The Arsonist Read Free Page B

T-shirt. “I was frying potatoes when I noticed there were dishes to be put away. I got distracted. The next thing I know, you’re screaming fire.”
    “You could have burned the whole place down.”
    Anger flashed in her mother’s eyes. “What are you doing here anyway?”
    Darcy pushed aside her annoyance. She’d come home for a story—not a tender family reunion. “I was fired.” The lie tumbled over her lips easily. She’d decided on the drive down that honesty wasn’t the best policy if she were going to get Gannon to talk to her. Her mother couldn’t keep a secret.
    Mrs. Sampson stopped her sweeping. “Fired?”
    Darcy shoved her hands in her pockets. She’d rehearsed this conversation on the drive down. “A week ago.”
    “You were always in the center of trouble as a kid.”
    “Straight As was how I remember it,” she said, her anger rising. “And I worked in our family’s restaurant full time all the way through college.”
    Mrs. Sampson ignored what Darcy had said. “Why did they fire you?”
    There was no point arguing. “I wrote an exposé on a developer. He used shoddy materials in his buildings. Turns out he was a major advertiser with the paper. I refused to drop the story. I got fired.” It all had sounded plausible when she’d made it up, but now she found she had trouble meeting her mother’s gaze.
    Mrs. Sampson started to sweep up the burned flour, again. “That doesn’t make sense. I see your name in the paper a lot. Your articles are good enough.”
    Unreasonably pleased, she stood a little taller. “You get The Post ?”
    Mrs. Sampson shrugged. “From time to time. I buy it from the drugstore.”
    Darcy stood five inches taller than her mother, yet she still felt like a five-year-old at times. “Any articles you liked in particular?”
    “No. Would you get the dustpan?”
    Grateful for the task, she dug the pan out of the broom closet and knelt down so her mother could sweep the pile of flour onto the pan.
    “You should have listened to your boss, Darcy.”
    Darcy picked up the full pan and dumped it in the trash can. “You’re right.”
    Her mother studied her an extra beat as if she wasn’t sure if Darcy was being sarcastic or not. Darcy tried to look sincere.
    Mrs. Sampson softened a fraction. “What about that boyfriend of yours?”
    “We broke up almost a year ago.”
    Mrs. Sampson swept up the rest of the flour and dumped it into the trash can. “I saw that Stephen guy on the Today Show when he was reporting on those fires in Washington last year. I thought his smile was too quick.”
    “And fake too. Would you believe he spent thousands on caps?” His new, rich girlfriend had paid for them. “I still can’t believe I wasted two years with him.”
    Mrs. Sampson shook her head. “So you’ve nowhere else to go and you’ve come home.”
    Pride had her lifting her chin a notch. “I know I’ve not been the best daughter. Dad and I fought so much and I didn’t even stay for the reception after the funeral.”
    The apology caught Mrs. Sampson by surprise. More tension drained from her shoulders. “Your father wasn’t the easiest man either, Darcy. I knew he could be difficult.”
    An unexpected lump formed in her throat. “I was hoping I could crash here for a while.”
    Mrs. Sampson was silent for a moment. “Of course, you can stay here for a while. In fact, I’ve an opening for a waitress. Our waitress quit just yesterday. I’ll have to check with Trevor of course, but I don’t see why you couldn’t work the tables like you used to.”
    “That would be great.” The idea of working in the restaurant didn’t appeal, but it would be the perfect cover story.
    Her mother nodded. “You can start by taking out this trash. Then, when you get your bags put away, you can start prepping for the dinner crowd. My cook, George, is on break now but he’ll be back within the hour.”
    “George? What happened to Dave?” Dave had cooked for the Varsity since