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“Not like yours. At least it seems yours was programmed before the fire. Anyone trying to set a fire would know when you would or would not be at the winery offices.”
I shrugged. “I guess so.”
He snapped the notebook closed and shoved it inside his breast pocket. “Thank you. I’ll be in touch.”
The specialist began to walk away. Dust kicked up over his dress shoes.
“That’s it? That’s all?” It wasn’t the strangest line of questioning I’d had yet.
He stopped to hand me his card. I read the name. Edgar Marceau.
“If you think of anything else that might be important. Call. Thank you for your time, Mr. Corban.”
He strolled over the pebbled charred path to the parking lot. I watched him climb behind the wheel and drive away.
I spun the card in my hand. None of this sat well with me. I didn’t know if he thought I was the suspect he was looking for. But I now knew without any doubt, there was someone out there watching me.
