Flame in the Dark (Soulwood #3)(76)

“No. I’m not scared at all. I got you. And you got me. Will I have to go to public school?”

“Yes. And we’ll have to talk about you riding the school bus. Get legal papers so you can stay with me. You’d be a latchkey kid.”

“I don’t know what that is. Can’t be no stranger than growing leaves.”

“We’ll figure it out.”

“Good. I gotta go now. Thank you for the hospitality.”

“Peace as you leave my home.”

Mud nodded and raced out the door, banging it closed behind her. I curled my legs on the couch, feeling the warmth from her still in the cushion. Wondering what—by all that was holy—I was getting myself into.

? ? ?

I stopped off at the Rankins’ place of business and caught Thad Rankin in the office. “Mr. Rankin?” I asked softly, tapping on the door.

“Sister Nell Ingram, get yourself in here.” The big man stood and enveloped me in a hug. He had taken to hugging me since I went to church with him a few times. Quick, gentle hugs, as if teaching me that hugging a man was an okay thing to do. They hugged a lot at his church. Laughed a lot too. It was a very different church from God’s Cloud. If I ever decided to attend a church again, it would be one like Brother Rankin’s, one full of honest friendship. He let me go. “Take a chair, Sister Nell,” he said, sitting behind his desk in the only other chair. “What can I do for you?”

I took the single spindled wood chair and held out a list of fires that might have been suspicious. “You know I’m with PsyLED. I’ve been looking at some of the recent fires and wondered if you were on-site at these.”

Thad didn’t take the list, just watched me across the expanse of his desk. “Do I need a lawyer, Nell? Black man with an officer of the law in his office?”

“Oh.” I dropped my hand and let a breath go in shock. “Mr. Thad, I would never come to you’un—to you—my friend, with you as a suspect in anything. First of all, I would know you hadn’t done whatever crime it is. Second, I’d be standing with you, shotgun in hand to defend you and yours. And last, you do not need a lawyer unless you tell me you can start fire with your mind.”

Mr. Thad threw back his head and laughed, accepted the sheet of paper, and asked, “What can I do for you on these fires?”

“Did you see anything odd? Smell anything odd? Have any thoughts about a guilty party? Did any of your fellow firefighters act strange at these fires? Any orange flames with purple tips?”

“No, no, no, and no, to the first four questions. Everything was pretty normal. As to the color of the flames, you see all sorts of colors as houses burn, what with all the synthetics and man-made furnishings. So I see orange flames all the time. That’s the most common color of fire, you know.” His eyes dropped to the sheet and scanned up and down, his brow creased as he thought.

“Yeah. I know that. The purple flames?”

“Over the years, I’ve seen green, purple, a strange metal-flake blue, an iridescent rainbow color, though nothing I can recall at any of these fires.”

I deflated and accepted the list back. “If you think of anything odd you might have noticed, will you give me a call?” I handed him my card. “I have a cell phone now.” I waggled my cell at him, showing it off.

“Well, would you look at that. It’s good to see you joining the world, Nell. It’s real good. You coming to church soon?”

“As soon as this case is closed,” I said.

“We’re having dinner on the grounds every Sunday this month. We’re smoking a whole hog each week, with all the trimmings. Raising money for the Baker girl, the one with leukemia.”

“I’ll make a donation even if I can’t come,” I said.

“The Lord’s work is never done.”

I went around the desk and hugged him, which seemed to freeze Mr. Thad solid for a moment before he hugged me back. I had never taken the initiative with him. I wasn’t sure I had ever been the hugging originator with anyone except family. It felt good. “Later, Mr. Thad.”

? ? ?

I was only a few minutes late to work. Dusk was the usual time for the EOD—end-of-day meeting—and current case summary, but with us all off for twelve hours, it was more like SOB—start of business. I slid into my seat at the conference room table only moments before Soul took her place. The smell of eggnog and sugar cookies rode on the air. The little tree’s lights were on.

JoJo opened without preamble. “Clementine. Note date and time. Present are all members of PsyLED Unit Eighteen and the assistant director. As of seventeen minutes ago, we have discovered Justin Tolliver’s biological father. His name is Charles Healy.”

I sat up straight. Soul looked surprised. She had been on duty and she clearly didn’t know about Healy, so JoJo must have been working from home instead of sleeping.

“In 1973,” JoJo said, “Healy was incarcerated on weapons charges, for selling stolen military weaponry to third-world companies through contacts he made in the Vietnam War. An undercover ATF officer died in the takedown, and when the ammo was traced to Healy’s weapon, the feds threw the book at him and he was convicted on all charges. He should be eighty years old and still in federal prison, but he disappeared during a prisoner transfer eleven years ago.”