Gus Winter stabbed a fat marshmallow with one of the half-dozen or so sharp sticks Bernadette kept at her outdoor stone fireplace, and handed it to Mackenzie, then sank into an old, comfortable Adirondack chair. Gus had built the fire, as if the simple ritual was what he needed to put the events of the day into perspective.
Mackenzie sat forward and held her marshmallow over the flames, careful not to let it get too close. She liked a gooey center and a crisp exterior, which required a certain level of patience and marshmallow know-how.
“Beanie’s helped a lot of people over the years,” Mackenzie said. “I wasn’t the only one.”
“Not by a long shot. And you’re a neighbor. She’s helped perfect strangers.” Gus reached for another stick. “Are you suggesting this nut today was someone she helped?”
“I’m not suggesting anything. I’m just casting a wide net.”
“Are you supposed to be casting any net? You’re one of the victims.”
As if she needed reminding, with her bandages, her wooziness from medication. The cool air and the familiarity of the fire, the marshmallows, the sounds of the dark night, all helped center her. She could feel her fatigue, even as her mind spun with the images of the day, the scraps of information she had, the possibilities they presented.
“I don’t mean officially. It’s not my investigation, but that doesn’t mean I can’t speculate. Everyone in town is speculating.”
“Point taken,” Gus said.
She glanced at him as he picked up a second stick for himself. “Overkill?”
“Always with you, kiddo.”
She smiled. “I thought I might irritate you less now that I’ve been knifed.”
He took two marshmallows and impaled them on his stick. “Nah.” He grinned at her. “You’re the same Mackenzie I’ve always known and loved. At least you haven’t lost your sense of humor.”
“Hey, someone around here has to have a sense of humor.” This reminded her of Rook, who was either in the house or else off with other FBI agents – she didn’t know which. He wasn’t by the fire toasting marshmallows. “The attack on the hiker this morning suggests this man wasn’t here specifically because of Beanie. The lock on the shed wasn’t broken. She probably just didn’t bother with it.”
“So he seized the moment and ducked in there to hide, or planned to?” Gus asked.
“Maybe. Carine left the house unlocked when she and Harry headed up the road. If this guy was looking for a place to rest, or stuff to steal, you’d think he’d go into the house.”
“He might not have had the chance. We don’t know how long he was here. He could have stumbled into the brush right from the woods while you were underwater.”
Mackenzie felt the heat of the fire on her face as her marshmallow browned. Her eyes felt as if they’d been rolled in sandpaper. Sitting close to the flames probably wasn’t helping. “Just as well he didn’t crawl out from under a bed in the middle of the night.”
Gus plunged his two marshmallows into the blaze. “This FBI agent, Rook. What’s his story?”
“I don’t know. He just showed up.”
“Uh-huh. Friend of yours?”
“Someone I know.”
“Who is he?”
She could tell Gus was growing impatient. Understandably. “Well, when I first met him, I thought he was a Washington bureaucrat.”
“But he’s not,” Gus said unnecessarily.
“Seems so obvious now.”
“You let him call you Mac. Last time I called you Mac, you told me in no uncertain terms it’s Mackenzie.”
“I told Rook the same thing.”
Gus’s marshmallows caught fire. He let them burn for a few seconds, then blew them out – his own ritual. “Anything personal between you two?”
She didn’t hesitate. “No.”
“You’re not working a case together or something, are you?”
“Nope. Nothing.”
“So there is something between you two.”
Mackenzie bit into her marshmallow, testing to make sure it was soft throughout, but not so gooey it would fall off the stick. She had a tendency to lose marshmallows in the fire if she wasn’t careful.
Gus continued to char his. “Does Nate know this Rook?”
“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask him?”
“I’m asking you.”
The marshmallow was perfect, and she popped the whole thing into her mouth, enjoying the sweetness. She sat back in her chair and debated whether she had the energy to roast another.
“Nate’s been decent to me since I moved to Washington,” she said. “He’s so well respected, I doubt anything I could do would have an impact on him -”
“That’s not what I’m asking.”
She sighed. “I know, Gus. Okay. Rook and I went out a few times. That’s it. Story over.”
“How’d he manage to show up here just minutes after you were stabbed?”