Sometimes he seemed too good to be true.
He had demons. But he worked to keep them at bay. Who doesn’t have a demon or two under their bed?
Even she had a few. Ones that made her chop wood half the night and obsessively watch the international stock markets.
She hid nothing from him. He knew it all. Every worry and burden.
But do I know all of his?
For the most part the man was an open book. With Truman, what you saw was what you got.
But she still watched him, waiting for the bottom to fall out. She couldn’t help it; it was part of who she was.
“Have you made Thanksgiving plans?” he asked in the silence.
“When is it?”
He gave her a side-eye. “Next Thursday. Tell me you knew that.”
“I can’t remember the last time I had Thanksgiving plans.”
“Are you kidding me?” The Tahoe swerved slightly as his gaze left the road and he gave her a wide-eyed stare. “Are you anti-American?”
That stung. “No, I haven’t been around family in fifteen years,” she snapped.
“Thanksgiving isn’t only about family. I’ve celebrated Turkey Day with all sorts of people during the last decade. It’s been pretty rare that they’re related to me. Usually I don’t have the time to fly to see my parents for the actual day.”
She kept her gaze straight ahead. Holidays were awkward. And a bit of a sore spot that she preferred not to poke.
“My department in San Jose had a sign-up sheet for people who were looking for something to do on Thanksgiving. It was a different crowd every year and it was always a blast.”
“My Portland office had something like that,” Mercy admitted. She’d never signed up. Thanksgiving had always been a rare four-day weekend for her, and she’d spent it working at her cabin. Alone.
“I assume you haven’t heard from any of your family about the holiday?”
“No.”
“Then let’s make our own plans. I don’t suck as a cook, and we can do it at my house.” Enthusiasm filled his voice and the vehicle. “Kaylie might have a friend or two that she’d like to have join us. I can smell roasting turkey already. That’s the best part of Thanksgiving . . . the way the house smells all day.”
She remembered that smell, triggering memories of the holiday with her four siblings and their parents around a crowded table. Would they celebrate together this year? Would they even think to invite me?
They hadn’t for the last fifteen years. Why start now?
“That sounds good,” she told him, feeling a tiny degree of his excitement for the day. “Kaylie would love to bake the pies.” Dirty footprints in her kitchen popped into her head. “Crap.” She’d forgotten her plans to confront the teen.
“What is it?” Truman asked as he turned off the highway and down the road to the Brass farm.
She told him about the footprints in the kitchen, the makeup, and the perfume.
“You think she snuck out last night?” He sounded skeptical.
“Of course I do. And I assume it has something to do with a boy, since she wore perfume and a ton of eye makeup. I didn’t even know she owned perfume.”
“Hmmm.” He scratched his jaw.
“What? Am I overreacting? I’m sorta new to this parenting thing, you know.”
“Didn’t you ever sneak out as a teen?”
“No!”
He shot her a look that said he didn’t believe her.
“I didn’t! Are you saying all . . . or most teens do?”
“You might have been a very good girl while growing up, Mercy Kilpatrick, but I guarantee those two brothers of yours probably snuck out of the house a dozen times or so.”
“So it’s a male thing.”
“Well, when I did it, it was to meet a girl. So, I’d say it’s a fifty-fifty split.”
She sank into her seat. “I was a good girl. So were both of my sisters. That doesn’t mean I should overlook what Kaylie is doing now.”
“No, you shouldn’t. You need to make certain she’s not doing anything stupid.” He coughed. “Is she on birth control?” he asked weakly.
Mercy covered her eyes. “Oh sweet Jesus.” Her hands slid to her ears. “Stop talking.”
“I’ll take it that means you don’t know. Might be a discussion the two of you need to have, considering her age.”
I have to talk about sneaking out at night AND birth control?
“But my point about her sneaking out was to suggest that you don’t confront her in anger. A lot of kids do it, and I’m not saying it’s right, but you need to understand that it’s not unusual behavior for her age.”
“Next you’ll tell me the exact same thing about teens and sex.”
“Don’t put your head in the sand,” he advised. “Kaylie’s a smart girl and has a lot going for her. A little guidance from her aunt for her teen years could go a long way.”
“Noted.” She was relieved as they pulled into the drive that led to the burned barn. She spotted Bill Trek’s red pickup.
Truman parked and sat motionless in his seat, staring out the windshield at the destruction. He swallowed, and she noticed his hand shook slightly as he turned off the truck.
“Does it feel different in the daylight?” she asked.
“Very. It’s like looking at a sketch of a scene from a movie that I already experienced in 3-D. Still raises all the same feelings, though.”
She squeezed his hand and met his gaze. “It’s done and over. Nothing will change.”
He nodded, and she saw protective walls rise in his gaze as he prepared himself to face the remains of the hell he’d been in thirty-six hours before.
She didn’t blame him one bit.
They got out of the vehicle and headed to where Bill Trek dug through the debris. He used a snow shovel to move the piles of ash and wood chunks and was dressed in protective coveralls and a mask to keep the clouds of soot from getting into his lungs. As they approached he pulled off the mask and worked his way out of the pile. It was a contrast to the extreme care and precision Mercy had usually seen in evidence collection. Maybe arson was handled differently.
Fire investigation was a dirty job. Ash covered him from head to toe, but he grinned as they walked up and gestured that he didn’t want to shake hands. “Don’t touch me,” he warned, showing them his soot-stained gloves.
“Not a problem,” agreed Truman. “What’s with the shovel?”
“I need to see the floor,” Bill said, using his forearm to wipe away the sweat that ran through the ash on his forehead. “Can’t tell what happened without getting a look at it. It’s an important part of my map.”
“What have you found so far?” asked Truman.
“Basically I’ve found support for my original hypothesis. Someone soaked the outside walls with gasoline and did the same with everything inside. They were determined to make it burn big.” He gave them a serious look. “I spoke with the owner, asking her what was stored in the barn, and she claims that there wasn’t really anything that she was aware of, but I’d like to hear that from some of her friends or relatives too.”