Tender Is The Night (9 page)

"I told you I wouldn't," Emma said. "But you won't be able to fly under the radar for long."

"I just need a couple of days so I can concentrate on this case and not get roped into pre-wedding plans."

"Got it."

As Emma left the table, Kate glanced over at him with an enquiring look in her eyes. "Well, what do you think about Emma?"

"I'm guardedly optimistic."

She raised an eyebrow. "That excited, huh?"

"For me, that's a big change. It's not in my nature to react to anything but reality," he added. "Even Emma said she hasn't done anything to help us yet, except come to lunch."

"She will help us. Emma is very passionate about her job. And she will fight for what's right. It's something I've always admired about her."

"I can see why the two of you get along so well. You have similar interests."

"We do, but we also both get along with everyone. When you're in a big family, you learn to accept everyone for who they are. So, what's next?"

He'd been thinking about that. "I'd like to go by St. Bernadette's."

"You haven't done that already?"

"I have," he admitted. "But I just did a drive-by. I didn't go into the school. Now that the fire department has cleared the scene and school is back in session, I'd like to talk to the staff in the counseling office since that seemed to be part of the target."

"Good idea. And you'll probably get a little further with an FBI agent at your side."

"Probably," he admitted.

She gave him a teasing smile. "Should I say it again?"

He didn't have to ask her what she meant. "Please don't." He tossed his napkin on the table and stood up. "Let's get out of here."

"Okay, partner, whatever you say."

* * *

When they got to the high school, Devin showed Kate the still-blackened wall where the fire had leapt out of the Dumpster. But a new Dumpster had already replaced the old one and was in its original position by the cafeteria. The broken window in the counseling office had also already been replaced.

"It's almost like it never happened," she murmured.

"I suspect there's a little more damage inside from what Emma told us."

She looked around the quad of the high school. There were only a few students wandering around. It was after three and the kids who weren't on the baseball or soccer fields or in the gym were probably on their way home. "I haven't been here in a long time," she murmured. "Not since my senior year of high school. I dated a kid who went here. He took me to his prom. That seems like a million years ago."

"What high school did you go to?"

"St. Ignatius."

He nodded. "I should have figured. Catholic family."

"Very Catholic. One of my uncles is a priest. And I have a great-aunt who is a nun." She gave him a thoughtful look. "What about you? What's your religion?"

"I was baptized Catholic, but I haven't been to church in a long time."

"There's one right over there," she said, tipping her head toward the chapel that adjoined the high school. "We could take a few minutes if you want to go to confession."

"I have nothing to confess."

"Nothing, not one little thing?" she teased.

"My confessions don't need to be made in what looks like a closet. I can have my own personal conversations."

She nodded, not surprised Devin wasn't into organized religion. "Sometimes I wonder how you lasted so long in the FBI," she said.

He raised an eyebrow. "What does that have to do with the confessional?"

She realized she'd made the jump in her own head. "It doesn't. I was just thinking that you don't like structure and ritual, whether it's in the church or the government. So how did you last in such a rigid organization as the FBI?"

"To be honest, I don't know. I guess when I was younger, I was more willing to follow without question, to jump when I was told to jump, to play the game I'd volunteered to play."

"To be your dad. That was part of it, right?"

"Definitely." He dug his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "I wanted to see what had taken my father away from me all those years. Maybe I wanted the job to be worth it, not just for me but for him, for what it had done to our family."

She was taken aback by Devin's words, by his self-awareness, by how much he'd shared with her in such an unexpected way.

He looked just as rattled by his admission. Clearing his throat, he said, "Let's go inside and see if we can talk to someone in the counseling department."

As she followed Devin into the school, she wanted to tell him that the job was worth it, but what did she know? She only had one year under her belt, and she had to admit that she hadn't spent much time with family and friends in that year. But it didn't have to be an all-or-nothing job—did it?

She was still pondering that question when they entered the main hall.

