Chapter 34

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

By the time River brought the two mugs of hot chocolate into the living room, she'd finally composed herself. She didn't want to cry in front of Tony again. She needed to help him get through this, not think about herself. She understood her earlier reaction. She'd faced the possibility of losing him once before, and tonight it was as if a nightmare had awakened from somewhere inside her. She'd suffered from PTSD after their confrontation with the Strangler, but she thought she'd moved past it. Now, here it was again, rearing its ugly head. She felt disappointed in herself. Shouldn't she be completely healed by now?

"Here we go," she said, trying to sound light-hearted even though she didn't feel that way.

Tony held his hand out for his cup. "Thanks." He took a sip. "Hot," he said.

"That's probably why it's called hot chocolate," River said, rolling her eyes at him.

"Oh, is that why?" Tony shook his head and smiled at her. When he set the cup down, he looked at River, his expression tight. "The fire chief on the scene tonight wanted my contact information. I got the feeling he thinks I caused the fire."

"What? That can't be right, Tony. Surely you misunderstood."

"Maybe, but I don't think so." He took another sip of his cocoa, then he said, "Before the explosion, I thought I heard something. Like glass breaking."

"You know hot temperatures can shatter glass," she said slowly. She met his gaze. "But are you saying you think someone threw something through your window? Something that started the fire?"

"What else could it be? I mean, there wasn't anything flammable in my room. An electrical short wouldn't explode like that. It would burn, but it would be a more controlled fire. This was ... different."

"I guess there's no way to know for certain until the fire investigator looks things over," River said. "You don't want to jump to conclusions."

"What if it has something to do with the person who killed the security guard? Or maybe it's the Strangler's partner."

"I wouldn't think so. You know serial killers that don't deal with fire rarely change course. Fire is a very specialized signature."

Tony nodded. "Yet most serial killers set fires when they were young."

"True, but this guy has moved way beyond that," River said. "I don't buy it."

"So, could it have been whoever killed Kevin and threatened Nathan?"

"Maybe, but it could also be someone else," River said. "Teenagers trying to set a fire for kicks? They might not even know who you are."

"But most firebugs set something on fire—like trash cans or trees. They don't throw something flammable through an apartment window. They aren't trying to kill. I could have easily been in my bedroom. This was done at night."

"No, you're right," River said.

"If there was an arsonist working in the area, the police and the fire department would know about it. Even if he'd escalated, they'd be able to connect the dots. Hey, maybe that's why the chief said they might want to talk to me. Perhaps they're trying to link this guy with other cases." Tony hesitated for a moment. "But River, that wasn't how it felt. Or looked. His body language was guarded. He wasn't making eye contact. And he seemed uptight."

"He'd just been dealing with a fire, Tony," River said. "Besides, you know they always interview people. It's standard procedure." She wanted to reassure him, but the truth was, Tony was good at reading people. If he felt the chief was treating him like a suspect, he probably was.

"Hey, are you all right?" Tony was studying her closely.

She wanted to tell him she was fine, but her emotions were so strong, holding them back was almost impossible. She couldn't do it. "I ... I guess what happened scared me. You know, realizing that you might have been hurt—or worse."

"But I'm fine."

"I know that," River said, looking down at the cup in her hands. "I think I flashed back to that night on the riverbank." She looked up at him, unable to keep the tears from her eyes. "Why do I still suffer from what happened? Aren't I supposed to be healed by now?"

"Oh, River," he said. "You're not supposed to be anything by now." He reached over and took the cup of hot chocolate from her hands. She'd been holding onto it so tightly her fingers hurt. "We've talked about this before. About how wounds can leave scars."

"Yeah, I know. You told me Jesus has scars too, and that He understands."

Tony sighed. "Look, eventually you won't remember what happened as clearly as you used to. It will fade. You'll learn not to allow it into your head. But for now, you're in a healing process." He took her hands and squeezed them softly. "What happened to you—to us—was awful. We both have to deal with it. You think I don't have flashbacks? Times when I hurt? Of course I do." He smiled at her. "Give yourself some compassion and don't try to hide your scars. And I'm here whenever you need to talk to me."

