The Marriage Lie(40)
And even though the psychologist in me knows an abused, neglected kid is sixty percent more likely to get into trouble, I’m not convinced. This is my Will we’re talking about. He could have woken up from the noise, or maybe he smelled the smoke. Anybody could have put the gasoline in an abandoned apartment. My Will would never have done such a thing.
“So far the only evidence I’ve heard has been circumstantial,” I say.
“I already told you he was smart. But I’ll tell you right now exactly what I told the detectives at the time. What I saw on your husband’s face when those firemen carried his unconscious father out of that burning building was disappointment.” Mr. Butler slaps his fork to the table and spears me with a hard gaze. “Do you understand what I’m telling you? He wanted that fire to take them both.”
15
I jerk awake when Dave shoves open the curtains with a loud screech. “Rise and shine, princess. It’s a brand-new day, and it’s raining. Again. Make that still. It’s raining still.” He turns, his body silhouetted in front of the window like a shadow. “How do people live here?”
I groan, rolling away from the window and the light, and pull the pillow over my throbbing head. After we dropped Mr. Butler back at Rainier Vista, Dave drove us straight to the nearest bar, where he told the bartender to keep the vodka martinis coming until I was good and drunk. With not much more than a couple bites of Chex Mix lining my stomach, it didn’t take him long. By the time I reached the bottom of the first glass, the room was already spinning. Things started to get fuzzy somewhere halfway through the second one. I have no memory of the third or how I got from there, a slightly seedy cocktail lounge with bad music and a sticky bar top, to here, wrapped in soft Egyptian cotton.
I push myself up on an elbow and look around the hotel room. Hip and generically modern with a great wall of windows looking out over the water. In the distance is a mountainous horizon, jagged peaks of terrain jutting up into the steel sky. “Where are we?”
He gives me a funny look. “Honey, we’re in Seattle, remember? Birthplace of Starbucks and flannel capital of the world, where everybody drives a Subaru. I always thought that last one was an exaggeration, by the way, but it’s not. For a city so focused on clean living, you’d think there’d be fewer cars.”
“I know Seattle. I meant, what hotel? I hope you didn’t have to carry me.”
“Hey, that’s what brothers are for.” He grins.
“I’m sorry we missed last night’s dinner reservation.”
He plops into an armchair by the window, waving off my apology. “The bar food was actually okay. I mean, it wasn’t foie gras, but it was a hell of a lot better than that fast-food curry, which, by the way, was definitely not lamb. But just so we’re clear, you’re not getting out of feeding me a sit-down breakfast this morning before we go.”
“Go where?”
“We can hammer out the agenda at breakfast. We’ve got places to go and people to talk to, so let’s go.”
I fall back onto the bed, pulling the covers up to under my chin. “You go. I’m not up to doing anything today.”
“This isn’t a vacation, Iris. We’re on a mission here, remember? Your mission.”
“I know, but tomorrow, maybe. Today let’s stay in our pajamas, order room service and have a movie marathon.”
“I’m already dressed.”
I reach one arm out, pluck the hotel TV directory from the nightstand. “I bet they have Beaches.”
“Come on. I’m not that much of a stereotype.”
“Sorry to break it to you, bro, but you are.”
He rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue the point. “Would you please get out of bed and in the shower? I called around to some old-folks’ homes near Rainier Vista, and guess who I found? Your father-in-law. Will’s father. I thought we’d start by paying him a visit.”
Father-in-law. I roll the word around on my tongue, and a fresh round of yesterday’s hurt throbs in my chest, a hot white pulse that crushes my already trampled heart. And my brand-new father-in-law is not the worst of it. I push up onto an elbow.
“I maybe have had a few too many martinis last night, but I happen to remember every single word that old man said. A woman and two children died in a fire that he’s convinced Will set. Maybe Will did it and maybe he didn’t, but you know what they say, where there’s smoke and all that...”
“Well, while you were sleeping off the booze, I did a bit of digging into that fire. I checked the newspapers and read the redacted police report online, and the old man’s story was pretty accurate, except he forgot to mention one thing. The police traced the gasoline jug to a store in Portland, which begs the question. How does a seventeen-year-old kid with no car and no money buy gas in a city almost two-hundred miles down the road?”
“Did they mention any other suspects?”
“Only Will’s father.”
My eyes go wide. “Will’s father was a suspect?”
“Of course. The husband is always the first one the police question. Don’t you watch CSI? Especially when he’s got loose hands like Will’s father did. He was too drunk to remember his alibi, but he had one. A neighbor said he was passed out on their couch when the building went up in flames.”