Page 63
Kimble whistled low. “Don’t see the chief in here before sunrise unless it’s an emergency.”
Brandon looked up and smirked. “Funny, considering I’ve only been chief for a little over a week.”
“Well, don’t let us disturb your—” Ruiz air-quoted “—process.”
The firefighters were gone in a flash, leaving Brandon and Desiree by themselves again.
“Just so you know, those guys have a fifty-fifty chance of dropping something on a crime scene,” she said, her tone flat, and Brandon couldn’t help but let a laugh out.
“You’re not wrong,” he agreed. “Kimble once managed to trip over his own turnout pants in the middle of an active burn. It was…impressive.”
She finished the last label, lined it up perfectly, and closed her kit. “Next time, you do it yourself,” she said, and finally there was the smallest of smiles.
He nodded. “Deal, but you’ll have to promise to check my work so I can prove to you I know what I’m doing.”
She looked like she might say something else, but then she squared her shoulders instead. “What’s next?”
“Next,” he said, feeling the ache in his back and realizing he’d been leaning toward her the whole time, “I show you how we do door-to-door in Sweet Bloom. That way you’ll know who’s worth talking to and who’s just in it for the gossip.”
Desiree didn’t look impressed, but she didn’t say no, either.
He found himself watching her longer than was necessary. The way she set her pen perfectly parallel to the edge of her pad, how she never wasted a movement. He tried to tell himself it was about the case, but he wasn’t buying it. He was inventing reasons to keep her around, and it wasn’t just for investigative tips.
He set his own pen down and stood up. He wanted to say something else—something that would make her smile again—but he knew it wasn’t the right time.
A few minutes later, Brandon pulled his department SUV around the circle. “First stop is Irving’s Hardware,” he said, just to have something to fill the quiet. “He’s the only hardware store in fifty miles, so if somebody’s buying something to make a fire, they’re probably getting it from him.”
Irving was waiting by the door, thin and balding, his face a scowl until they appeared. Then it lifted into a squinting smile. “Well, I’ll be, it’s the new chief and—” his gaze flicked to Desiree, “you got yourself a sidekick.”
“County investigator,” Brandon corrected. “She’s here to figure out what’s going on with these fires.”
Irving opened the door and jerked his head toward the back. “Coffee’s fresh. Come in before you freeze your—uh, never mind.”
Brandon let Desiree walk in first. She scanned the store as if it was a test site—every shelf, every can of solvent or bucket of paint. Irving watched her with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity.
“So, Chief. What can I do for you?” Irving asked, pouring coffee into a chipped mug.
Brandon kept his tone light. “Looking for anyone coming in recently, buying up fire accelerants or asking weird questions about burning things.”
Irving let out a snicker. “You mean besides half the local teens trying to light off illegal fireworks and every ranch hand with a brush pile to burn?”
Desiree interjected, “We’re looking for patterns, not just random sales. Any large purchases in the past two weeks?”
Her directness knocked the grin off Irving’s face. He peered at her. “You from the city, I take it.”
She ignored the observation. “We’re also looking into outside connections. Any non-local buyers?”
Irving let his gaze linger on her before stepping behind the register and flipping through his sales log. The hardware store owner rattled off a few small sales—paint thinner, cleaning agents, a couple of bottles of starter fluid—nothing bulk, nothing cash only.
Desiree jotted the names, asked Irving to photocopy the log going back six months, and thanked him before leaving.
Back in the truck, Brandon found Desiree already cataloging the purchases on her phone.
“Do you think anyone on that list is actually a viable candidate?” Brandon inquired.
She finished typing and shrugged. “Depends. Some arsonists think they’re smart enough not to get caught. They might have bought small batches over time to get ready for their fires. Others find someone gullible to buy their supplies for them. If I were looking to cover my tracks, I’d use someone local but not tied to me.”
He nodded, appreciating how fast her mind worked. “Second stop,” he said, “is the county clerk. You’ll like Patty.”