"Thanks, Tony. Maybe Jesus kept his scars because they reminded Him of His victory. Maybe someday, mine will do the same."

Tony let go of her hands. "Exactly. Hey, let's talk about this a little more tomorrow, okay?" He looked exhausted.

"Sure. You change your clothes, and I'll make up the couch for you." She frowned at him. "Do you have anything to sleep in? I think Mrs. Weyland has some extra nightgowns."

"Funny. And no thank you. I had some sweats and T-shirts in the dryer." He shook his head. "Boy, I'm really, really glad I did that load of laundry. I don't think I'd look good in one of Mrs. Weyland's nightgowns."

River laughed. "That's an image I don't want in my head."

"Me neither. You know, even though I was able to save a few things, I'm still going to need to buy some new clothes."

"We'll have to go shopping. Maybe I can help you choose a new wardrobe."

"Just calling my clothes a wardrobe tells me I need to turn down your magnanimous offer."

"Okay, okay," River said. "Go change. I'll have your bed ready by the time you get back."

"Thanks, but I can do it. I'm tired, not feeble."

River pointed her finger at him. "Maybe not, but you are an idiot. Go. Now."

Tony grinned. "Yes, ma'am. On my way."

Once Tony was headed toward the bathroom, River went to the linen closet and fetched clean sheets, a blanket, and a couple of pillows. She carried everything into the living room, moved the coffee table back, removed the couch cushions, and then pulled out the bed. She'd just finished getting it ready when her phone rang. It startled her. Who could be calling this late? She picked up the phone and saw it was a local number. She almost let it go to voice mail but decided at the last moment to answer it.

"Hello?"

"River, this is Arnie. I just heard about the fire and realized it happened at Tony's address. I tried to call him, but it just went to voice mail. Is he okay?"

"Yeah, he's fine. Lost a lot of his stuff, but it could have been worse. He's staying here until his apartment is fixed. Do you want to talk to him?"

"Yeah, well, I guess I want to talk to both of you."

River turned to see Tony walking into the living room. He gave her a questioning look.

"It's Arnie," she said. "He wants to talk to us." She turned on her speaker.

"Okay." Tony walked up next to her. "I'm here, Arnie."

"Look, the main reason I called was to see how you were. I called you first, but your phone kept going to voicemail."

"Sorry. I need to charge it. I usually do it before I go to bed, but I was a little busy earlier tonight. How did you hear about the fire? You're not running the STLFD now too, are you?"

"No, but the chief is a friend of mine. I called him to get more information after I saw the report on the news." He hesitated a moment before saying, "Look, this isn't to be repeated, Tony. An investigator needs to confirm it, but Garrett—the chief—thinks someone threw a Molotov cocktail through your window."

"Can't say I'm surprised," Tony said. "I kind of expected something like that."

"Don't jump to conclusions," Arnie said. "It's possible you might not be a target."

"But it's also possible he was," River said. She'd tried to convince Tony that the fire could have been a random incident, yet even as she tried to reassure him, her gut told her something different.

"Of course, anything is possible, but let's hope that's not the case."

"The chief made me feel as if he suspected me of something," Tony said.

"No, he doesn't, but he'll want to talk to you to see if you know anyone who could have started that fire."

"Okay, I understand," Tony said.

Arnie cleared his throat. "Look, there's another reason I called. I know it's late, but I felt this might be important."

Tony sat down on the side of the sofa bed. River knew he was tired and needed to rest.

"What is it?" she asked.

"This has to do with that cold case you're investigating. The police in Terre Haute, Indiana, contacted me."

"I don't understand," River said. "How does our case have anything to do with Terre Haute?"

"Seems like a clerk at a local motel thought something odd was going on there. They called the police who went inside one of the rooms and found a note stuffed underneath one of the pillows on the bed. The note read I'm alive, and I need help. April Bailey. My father ... It stopped there. Looked like she was interrupted before she could finish."