Seeing the Light (A Marie Jenner Mystery Book 1) (34 page)

Now, everything had changed.

Officer Landsdown offered to give us a ride downtown. James brushed him off, saying, tersely, that he’d drive because we had things to discuss. I was kind of hoping Landsdown would push, but he didn’t, so I ended up in the passenger seat of James’ Volvo, on one of the most uncomfortable rides of my life.

Landsdown followed us downtown in his cruiser, leaving the other officer with Jasmine and her kids until something more permanent could be arranged. I hated hearing that. Permanent sounds so—permanent. Like this was never going to go away.

Farley settled into the back seat of the car moments before James took off.

“I like that house,” he said. “You need to take me back there, when you’re finished with all this foolishness.”

Before I could figure out a way to answer him, he sprawled out and appeared to go to sleep. At least he wasn’t harassing me. I had enough on my plate.

“So, when were you going to tell me about Arnie Stillwell?” James’ voice sounded tight, and I knew, without looking at him, that I’d have to find more room on that plate, somewhere.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“Yeah, well, tough,” James said. “You need to tell me everything about this character, right now.”

I glanced over at him, and shook my head. I was not going to let the tough guy act work. Not a chance.

“Let it go. I’m not telling you anything more about him.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’s none of your concern,” I replied. Farley snorted in the back seat, and I glanced at him, but he seemed to still be sleeping. “That’s why.”

“Marie, I don’t know what your problem is, but I think it’s time you start telling me. You have a stalker and you need to be protected.”

I couldn’t keep up the ignoring pretense any longer. “I need to be protected?” I cried, doing a little glaring of my own. “
I
need to be protected? I don’t think so. I’ve done all right so far, without—”

“Are you kidding me?” he yelled, and I knew, without looking, that the other James was back, with a vengeance. “You have been strangled, and blown up, and your apartment has been burned to the ground! I would say that you need a bunch of protecting! If you aren’t smart enough to understand that, you’re not as smart as I thought you were!”

“What?” I snarled. “What the hell are you trying to say? That last bit made no sense whatsoever! Talk about being smart—”

“You know what I mean!” he roared, startling Farley out of his dream.

“Tell him to shut the fuck up,” he muttered, and rolled over. “I’m sleeping here.”

“Quit yelling,” I said. “People are staring.”

“What people?” James glanced around, but did lower his voice. I was glad. I didn’t need both Farley and him on my back.

“Never mind,” I said, trying for a more reasonable tone myself. It was time to put a stop to all this “I’ll protect you,” crap. “You have to understand, James, that this has nothing to do with you. We have—more of a business relationship. This is my personal life. And—”

“You don’t want me involved in your personal life.” He snarled out the last bit. “I imagine that includes dating. Wouldn’t want me to be involved in anything as personal as dating—would you.”

His last statement was just that—a statement, so I didn’t answer. Didn’t see the point. He was too mad to talk to. I glanced out the window, relieved to see we were at the downtown station. He wheeled into the underground parking lot, taking up three parking slots, and pulling the hand brake as hard as he could.

“Even if you don’t want to talk to me about your personal life, you are going to have to tell Sergeant Worth. Know what I mean?”

“Yes. I know exactly what you mean,” I said softly, and without another word, followed him into the elevator and up to the Sergeant’s office.

Marie:
Good Cop, Bad Cop, All Rolled into One

“All right you two, what the hell’s going on?” Sergeant Worth scowled at both of us as we stood in front of her excruciatingly neat desk in the cramped cubbyhole she called her office. There was a picture on the desk. When I tried to sneak a peek, the Sergeant slammed it face down with a growl. “I asked you a question. What is going on?”

“Tell me what happened to my place, Sergeant.” The other James was still there, dangerous sparks flying from his eyes. Sergeant Worth ignored the sparks, and stared us both down.

“Someone firebombed it,” she said.

“How bad?”

“There was some damage.”

“Can I go home?” he asked.

“No. The investigators are still working. I’m sorry.” For about a second, she actually looked sorry. Until her cop mask snapped back into place. “Now, tell me exactly what you two are involved in. From the beginning.”

“
We
are involved in nothing. There is absolutely nothing going on with us,” James snapped. “Is there, Marie?”

“What?” Sergeant Worth looked confused, then angry. “What the hell are you talking about, Lavall?”

“Maybe Marie would like to answer that. She’s the brains of this operation, aren’t you, Marie? I mean, you’re the one who decides everything, aren’t you? Where we go, what we eat—and what we’re going to call it once we’re done? Right?”

James stared at me, his face paper white, his eyes like crazy pinwheels. I was doing a little staring of my own. His place had been firebombed, for God’s sake, and he was worried about whether we were dating? I couldn’t believe it, and laughed out loud.

“Get over yourself, James. We’ve got more to worry about here, don’t you think? Okay, so I’m not going to call going out for supper a date. It was fine, we had good food, good conversation, we don’t have to start labeling—”

“Both of you shut up!” Sergeant Worth yelled.

I jumped about a foot and a half. So did James, and I was happy about that. I didn’t want to be the only one.

“In case it hadn’t come to your attention, someone tried to burn down both of your apartment buildings. Both of them. Within days of each other. Doesn’t that strike you as odd? Especially when you consider the fact that you were both caught in an explosion under a week ago. Both of you. Same explosion. Isn’t this all a bit peculiar?”

“Well, maybe you want to talk to El Capitán here, she seems to have all the answers,” James started, pointing his thumb in my direction.

I was certain, for a moment, that the Sergeant was going to literally explode right in front of us. With shaking fingers, she signaled for James to shut his mouth. He did so with an audible snap, her anger seeming to pull him out of whatever insane fugue he’d been in.

