

“You should have listened to your boss, Darcy.”

Darcy picked up the full pan and dumped it in the trash can. “You’re right.”

Her mother studied her an extra beat as if she wasn’t sure if Darcy was being sarcastic or not. Darcy tried to look sincere.

Mrs. Sampson softened a fraction. “What about that boyfriend of yours?”

“We broke up almost a year ago.”

Mrs. Sampson swept up the rest of the flour and dumped it into the trash can. “I saw that Stephen guy on the Today Show when he was reporting on those fires in Washington last year. I thought his smile was too quick.”

“And fake too. Would you believe he spent thousands on caps?” His new, rich girlfriend had paid for them. “I still can’t believe I wasted two years with him.”

Mrs. Sampson shook her head. “So you’ve nowhere else to go and you’ve come home.”

Pride had her lifting her chin a notch. “I know I’ve not been the best daughter. Dad and I fought so much and I didn’t even stay for the reception after the funeral.”

The apology caught Mrs. Sampson by surprise. More tension drained from her shoulders. “Your father wasn’t the easiest man either, Darcy. I knew he could be difficult.”

An unexpected lump formed in her throat. “I was hoping I could crash here for a while.”

Mrs. Sampson was silent for a moment. “Of course, you can stay here for a while. In fact, I’ve an opening for a waitress. Our waitress quit just yesterday. I’ll have to check with Trevor of course, but I don’t see why you couldn’t work the tables like you used to.”

“That would be great.” The idea of working in the restaurant didn’t appeal, but it would be the perfect cover story.

Her mother nodded. “You can start by taking out this trash. Then, when you get your bags put away, you can start prepping for the dinner crowd. My cook, George, is on break now but he’ll be back within the hour.”

“George? What happened to Dave?” Dave had cooked for the Varsity since she’d been in elementary school.

Mrs. Sampson sighed. “He quit about six months ago.”

There was a time when she’d known everything about the Varsity. Now she was the outsider. “Everything all right with him?”

She stood a little straighter. “He just wanted more money than we could pay.”

“That doesn’t sound like Dave.” The tall, lean man always enjoyed a good joke and kept Eskimo Pies for Darcy in the freezer.

“People change.”

The tone in her mother’s voice told her not to push. “Okay. Where is Trevor? I tried him on his cell phone earlier but he didn’t pick up.”

“Your brother is getting supplies for the dinner crowd. We ran short on a few things.”

“How’s he doing?”

Mrs. Sampson started to wipe the cooktop with a rag. “He’s doing just fine. The tavern has never been busier. Thank God, I have him.”

Darcy didn’t miss the hidden meaning. Trevor was the golden child. “Good.”

“Well, you better get to work,” her mother said. “That trash won’t take itself out.”

Darcy glanced at the trash can overflowing with debris. She visualized the story she was going to write and the awards she was going to win.

“Will do.” Darcy sealed up the green bag lining the wheeled plastic trash can.

“And when you’re done with that, get this kitchen cleaned.”

“Right.”

Darcy pushed up the sleeves of her suit and tried to pull the bag out. It was heavier than she realized. Deciding to keep the trash bag in the can, she tipped the can back on its wheels and started to pull it outside.

“Darcy?” Her mother looked as if she had something else to say.

“Yeah?”

As their gazes met, her mother frowned, seeming to change her mind. “Never mind.”

“Okay.” Drawing in a deep breath, Darcy yanked at the can again and slowly started to drag it to the back alley behind the Varsity.

The alley was lined with pitted asphalt and wide enough for cars to drive through. The Varsity, flanked by a bridal shop and a drugstore, was located in middle of the block. The battered blue Dumpster, shared by all three businesses, was tucked in a nook by the drugstore.

Darcy pulled the trash can down the two steps by the back door, wincing as it banged hard with each drop. Her ankles wobbled as her high heeled boots caught between two of the cobblestones. Cursing, she yanked it free, and in the process, ripped the leather from one heel.

She stared at the torn Italian leather. The three-hundred-dollar boots had been a Christmas gift from Stephen two years ago. She suspected this was fate’s retribution for the lies she’d told her mother.

Tracking down the real Nero was worth it, she reminded herself.

Standing taller, she gripped the handle of the trash can and started down the alley. “I’m not going to quit. I’m not. I will get through this.”

The heavy can rumbled over the uneven asphalt as she headed toward the Dumpster. She opened the side door of the Dumpster and tugged on the green trash bag three times but couldn’t get it free.

“You are a stupid trash bag,” she said gritting her teeth. “And you aren’t going to win.” Determined, she jerked the bag. Her fitted jacket strained against her back and she pulled and pulled until finally the garbage bag wiggled free. She dumped the bag into the Dumpster.