The Arsonist Read Free Page A

impatiently up at the smoke detector that still wailed. She started to wave her apron in the air under the blaring smoke detector. “Help me turn this thing off. I don’t need the fire department knocking on my door.”
    Darcy grabbed a stepladder, and in high heeled boots climbed up the steps and disconnected the smoke detector. She pulled the battery out of the back of it. Blessed silence filled the room.
    Darcy climbed down and shut off the gas to the burner under the frying pan now covered with a thick coat of flour. She set down the battery and faced her mother. “Did you burn yourself?”
    Her mother pursed her lips. “I’m fine.”
    The speckled burns on her mother’s arms said otherwise. Darcy went to the sink, turned on the tap and soaked a handful of paper towels in the cool water. She rang out the excess water.
    “Let me see your arms.”
    “I’m fine,” her mother said, her tone brusque.
    Darcy swallowed her frustration and took her mother’s arm in hand. Gently she started to clean her arm.
    Her mother winced. “That hurts. Don’t be so rough.”
    “You need some antibiotic ointment on that.”
    Her mother pulled her arm away. “It’s not that bad.”
    She’d been home less than two minutes and already she and her mother were arguing. It had to be a record. “Mom, you wouldn’t admit to third-degree burns even if they covered your body.”
    Mrs. Sampson took the towels from Darcy. “I’ve managed to take care of myself all these years while you’ve been up north with your big city job.”
    Darcy’s defenses rose. But instead of taking the bait, she went to the swinging doors that led to the dining room so that she could calm the customers.
    To her surprise, the row of booths covered in green vinyl and the seats around the mahogany bar were empty.
    She checked her watch. Two o’clock. The lunch hour had passed, but normally there’d be a half a dozen folks eating a late lunch.
    As she glanced around the deserted room, she realized the place hadn’t changed in twenty years. It still smelled of stale cigarettes and beer and was decorated with her brother’s football memorabilia, including jerseys from his peewee days through his brief time with the Pittsburgh Steelers.
    Growing up, Darcy had jokingly called the room The Shrine, though deep inside it hurt knowing her parents’ world revolved solely around her brother. She’d been all but invisible to them.
    “Where is everyone?” she asked. She ignored the tightness in her chest and walked back into the kitchen.
    “We don’t open for lunch anymore.” Her mother surveyed the mess around the stove as she pushed a trembling hand through her short gray hair. “We open at five now.”
    That surprised her. “Why? The lunch crowd was always profitable.”
    Her mother got a broom from a small closet by the back door. “Trevor says lunch is more trouble than it is worth. The real money is made at dinner and the bar.”
    Her brother, Trevor, had become the tavern manager after their father’s death last year. Trevor had just been cut from the Steelers and was at loose ends. At the time, his managing the restaurant had seemed like a win-win solution for everyone.
    “Dad never missed an opportunity to make money. He only closed on Christmas Day. Trevor’s decision must have Dad rolling in his grave.”
    Jan Sampson shot an annoyed glance her daughter’s way. She wasn’t willing to discuss Trevor’s managerial decisions. But instead of saying so, she diverted the conversation to another topic. “Good Lord, I’ve never seen a fire jump like that.”
    Darcy could feel a headache coming on. “I get the hint—Trevor is perfect.” It had been six years since she’d moved away from home, but it surprised her how deep old resentments still ran.
    Her mother ignored the comment.
    Darcy drew in a calming breath. This visit home was going to work. “What caused the fire, Mom?”
    Her mother tugged down the edges of her Steelers yellow