“I don’t know what games you two are playing, and really, I don’t give a shit,” she said. “You tell me what the hell is up with you two right now, or I’m throwing you both in jail. I swear to God. Jail. And I can leave you there as long as I want.”

I almost told her I thought that was against the law, but the Sergeant cut me short with a look. “As long as I want,” she repeated, her tone absolutely chilling.

There was a short silence while we all collected our thoughts. I was trying to work out how James and I could simultaneously answer her and keep quiet, and I think pretty much the same thing was going through James’ head, too.

“Well?” Worth finally asked. “Who’s going to start?”

“I will.” I tried to keep my voice soft, and watched for any signs of the cop snapping again. “I think this all has to do with Ian Carruthers, the owner of the Palais.”

“Ian Carruthers?” James asked, and I inwardly cringed. I hadn’t mentioned my recent interactions with Carruthers yet. A little too busy trying to explain the crazy ex-boyfriend.

“So, we’re back to him, are we?” Sergeant Worth asked. “You got a love hate thing going for this guy, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” I looked down at the tops of my shoes. They were still covered in muck and ash. I was surprised. I hadn’t noticed it before. “I guess I do. But he tried to pay me off.”

That finally got the look of surprise back on her face.

“He what?”

“He came to see me at the hospital and offered me $50,000.00 to disappear.” I shuffled uncomfortably. “And then he had the cheque delivered to my friend’s house. It was waiting for me when I got there.”

Worth frowned. “So he knew you were going to your friend’s house?”

“Yes.”

“How? Did you tell him?”

“No.” It was my turn to frown. “I didn’t tell anybody.” I turned to James. “Did you tell anybody?”

“No,” he said. James looked like he’d been poleaxed. “No, I didn’t tell anyone.”

“Interesting,” Worth said, and made a note. “Give me the cheque.”

“I can’t.”

“Why? You planning on keeping the money?”

I flushed. “No, I’m not keeping it. I already mailed it back to him. I was going to call him—but thought I’d talk to you first.”

“Marie.” James sighed out the words, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it didn’t have anything to do with you, James.” I spoke more sharply than I intended, and worked hard at softening my tone. “I had to decide how I was going to handle the whole thing.” I turned to the Sergeant. “I know. I should’ve told you at the hospital.”

“Damned straight you should have,” Worth snapped. “Why was he trying to pay you off? Did it have to do with the flash drive you talked about?”

The shrewd look was back on her face, so when James sucked wind, I didn’t look at him. I kept my eyes on her.

“No. He didn’t know about that. Maybe he thought I knew about Don Latterson’s involvement with him.”

“Did you?”

“Not really.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about this before?” Sergeant Worth asked.

“Because I—because—” My bit of bravado leaked out of me like helium out of a balloon. “I don’t know. It was the money or something. I really don’t know.”

“Keeping information from me isn’t the right way to go, Marie.” Surprisingly, the Sergeant’s face had softened. “I know you didn’t have the easiest time up north, but we are the good guys.”

“Do you mean Arnie Stillwell?” That was James. I couldn’t say anything. I felt like a deer that found itself having a staring contest with the headlights of a Mac truck. Sergeant Worth was the Mac truck.

“The other cop is handling that, James.” I said it quietly, I thought. Obviously not quietly enough.

“Handling what?”

The sergeant pulled a file from her drawer. I could see Arnie’s picture—and it was not flattering at all—pinned to the top of thick file. He had quite the rap sheet, no doubt about it. I suspected a fair bit of it had to do with our messy little relationship.

“What’s he done now?” she asked.

“He called my friend’s place.” I glanced around and grabbed a chair, throwing myself into it. My legs had started shaking so badly, I knew I couldn’t stand another second. “He made some threats. It scared my—”

“When?”

“Earlier today. We already called the police. Officer Landsdown is handling it.” I stared at her. “Really. It’s being handled and it has nothing to do with the other. I’m sure it doesn’t.”

Actually, I didn’t know any of that, I was just sick of everyone knowing my business. Seeing how out of control every aspect of my life was.

“How can you be so sure?” James asked.

“Because Carruthers—” I started.

“Forget Carruthers,” he said. “I don’t think he had anything to do with the fires at our apartments.”

“Why do you think that?” I asked.

“The explosion at the Palais was caused by the furnace. Latterson’s nephew, Raymond, did it, on orders from Latterson. Correct?’

The sergeant nodded.

“But Marie’s place,” James continued. “That was a firebomb or something. Wasn’t it?”

“That’s true,” the sergeant said. “The fire marshals just finished investigating. The fire started in Marie’s apartment. An accelerant was used. However, Raymond—”

“Who caused the explosion in the Palais,” James said.

“Had not yet been arrested,” the sergeant continued. “He could have set the fire.”

“But he couldn’t have set the fire in my building,” James replied. “Because he’s still in custody. Isn’t he?”

“Absolutely,” Worth said. A smile touched her face. “And the information I received from the preliminary investigation confirms that the fire was started, not just in your building, but in your apartment.”

“Just like Marie’s,” James said. “Was Arnold Stillwell ever arrested for arson?”

“No,” I said.

“Yes,” said the sergeant.

“What?” I gasped.

She flipped open Arnie’s file. “He was accused of starting a fire in an outbuilding at the Rogers Forest trailer park in Fort McMurray.”

My mother lived in that trailer park.

“Looks like it happened a month or so after you moved,” she said, and looked up at me. “He used a Molotov cocktail. Didn’t your mother tell you about the fire?”