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Christian: Arson & Accusations
Istood on the front porch, awaiting the insurance adjuster. I touched the bandage on my arm, ensuring it was covering my burn. As I anxiously drummed his fingers on the porch railing, a sleek black car glided up the gravel driveway, drawing my attention. A man in a dark suit stepped out, flashing a badge as the sunlight caught the metallic edges. "Detective Allen," he introduced himself, locking eyes with me.
I nodded in acknowledgment. "Christian. I appreciate you coming out here."
The adjustor, a middle-aged man with thinning hair and a clipboard, arrived shortly after, beads of sweat forming on his brow as he approached. "Christian." He reached out and shook my hand.
"This is Detective Allen," I returned the handshake.
"Detective Allen, I'm James Lawrence, the insurance adjuster. Let's get straight to business."
We gathered on the porch, Detective Allen eyeing the burnt landscape with a professional detachment while James Lawrence flipped through his notes. He walked around the house, silently whispering to himself. He calls the detective over. They both point and speak as they walk around the damage.
"This fire," he began, "was intentional. An accelerant was used."
My brows furrowed in disbelief. "Intentional? But why?"
Detective Allen sighed, "Sometimes, motives aren't clear-cut. We'll investigate further, but for now, we need your cooperation. Anyone with a grudge or any disputes you can think of?"
I shook my head. "Nothing that would lead to this."
James Lawrence chimed in, "Well, we'll expedite your claim given the circumstances. I estimate the damages to be around $6,000. Insurance will need to ensure you didn’t start the fire before paying out the check."
“But I didn’t!” I said.
“That may be, but it has to go through investigation.”
A mix of frustration surged through me. "Thanks," I said.
As the detective and adjustor exchanged information, my mind raced with questions. Who would want to destroy the ranch? The uncertainty gnawed at me, a growing knot of unease in the pit of my stomach. I clenched his fists, determined to rebuild what had been taken from me.
Detective Allen finished his notes, his gaze meeting mine. "We'll be in touch, Mr. Reals. If you remember anything or if anyone tries to contact you about this, let us know."
With that, Detective Allen and the assessor returned to their car, leaving me alone with the burns and the weight of the unknown hanging heavily in the air.
I paced through the living room, my mind swirling with thoughts and suspicions. The intentional destruction of my home weighed heavily on me, and I felt a gnawing need to find answers. As I walked back inside, the charred memories of the past mingled with the scent of lingering smoke.
My thoughts drifted to the festival, to Sarah from the local flower shop. A memory stirred – the moment when she approached me, perhaps a little too eagerly, and I had shut her down, distracted by my attraction for Casey.
I decided to visit the flower shop, thinking that Sarah might have information or, at the very least, a lead that could point me in the right direction.
The local flower shop, nestled in a quaint corner of the town, greeted me with the soothing fragrance of fresh blooms. Bells tinkled softly as I entered, and the warmth of the space contrasted starkly with the cold realities I faced outside.
The florist was arranging a bouquet behind the counter. Startled by my entrance, she looked up, her eyes widening with surprise. "Hi, how can I help you?"
My gaze was steely, determination etched across my face. "I need to speak with Sarah."
She hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the petals. "Oh, well, unfortunately she had a death in the family. She left town early yesterday morning. She won't be back until tomorrow evening."
"Oh," I said. I was almost disappointed. I had hoped Sarah would be the solution to this, but if she was out of town, she couldn't have started the fire.
"Can I help you with something?" She asked.
"No, that's okay. Thank you."
With a heavy heart, I left the flower shop, the unanswered questions lingering in the air.
I sat in my truck thinking for a moment. I didn’t want to tell Casey that the fire was set on purpose yet. I don’t want her to worry. Maybe Brett will know something. I pulled out my phone and dialed his number.