The counseling office was to the right. The door was open, and inside a man was replacing damaged drywall. There were tarps thrown across the filing cabinets and the desk and there were obvious signs of fire and smoke damage. The scene made the arson cases she'd been reading about feel more real. Glancing at the bookshelves, she saw the charred remnants of college guides, reminding her that the last time she'd been in an office like this was when she was deciding what college to go to, what career to pursue.

"I feel like I'm back in high school again," she said. "All that angst about how was I going to get to where I am now. If only I could go back and tell my younger self…"

"Tell her what?" Devin asked curiously.

"To relax, trust her instincts, follow her own path, and don't worry about anyone else's plan for her life, including her parents'."

"They didn't want you to go into the FBI?"

"They weren't thrilled with the idea. They thought it would be too dangerous."

"It can be."

"No risk, no reward, right?"

"That's right."

"Did you ever consider a different field, Devin? Or was it always about following your dad?"

"There was a time when I thought I could play pro baseball, but beyond that crazy dream, it was all about becoming a special agent."

"Pro baseball, huh? Were you good enough?"

"I was good, but probably not good enough."

"Excuse me, can I help you?"

Kate turned to the middle-aged woman who'd come up behind them.

"Are you the counselor?" she asked.

"Yes. I'm Marion Baker."

"I'm Special Agent Kate Callaway from the FBI," she said, flashing her badge for Mrs. Baker. "And this is Devin Scott, a private investigator."

"The FBI?" Mrs. Baker echoed, a worried look entering her eyes. "I don't understand. I thought this was just the work of some students."

"It could be," Kate said. "But it's an ongoing investigation. Do you have any idea who might have set the fire? Who would have targeted this office? Has anyone made any threats against you? Have you spoken to any unhappy students?"

"I talk to unhappy students every day," she said with a sigh. "High school is very stressful these days. The pressure put on teenagers trying to get into college is unbelievable. I've been a counselor here for fifteen years, and I don't think I've ever seen the atmosphere so tense. We have students with perfect 4.0's and they're afraid they won't get into the college they want, and their fear is not unjustified."

Kate realized that Marion had quickly gone off track. "I know that it's more difficult now," she said, cutting off her rant. "But have you run into any students who are particularly unhappy?"

"In what way?"

"Depressed, angry, frustrated," Devin put in. "Anyone who's ranted on social media about the school or who has talked about being bullied?"

"Well, I don't think anyone fits that criteria. We've had a few students report bullying incidents, but we were able to work those out."

Kate wondered if that were true, if the problem had really ended, or if the school had just thought they'd done their part. "Has there been anyone who has tried to see you, but perhaps you were busy and they couldn't get in?" she asked.

Marion's eyes widened with alarm. "You think the fire was a threat against me?"

"We don't think anything," she replied. "We're just asking questions."

"I get along very well with the students. I always make myself available to them. If someone needs help, they can count on me. I don't know that I believe this office was targeted, or if whoever threw the brick just picked a random window."

"The Dumpster was also moved under your window," Devin reminded her.

"That's true. Okay, now I'm worried again."

"We didn't come to worry you," Kate said gently. "As I said, we're just trying to think of every possible scenario. What you just said about everything being random could be true." She paused as her gaze drifted back to the bookshelf of college guides. "I know when I was a junior and senior, I haunted my counselor's office to ask questions about how to be an FBI agent. Have you had any students recently express an interest in firefighting or fire investigation as a career?"

Marion thought for a moment, then shook her head. "In the past, yes, but not this year. I don't believe anyone has asked about that. Several years ago, I worked really hard to set up a shadow program at the local firehouse, because I had a student back then who was desperate to learn more about the job and wanted to see the actual work involved. I had a lot of red tape to cut through, but I finally got it approved. That's how hard I work for my students. Rick was over the moon when I told him he could go there."

Kate stiffened at the name. The man who had died in the fire with Samantha Parker had also been named Rick. It was a common name. It had to be a coincidence.

