why wasn’t she surprised to learn a sweet-talking, drop-dead gorgeous specimen of male perfection had a woman for a best friend?
“Debbie called to see if I could pick up the cake for Amanda’s bridal shower at the bakery by noon on Sunday,” he said.
“You really don’t have to explain.”
“Tilly,” he said, ignoring her, “wanted to let me know she’d taken care of Cale and Amanda’s wedding present, and my future sister-in-law wanted to know if I’d been able to find the gift she wants to give my oldest brother to celebrate his promotion to lieutenant.”
Emily handed him the dishes then crossed her arms and looked at him skeptically. “Let me guess. You want me to believe you’re really related to the other women on that list, right?”
He shrugged and his grin turned sheepish.
What did she care anyway? She’d sworn off men.
Well, she had!
Fifteen minutes later they were seated at the round oak table in the corner of the kitchen. Drew had unearthed sliced turkey in the fridge, and rather than BLTs, they shared the best turkey Newburg on toasted English muffins she’d ever tasted, expertly prepared by Drew. Which sure beat anything she could’ve created in the kitchen. Almost anything was preferable to her cooking, a term she used loosely.
Emily looked across the table at Drew. The man really was way too sexy for her own good, but she couldn’t think about that now. Or ever, and she firmly reminded her wayward hormones of that telling list of women. There were questions that had been simmering in the back of her mind all afternoon that required answers. With everything that had gone on, there hadn’t really been an opportunity to talk to him privately and when she’d had the chance, she’d allowed herself to be sidetracked by that harem of his.
“Why would a garbage-can fire necessitate an arson inspection?” she asked him suddenly.
He took a bite of his meal and chewed instead of giving her an answer, making her wonder if he’d even heard her.
“I noticed some charred crates, too,” she continued. “And soot stains near the exit. The fire today wasn’t the first, was it?”
Drew let out a sigh and set his fork on the delicate china plate. He’d expected her questions sooner or later. He’d just wished it’d been later, when he had some solid answers. “You’re not a reporter, are you?”
“No. I’m…” She paused and let out a short huff of breath. “I was an advertising executive.”
“Was?” he prompted, attempting to steer the conversation into a more personal direction. Emily intrigued him, but then most women did on one level or another, so he wasn’t overly concerned.
“Corporate downsizing.” She dismissed the subject with a wave of her hand. “The fires?”
So much for a redirection of topic, he thought, although he planned a revisit shortly. He wanted to know more about this absent father of her baby, which should be reason enough to ignore the faint stirring of need in his gut whenever he looked into Emily’s big brown eyes. Only he couldn’t seem to help himself.
“Today was the third incident,” he told her.
Her eyes widened in disbelief. “The third?” She shook her head as if trying to absorb the information. “Grandy never said a word to me about the fires.”
Maybe because she was guilty as hell. “Maybe she didn’t want to worry her family,” he said instead.
Emily set her plate aside and rested her arms over the oak table. Her frown made a reappearance. He’d known plenty of women in his lifetime, and not a single one of them looked half as tempting as Emily Dugan when they frowned.
“What else has happened?” she demanded. “How long has this been going on?”
“Maybe you should talk to your grandmother about it.” He wasn’t concerned with putting his investigation at risk by sharing information with her, but he did feel she should be talking to Velma rather than to him. Under normal circumstances, they wouldn’t even be having this conversation.
“And let Grandy excuse the incidents as insignificant little nuisances? Not a chance.” Her big soulful eyes filled with determination that matched the firmness of her tone. “Besides, any investigation performed by the fire department is a matter of public record. Which translates to you not being in danger of breaching confidentiality laws by telling me what’s been going on around here. If someone is trying to hurt my grandmother, then I have a right to know.”
She had him there. “What makes you think someone else is responsible?”
Her mouth formed a perfectly shaped “O” before her gaze narrowed. “You can’t possibly believe an eighty-year-old woman is responsible for setting those fires? That’s absolutely insane.”
He leaned back in the chair, enjoying the heat in her voice a whole lot more than was prudent. She was, after all, carrying another man’s child, which classified Emily as strictly taboo, no matter how much she intrigued him. A guy did need to have his standards, and lusting after another man’s woman went against his own set of values. Unless the guy had indeed pulled a disappearing act.
“Is it?” he asked. “Have you taken a good look around? This place is falling apart.”
“That does not mean my grandmother is an arsonist!”
He shrugged and bit back a smile. Too bad such an exciting woman was off-limits. Maybe off-limits.
“Yes, it could, especially if the property is heavily mortgaged and she wants out. Believe me, Emily. People start fires for a variety of reasons, and a huge pay-off by their insurance company to get out from under a large debt is right there at the top of the list.”
“Well, not in this case,” she retorted. “Grandy and Pop paid off the property years ago.”
“Do you know for certain she’s never mortgaged it?”
“No,” she admitted. “I don’t. Not for certain, but it’s highly unlikely. Grandy would never risk the school or her home.”
Deep down, he agreed with her. Velma Norris hardly came across as the criminal type: she appeared to be quite sharp and seemed to be a savvy businesswoman despite her advanced age. Yet, the subject still required a thorough investigation, if for no other reason than to clear her of any wrongdoing.
“Drew, would you please tell me what’s going on?”
He sat forward and braced his arms on the table. “As I said, today was the third incident. The first fire happened about two weeks ago and looked to be nothing more than a grease fire that had flared out of control in one of the classrooms. No one was hurt, but according to your grandmother, the classroom was deserted when the fire started. It looked like someone had accidentally spilled grease beneath the top of the range and it was ignited by a faulty pilot light.”
“That doesn’t make much sense,” Emily said as she began to stack their dirty dishes. “Grandy has those ranges checked by the gas company once a month to prevent something like that from happening.”
He
