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“Can I help you?”
Shakespeare chuckles. “I sure hope so.”
I swat at his side like I have known the man for years. “Stop it. Let me handle it.”
Shakespeare throws his hands up in surrender, and I focus back on Chief Benton. “We’re sorry to bother you, sir, especially on your day off, but your nephew, Blake”—I point to the pussy in the car behind us—“said you agreed to a meeting with me.”
The chief’s eyes narrow on Shakespeare. “Yes, with you, not your friend.” It’s probably pointless to mention that Shakespeare is not my friend.
“I understand that, sir. He was a last-minute addition—a stipulation from my husband.” I offer him an innocent smile. “He’s heard Orange Grove can be dangerous for a woman out on their own.”
It’s a small lie, but one I hope the chief will agree to.
“You have thirty minutes,” he barks, turning and heading into the house. “Follow me.”
I glance at Shakespeare, and he gives me a thumbs-up.
“You are so… unpredictable.”
“That I am, love.” He shoves me out of the way, grabs my hand, and pulls me behind him. “That. I. Am.”
The chief sits in a room that looks like something out of a magazine. The entire back wall is full of windows overlooking the Atlantic Ocean’s rocky shore. The white gossamer curtains blow into the open area with the breeze off the water.
“Have a seat,” he says, pointing to the white overstuffed sofa.
With my hand still in Shakespeare’s, I let him lead us to the sofa while the chief sits in a chair to our left.
“My nephew tells me you have questions about a fire years ago.”
I nod, pulling in a deep breath. Here goes nothing.
“I do. A friend of mine’s mother died in the fire. I was wondering if you ever caught the arsonist behind it. I’ve checked the local news outlets, and no one ever mentioned it.”
The chief drags his pointer finger across the top of his lips.
“Hmm… do you remember where this fire occurred?”
“The Hanson House.”
“I see. Well, Miss…”
“Carmichael, I mean, Mrs. Cain.”
Neither name registers in the chief’s eyes.
“Well, Mrs. Cain. The Hanson House has been gone for quite a while. I don’t know that I remember all the details to answer your question.”
I shift in my seat and unconsciously squeeze Shakespeare’s hand.
“I can help with that. Rumor has it the arsonist was the father of many of the children there.”
One of the chief’s brows rises mockingly. “Are you saying the arsonist is a rapist, as well?”
“Yes.”
After Van told me everything last night, I texted Carol and asked if she had heard the theory about the rapist. She had and gave me a couple of names of some women I could talk to. Obviously, I took her word for it.
“Let me get this straight.” He sits up and puts his elbows on his knees.