She looked at Devin. He stared back at her, his face pale, his eyes bright. Then he swung his gaze to Marion.

"What was Rick's last name?" he asked.

She thought for a moment. "Let me think. It was several years ago now. And I've talked to a lot of students."

Kate's tension increased as the seconds ticked off.

Then Devin cut through the silence with a question. "It wasn't Rick Baines, was it?"

Seven

"Baines—yes. That was it. Richard Baines. He had dark red hair, pale skin and a lot of freckles on his face. He was a quiet student, very introverted. I remember thinking that I'd never seen him as animated as he was when he talked about being a firefighter." Marion paused, a frown crossing her lips. "Why are you asking about him?"

"Rick Baines didn't graduate from this high school," Devin said in a tense voice. "He went to Northern Marin High School. Maybe we're talking about a different kid."

"No. Now that you mention it, I remember that Rick did transfer schools. It was right after he did his shadow at the firehouse. I always wondered if he went into that career."

"Do you remember why he transferred schools?"

"I don't remember specifically, but I know he had a troubled family life. Parents were in and out. His aunt took care of him for a while."

Kate couldn't believe it. Marion Baker was definitely talking about the man labeled in her FBI file as an arsonist and a murderer. Given his high school fascination with fire, was it possible that Rick Baines had been the arsonist who killed Sam? Who got caught up in his own fire? But then who had set the fire here at the school?

"Can you tell me what's going on?" Marion asked. "Are you thinking that Rick came back and set this fire after so many years?"

"No," Devin said. "He did not set this fire, because he died eighteen months ago in another fire."

Marion put a hand to her mouth. "I had no idea. How awful. And in a fire? I can't believe it."

"Yes, he died in a suspicious fire. An FBI agent was killed along with him."

"That's why you're involved." Marion looked at Kate. "How does this fire link to that one?"

"We're still figuring that out," she replied. "Is there anything else you can tell us about Rick?"

"I don't think so."

"Would you be willing to speak to some of the other teachers, the principal, see if anyone remembers Rick and would be willing to talk to us about him?" Kate asked.

"I could do that. The principal, Mrs. Barclay, only came to the school last year, so she didn't know Rick, but some of the other teachers might remember him."

Kate pulled out her card and handed it to her. "This is my number. I'm especially interested in anyone who might have kept in contact with Rick over the years."

"I'll let you know if I find out anything."

"We'd also like to get a class list, the names of students who were in Rick's grade."

"I don't know if I can give you that," Marion said hesitantly.

"What about a yearbook from the years that Rick went to school here?" Devin asked. "Do you have any of those lying around?"

"We have copies of yearbooks from the last twenty years in the library," she said. "It's already closed for the day, but if you come back in the morning, Mrs. Valens can help you. She comes in at ten."

"We'll come back then," Kate said. "Thank you."

"Whatever I can do to help, I'm happy to do."

Devin added his thanks, then they walked out of the school. They didn't speak until they got into Devin's car.

"What do you think?" she asked. "It's a big and crazy coincidence that Rick Baines went to school here."

"I'll say," Devin agreed, his gaze on the school. "I was not expecting to hear that." He looked over at her. "Out of all the possible scenarios or connections I imagined, that wasn't one of them. I never looked past Northern Marin High School. I knew he'd come from a broken home and had been in and out of foster care and had lived with relatives, but I didn't pay that much attention to the school records. How could I have missed that?"

"Because you were focused on where he graduated and where he went to college and where he was living and working at the time of the fires, which all happened in his twenties. High school wasn't that important."

"Maybe it was."

"Well, we know he didn't set this fire," she said, forcing him to come back to the present and forget about what he hadn't done before. "But this does back up your theory that Rick might have had a connection to the real arsonist. And if the arsonist decided to strike St. Bernadette's, then it makes sense that the school ties the two of them together. Hopefully, the yearbook will be helpful. I'm sure I can get the class records as well."