Ginny Aiken - Someone to Trust

Cupping her hands, Cate blocked the growing sunlight and leaned closer to the door. The soot layer did make it impossible to see, even from this vantage point. As she strained, she heard a sound to her right. She didn’t see anything unusual, but still couldn’t stop herself from pursuing her curiosity. She rounded the corner and arrived at the main exit. A montage of memories flew through her head. She remembered all the films she’d watched inside with her girlfriends. After the show, they’d leave in a cluster, giggling if they’d watched a comedy, sniffling if it had been a heart-tugger of some kind.

All so innocent, in stark contrast to what the basement had most recently housed.

The steel door was locked. No evidence of the fire on this side of the building. Even the sidewalk was clear. Clear but for a piece of trash three feet past the side door.

Cate went to pick it up, but when she leaned down, she froze. The trash turned out to be a twisted lump of plastic, blackened by the fire. From the top, a metal clip, the kind on cheap key chains, stuck straight out as though pointing to the theater.

A quick glance up and down the sidewalk revealed no other debris, nothing. And while she didn’t give it much importance, Cate couldn’t discount what she’d found, either. One of the firefighters might have dropped it when he’d carried something else from inside the building, and it might be relevant to the investigation.

She couldn’t ignore it. Nor could she pick it up. As the daughter of a firefighter, she knew better. So she reached for her phone to dial the station.

Next thing she knew, a blow to the back of her head knocked her off her feet. She smashed her forehead against the sidewalk.

“Oh!” Her eyes filled with sudden tears. Behind her, footsteps pelted away. She scrambled upright, then stumbled in the direction they’d gone. “Hey! What was that about?”

By the time she reached the corner, there was no one in sight. Cate rubbed her forehead, and then wiped the tears from her eyes.

A cold shiver ran through her. Had she interrupted something? Had she seen something she shouldn’t have?

Maybe someone had not wanted to be seen near the theater. Had her presence threatened the meth dealer? Or had he just wanted to make sure she didn’t see him at the scene of his crimes?

It didn’t matter. Not right then. What mattered was to get someone with experience to take a look at that…that plastic thing. Cate followed through with her earlier start, and dialed the P.D. They asked her a handful of questions, then promised to send help.

Cate drew a bracing breath in preparation for what she had to do next. She dialed the fire station.

Rand answered, exhaustion in his voice. When she identified herself, he asked if she planned on sleeping.

“Not yet, but soon. Zoe Donovan gave me a ride to the van when she finished her shift. I…uhm…stopped to look at the theater, and found something strange near the side exit. Thought you might want to see it before people start walking around later this morning. Do you think it might be important?”

In a tight voice, ripe with disapproval, he asked her to describe her discovery. When she finished, he didn’t answer right away.

“Can’t tell you much about it right now,” he finally said. “But no matter whether it’s important or not, it’s something for us to look at, not you. Last I remember, there was yellow tape around the theater. As the fire chief’s daughter, you know that means stay away. Don’t touch the plastic thing, and stay put till I get there. I’m on my way.”

Great. Yet another chance to come face-to-face with Rand’s disapproval.

But she’d deal with Rand’s attitude some other time. Right then, the only thing that mattered was finding the creep who’d built the meth lab in the basement of the Loganton Theater.

The one who’d almost killed Wilma and her dad.

Rand tried to contain his irritation as he stared at Cate. “And you just decided to duck under the tape and walk around an arson fire investigation for…what? The fun of it?”

She didn’t like his comment. Fire blazed from her dark eyes. “Not for the fun of it. That’s ridiculous.”

“Then tell me again why you were on the premises.”

“I wasn’t on the premises. Not exactly.” She blew a wavy strand of tawny hair from her forehead. “I came to get the van, and walked up to the theater. It’s so sad how, after all these years, it’s ruined now. I started to remember all the shows I watched here.”

The way she clamped down her lips told him how much he’d irritated her, but that was too bad. He wasn’t sure he believed her story. He didn’t know if she’d told him everything she knew. “Ahem!”

His less-than-subtle nudge got her going again. “Then I walked down the side street. That’s when I saw the…that blob. Even I could tell it had been burnt, so I went to see what it might be. I didn’t touch it, but while I was looking, someone came up from behind, and knocked me to the ground. Do you think they were trying to scare me away?”

“Someone? Knocked you to the ground?” What was she trying to pull? An early morning attacker?

She rubbed the middle of her forehead, and now that he looked, he could see a red bump, maybe a scrape, right where she’d placed her fingers. He waited for her answer.

She shrugged. “Someone knocked me over. I don’t know why. I just know I didn’t touch the plastic, and I didn’t trip myself. No one else came by.”

Her expression, her tone of voice, her body language were all consistent, still…“Coincidences don’t happen in my line of work.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she clamped her lips tight. She wasn’t happy with his response, certainly not his skepticism. Too bad. It was part of who he was, the job he had to do. And part of dealing with her—the past, memories and all that baggage.

“The only thing I can do,” she said, her voice earnest and serious, “is tell you the truth. It’s up to you whether you believe me or not. I hope you do.”

As Cate stood before him, a flash of remembrance took him back eight years. He’d spotted her across the street from his cousin’s mangled vehicle, Lindsay in her arms, the twin boys on either side. But moments before he got to the scene, moments before the children’s mother and father had died, she’d been in the car that caused the wreck. A car driven by the boyfriend who’d had too much to drink.

Rand couldn’t say if there was any chance he’d ever believe her. So it was best to get on with the task before him. He jiggled a plastic baggie containing the melted lump. “This thing’s going out for testing. I’m sure once the lab gets a handle on what it might be, I’ll have more questions for you. I’ll see you then.”

He took off, then remembered the scrape on her forehead. He stopped, turned to face her again. “Are you okay? Do you need me to call the ambulance? That looks…sore.”

She glared and shook her head. “I don’t need your help. I can take care of myself. Just find out who did this.”

He nodded, spun and walked away, the touch of her angry stare as though it were a flame against his back.

Ten minutes after Rand Mason walked away outside the theater, Cate again tamped down her anger and guided the van up the long drive at the old Caldwell place. The white house with black shutters had once been the heart of a real farm. Cate’s great-grandparents had sold a hefty chunk of the land during the Great Depression, and then, over the years, her grandparents and finally Mom and Dad had sold off the rest of the fields. No one had been interested in raising chickens or growing crops.

The families who’d bought the land hadn’t purchased it for farming, either. Many had built minimansions, which by contrast made the Caldwell place and the handful of other vintage homes left on the road seem older than they really were. But the Caldwell place never looked shabby or neglected. Dad wouldn’t have let it, even if he’d had to slave over the property every minute he spent away from the station to get the work done.