Playing with Fire. Rachel LeeЧитать онлайн книгу.
card and the woman took it. “I’m Charity Atkins, an arson investigator. I’m here about the Buell fire. I was wondering if I might get some information here.”
Thin eyebrows reached for an equally thin graying hairline. “You need the sheriff. Straight back that hall on the left. Can’t miss it.”
She found the door labeled Sheriff Gage Dalton and had just raised her hand to knock when the door flew open. The man who faced her appeared to be about fifty, one side of his face marred by a shiny burn scar.
“Whoa,” he said. “Sorry if I startled you.” He held out his hand. “Gage Dalton.”
“Charity Atkins, arson investigator.” She pulled out a card for him. “If you have a minute, I’d like to ask about the Buell fire.”
“Sure.” He stepped back in. “Wayne’s the guy you need, though.”
“I’m meeting him in twenty minutes at the firehouse.”
Dalton’s eyes crinkled with a crooked smile. “Not much time, then. Take a seat.”
But before he joined her, he called down the hall, “Velma! We got a statey on the way over. Get rid of your butts. And while we’re at it, why don’t you take up electronic cigarettes?”
He didn’t wait for an answer but limped around the desk to sit facing her. Files teetered on one corner. A computer occupied the other. He sat with a grimace of pain, then smiled again. “Velma’s too old to change. But she’s not too old to get me into trouble.”
“I hear you.” Charity wanted to laugh. “I know you’re probably busy, but I was wondering what, if anything, you might know about this situation. The fire chief is hoping I can help him solve this somehow, but honestly, I’m an arson investigator who is primarily concerned with fraud. Fire and law enforcement are the people who do the real work. I just put it together.”
He nodded, drumming his fingers. “I don’t know much. I know Wayne is worried. Third arson in less than a year, but this was the worst by far. As for the Buells... Hardworking family. They’ve treasured that place for generations and never caused a lick of trouble. I wish everyone was like them.”
“But ranching is a hard life,” she said quietly.
“Not hard enough to give up everything he’s worked for. Not the kind of man who’d kill his own livestock, either. And you should talk to his wife and kids. They got out by the skin of their teeth. Fred Buell is now one very angry man, and I can’t say I blame him. If you’re still in town and want to get a measure of the regard folks around here feel for that family, come to the barn raising on Saturday.”
She blinked. “People still do that?”
“Don’t have to do it often, but yeah, they still do. Give the man a barn, he can take care of his business and his family will have a roof until they can put up another house.”
Charity tried to imagine it. “Living with the animals?”
“People used to do it all the time. Anyway, I got nothing on the Buell family. He’s not exactly in high clover, but he pays his debts and takes good care of his family. I can’t imagine him doing this to himself.”
She glanced at her watch. “Thank you, Sheriff. Guess I’d better run over to the fire station.”
“If you need anything else, let me know. It’s not like we’re not trying to look into this. I’ve battered the phone lines with demands for an investigator, and I know Wayne has sent samples to the forensics lab. But right now, we’re pretty much stalled without a trained arson investigator.”
She shook his hand again, then paused in the doorway. “Are the property appraiser’s records online?”
“More than mine,” he chuckled. “Yeah, they kept up with the times. Around here, we’re still catching up with the twenty-first century.”
Her car was still parked in front of the diner. She hurried back to it, then set out for the fire station. One thing to say for small towns, it was easy to find most places.
The only guys she saw as she walked up to the station, carrying her hard hat and laptop, were two men in the bay busy running on treadmills. She wondered if they had a weight room. Probably. There was even a basketball hoop hanging above the bay doors. That had been a favorite pastime when she’d volunteered.
Donna was still at the desk and simply waved her on through. “Chief’s waiting for you.”
Wayne rose the moment she opened his door. This morning he looked rested and his smile came easily. She found herself wishing he lived in Atlanta. She’d gladly get herself into some trouble with this guy.
“Ms. Atkins.”
“Charity, please.”
His smile widened a shade. “Wayne. Ready to head out?”
“Actually, do you have any internet Wi-Fi hotspots around here?”
“Not many,” he answered. “We’ve got Wi-Fi for law enforcement, the schools, the library, and us, but you need a password. I can get you one if you want.”
Oh, boy, she’d come back to the Stone Age. She quashed the thought immediately, as being rude. This area was extremely rural, and she was simply spoiled to think she could find a hot spot behind every storefront. “Thanks. I need to look at the property appraiser’s records on the Buell place.”
“Before we go?”
“It would help me understand what I’m seeing.”
Without another word, he turned his monitor so they both could see it. “Take a look,” he said as he began to type. A minute later, she saw the appraiser’s page for the Buell homestead. At once she started taking notes, tapping quickly on her own keyboard.
“Let me print it out.” As soon as the printer started humming, he rose and opened his office door. “Donna, can you fix it so Ms. Atkins can access our Wi-Fi while she’s here?”
“It’ll take me a few to set up a new account.”
“Later will be fine,” Charity said as she scanned the page. Big house, big barn, big appraisal. Her stomach sank as she read. Fred Buell had been underinsured, probably painfully so when you added in the livestock. No way would he gain from this fire. How had her company let this happen? When including reconstruction costs, they usually went overboard.
“This afternoon,” Donna said. “The darn thing always argues with me. I swear these machines have their own minds. Of course, if I wait for county IT to do it, it might take a week.”
Charity closed her laptop and reached for the sheet from the printer. As she did so, she saw a framed five-by-six photo on his desk. A young woman with long dark hair smiled back at her. Was he a cradle robber?
“She’s lovely,” she said to Wayne, indicating the photo.
“That’s Linda, my daughter. Seventeen and getting ready to leave me for college.”
Charity smiled. “You started young.”
He chuckled. “Older than I look. I guess I should take it as a compliment.”
“By all means.” She started to open her mouth and ask about his wife but realized it would be rude. Not everyone with a child had a spouse. She didn’t want to risk opening an old wound, if one existed.
“My wife left us about five years ago.” A shadow passed briefly across his face.
She guessed she’d given herself away somehow. “I’m sorry.”
“This town doesn’t suit everyone,” he said, closing the subject. “All set?”
“All done. Thanks.”
“Ride with me. Better for the roads than your rental.”
* * *
Wayne