“Is there anyone who works for you who might have a reason to get back at you? Any disgruntled employees?”
Fiona almost pushed open the door then to tell them what a crazy question that was. The Sweet Shoppe was such a success because Betsie was so sweet. Her candies and baked goods were the icing, so to speak. Fiona had her hand on the door when the next question stopped her.
“What about Hunter Reece? Has he been in your place much?” The cop, whose voice she now recognized as Nick Delfino’s, tried for a nonchalant tone, but failed. Fiona’s knuckles whitened on the vase of flowers she held.
Nick had joined the Fitzgerald Bay police department a couple of months ago. “Do you know if Hunter was aware that you and Sean often had breakfast together before school while Fiona prepared her shop for opening?” he continued.
Fiona pushed open the door. “I imagine that Hunter knows a lot about my schedule considering that he’s one of my best friends.”
“Fee, you need to stay out of this.” Her brother had the grace to look at least a little embarrassed as Fiona crossed the room and placed the flowers on the windowsill.
“I disagree. If you have any questions, I’ll be happy to answer them since I was there.” Fiona looked from one cop to the other.
Her brother looked at Nick and jerked his head at the door. “Betsie, if you think of anything else, just give us a call. I’m going to leave my card right here on the table.”
“I will, Douglas, thanks.” Betsie’s voice was low and hoarse, but she was sitting up in bed, obviously feeling better, her brunette curls in artless disarray around her face.
Fiona shot her brother a we-will-talk-later look as he left the room with Nick Delfino right behind him. She knew Hunter didn’t have anything to do with the fire at the Sweet Shoppe, but the fact that the cops—brothers or not—were asking questions about him brought something back to the surface that she’d really tried not to think about. The arsonist was most likely someone they all knew and possibly liked. No stranger in Fitzgerald Bay would have the kind of access needed to pull off these crimes.
With effort, she put the disturbing thoughts away, for now. “I’m so glad to see you sitting up, feeling better. I was so scared.”
Betsie nodded, her fingers sliding along the edge of the white hospital sheet. “The doctors said another couple of minutes and I wouldn’t have made it. Hunter saved my life.”
“And you saved Sean’s life. Bets, I can never repay you for that.”
Betsie reached for Fiona’s hand. “You don’t have to. When I moved here from Georgia, I didn’t have anyone. You and Sean are my family.”
Fiona squeezed her hand. “You know we feel the same way. And we’re going to rebuild, don’t worry.”
Her friend nodded. “I know. It’s one of the things I love the most about Fitzgerald Bay. We don’t let each other down.” She reached for the glass of water sitting on the bedside tray and sipped from the straw, wincing as she swallowed.
“I’ve got to get to work anyway, so I’m going to leave and let you get some rest. I’ll be back to see you again.” Fiona walked toward the door, the questions that she’d pushed aside crowding her mind again. She knew Hunter wasn’t responsible for the fires. But who among their friends—acquaintances—neighbors—was?
“Fee.” Betsie’s hoarse voice stopped her. Fiona turned back. “We’re going to find who did this.” Underneath Betsie’s soft Southern accent was the steel that had helped her move to another state and build a successful business.
Betsie would know how much it hurt to have the arsonist responsible for Jimmy’s death out there, free to set fires.
Fiona tried a smile, but didn’t quite pull it off over the determination. She nodded. “Yes, we are. I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure that happens.”
* * *
The twenty-four-hour shift Hunter was responsible for started at 7:30 a.m. Hunter liked to be there early enough to hear the locker room chatter before he got the official report from Liam Fitzgerald.
“It was endless last night, man.” In the locker room, as Hunter changed into his uniform pants, Danny Fitzgerald changed into his street clothes.
“At least you didn’t get bored.” Hunter looked up from his locker.
“Not bored. I’m starving, though. Oh, and 4213 Chestnut Street is out of town and their alarm system is malfunctioning. We were there three times yesterday. What can you do, though? You gotta go.”
Danny was right. They had to go, regardless of figuring it was a false alarm. “Maybe they’ll get home today.”
Danny’s grin flashed white. “Nope, they’re on a cruise to the Bahamas. I talked to their neighbors, who were also a little annoyed to have the fire department on their front lawn at one in the morning.”
“Nice.” Hunter buttoned his uniform shirt over his T-shirt.
“You’re gonna have fun.” Nate Santos laughed from the other side of the room.
“Copy that.” Hunter made a mental note to see if Liam had already called the alarm company. “See ya, Danny. Nate.”
Hunter glanced at his watch—just enough time to catch the chief before the guys got here and started the equipment and apparatus check.
The chief was in his office, pictures of the scene at the Sweet Shoppe spread on his desk. He hung up the phone as Hunter came in. “What’s up, Hunter?”
“I was hoping there was some word on the evidence from the fire yesterday, sir. Is there anything you’d like me to follow up on while I’m here today?”
The chief gathered the photos and closed the file. “No, nothing new. Cops are investigating. I’ll let you know when I hear from them.”
It wasn’t like Fitzgerald to shut out Hunter, but he wouldn’t push. Most likely, the chief was just preoccupied. “Yes, sir. Let me know if you need anything.”
“Brennan Fox called in sick again.” The chief looked up from the folder. “I’m going to ask Danny to fill in for Brennan. So you’ll have to keep the probie with you.”
“Yes, sir.” Lance Woods, the new probationary firefighter, had been paired with the more experienced Brennan Fox. Hunter frowned. Brennan wasn’t the type to blow off work without a good reason. “I’m going to check in with Brennan, too. This is the third time he’s called in, right?”
The chief turned around in his chair and slid the arson file into the credenza behind his desk. “Yep. Let me know what you find out.”
“Yes, sir.” Hunter walked into the hall outside the chief’s office. On the wall was his friend Jimmy’s photograph and plaque. He stopped in front of it, like he often did. Jimmy had been the real deal. Real husband, real hero. And while intellectually, Hunter knew that nothing he could’ve done would’ve changed the outcome of the fire that had killed Jimmy, he carried the weight of failure every day.
