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The other woman leaned closer and peered at the screen. “It kind of looks like a code. Or maybe some sort of personal shorthand?”
“Do you see any connections between anything here?”
After a moment, Alison shook her head. “No. Sorry.”
Bri sighed and closed the image. “Me neither. I guess I’ll be burning the midnight oil trying to connect the dots.”
“Better you than me.” Alison lifted her glass. “Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
But in truth, it would take more than luck to figure this one out. While Sandra’s new information did spike her suspicion meter, to use Marc’s term, a hunch wouldn’t prove the fire had been set on purpose. That would require compelling evidence—and all the help she could get finding it.
The slip of paper Sandra had found in Les’s wallet was a potential starting point, and she’d give it her undivided attention after lunch, but it couldn’t hurt to get another opinion on the jottings and the situation in general.
And she knew exactly who to call for that.
Marc Davis.
Besides, she owed him a follow-up call. Sarge would expectit, and the ATF agent had spent a large portion of a day getting his hands dirty on this case. Bringing him up to speed would be a professional courtesy.
You’re rationalizing, Bri. Grasping for an excuse to call himagain.
Bri muzzled the annoying voice in her head as Alison raised her glass.
“You sure I can’t interest you in one of these? It would get rid of those frown lines.”
“I’m not certain alcohol solves problems.”
If Alison got her subtle message, she gave no indication. “Suit yourself. It helped me get through a mouse infestation a few months ago.” She gave a mock shiver. “If there’s one thing I can’t abide, it’s furry little creatures that come out at night. I had nightmares about them nibbling on my toes until the exterminator took care of the problem. Margaritas helped me sleep.” She flagged the waiter. “Let’s order lunch.”
As he approached, Bri skimmed the menu and settled on an entrée. Lemonade would have to suffice for a beverage.
Because even if the stress-reducing effect of a margarita would be welcome about now, an alcohol buzz would provide nothing more than a short-term respite from the challenge facing her.
Only one thing would smooth out her brow permanently.
Solving the mystery of a fire in which more and more pieces of the emerging puzzle weren’t fitting together to form a coherent picture.
And in which the possibility of murder had just moved from long shot to maybe.
FOUR
“THAT WAS A DELICIOUS MEAL, MARC.”Nan patted her mouth with her napkin and set it beside her plate. “But all this fancy takeout food since you moved back has to stop. I’m perfectly capable of cooking dinner for us every night. You’ve already done too much.”
Marc forked the last bite of his chicken divan. “Nope. I could never repay you for all the sacrifices you made for me.”
She huffed out a breath. “That’s nonsense, as I’ve told you over and over again. It’s no sacrifice to love a grandson. And after all the joy you’ve brought me, I’m in debt to you.”
“Not true.” Not by a long shot. Where would he have been twenty-five years ago if Nan and Pops hadn’t been willing to dust off their parenting skills in middle age and take in a bereft and grief-stricken ten-year-old?
His grandmother’s eyes began to twinkle. “Which part isn’t true? The joy or the debt?” A glimmer of her old animation sparked in Nan’s irises.
“The debt for sure. As for joy ... I recall a number of my antics that almost gave you apoplexy instead.”
The twinkle intensified, tinged with affection. “You did have your moments.” She leaned closer and patted his arm. “But you were always a good boy at heart. Still are. I can’t believe some lovely lady hasn’t claimed you by now.”
“She has.” He grinned and stood. “You.”
