Home Fires (12 page)

And yet somehow she had.

“Rose, I’m sorry, I didn’t know…”

She lifted her head and met Mike’s gaze, ignoring the sympathy she saw in his eyes. He felt sorry for her? Sorry for Jeff? It was a little late for that. What did Mike know about suffering? He was the one who’d started this, who’d insisted on knowing what had happened. Fine. She would finish the story and she wouldn’t mince words, either. He was a firefighter. He could stand a little heat.

“You have no idea how cruel people can be,” she said. “The rumors swirled after Jeff died. People said he’d been drinking, just like his mother.”

“The Judge’s wife was an alcoholic?”

Rose’s eyes narrowed, remembering. “That’s right. She was an alcoholic, though no one dared say it to her face. After all, people respected the Judge. But everyone knew she drank. She rarely left the house. It was never openly talked about until Jeff died. Then the talk never stopped. It was cruel and heartless, the things people said, all those rumors they spread about him and how he’d died.”

“Wasn’t there an autopsy?”

She nodded slowly. “Jeff died of congenital heart failure. It was a condition that had never been diagnosed. But no one cared about the truth. After the autopsy results were released, the talk really heated up. People in town said the Judge had called in his markers and had things hushed up. They said he’d paid people off to make it appear Jeff died in his sleep.”

“Did he do drugs?”

Rose scoffed at the notion. “Jeff and I weren’t interested in anything like that. But that didn’t stop people from talking. They didn’t care anything about Jeff. Even though he was dead, his reputation was ruined.” Her face hardened. “And no matter what I said, there wasn’t anything I could do about it. Nothing is sacred… not when you live in a small town.”

The memories flooded back, and Rose felt her heart pounding. She rushed to finish the story before it finished her.

“The Judge’s wife died a year later. I was in college and came home for the funeral. I’m not sure what they listed as the official cause of death. She never left the house after Jeff died. My mother told me that the Judge did his best to get her some help. He tried convincing her to go away, to a rehab center like Betty Ford. But she wouldn’t go. Her drinking was out of control and one day it was too late.” Rose shrugged. “Maybe she died from drinking too much, but I think she died of a broken heart. God knows she had enough cause. But the fact remained that Jeff was gone and she was gone and the Judge was left to deal with this town on his own.”

Rose took a deep breath and tried to clear her mind and heart of the sudden ache deep inside. “The man you see today is the man I’ve always known. The Judge is tough and crafty, and he doesn’t mince words. But he’s a good man and honest to the core. He’s lived with his share of tragedy and he’s gotten through it. The Judge is a survivor. And he deserves better than the way he’s been treated by this town.”

“Yet he’s still here,” Mike said softly. “He didn’t run away.”

“Like I did?” Her eyes met his in challenge. “Is that what you mean? This town has nothing to offer me. I’m happier exactly where I am.”

His silence made her fume even hotter. Why should she have to prove things to him? The Judge was no arsonist. The sooner Mike gave up this ridiculous investigation of her old friend, the better off they would all be. Mike was chasing the wrong man.

“Thanks for the information,” he finally said. “It was very helpful. Believe me, I didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t know,” she hotly replied. She tapped her sandal smartly against the cement floor. “You’re not a local. You’re just like everybody else that moves up here. After a couple of months, they assume they know everyone and everything about this town.”

“I’ve lived here more than a year. I’m getting to know my way around.”

“A year?” Rose scoffed, ignoring the defensiveness in his voice. “You could live here twenty years and it wouldn’t matter. You don’t know anything about the people in this town. Who are you to judge?”

“What about you?” he shot back. “You don’t live here anymore. What gives you the right to tell me not to pass judgment when you’ve been doing exactly that for…” He checked his watch. “The past ten minutes. You’ve been sitting there passing judgment on me.”

She sat back in stunned silence, her ears smarting under the rap of his stinging retort. But the trier of fact inside her heart urged her to listen to what he was saying. His criticism wasn’t without merit. She’d purposely pointed a finger at him and it hadn’t been a particularly pretty thing to do. Their staring match continued. Too proud, both of them, that’s what they were. But her heart urged her forward. Why was she always so caustic and bold?

Say it, Rose. Tell him you’re sorry.

The quiet between them expanded in the cramped, tiny office, bouncing off the dingy white walls and ceiling.

“I guess you’re right,” he finally said with a shrug. “I am an outsider. Guess I’ll always be one, too.” His lips pursed together in a tight smile. “Little towns are funny. It’s not like growing up in the city, is it? But then, you wouldn’t know anything about that, since you’re from around here.”

Silently she berated herself. It was impossible not to notice the wounded look in his eyes. He’d taken her words entirely to heart. She hated herself for it. She hated the way their conversation had gone, hated how she’d flung the words at him… words about Jeff, the Judge, and Mike’s judging others. It had been a heavy ball and she’d lobbed it at a ready target with a steady aim. She would give anything to erase that haunted look on his face. Mike had only been trying to do his job. She shouldn’t have lost her temper. She knew better than to allow herself to become emotionally involved. Once that happened, it was hard to detach.

But better to detach than to let your feelings carry you places you dared not go. That was a surefire way to be burned.

Could a fireman somehow douse that fire?

“I’ll call you if I have any more questions or if anything else comes up,” he finally said.

“That’s it?” Rose gave him an uneasy stare. “We’re finished?”

“Looks that way.” Mike rose unsmiling from behind the chief’s chair, his face bright red.

She stumbled to her feet. She didn’t know if she was more embarrassed by the way she’d acted or the tone of their conversation. Better to get out of there fast than stick around and witness the hurt her words had caused him.

Rose turned on her heel and fled without a backward glance.

Their conversation haunted her well into the next day. What an infuriating man. She had wanted to talk, wanted to apologize, but then he’d gone and acted so aloof and professional, interrogating her about the Judge. She’d been so mad, hearing her old friend’s character called into question. The Judge was like a member of her own family. If Mike thought things through, maybe he would understand her reasoning. Still, she shouldn’t have come across so strong or insulted his handling of the investigation. The debate raged in her head, leaving Rose cringing as she remembered what she’d said.

Michael John Gallagher was all she could think about—the good
and
the bad. What was it about being around that man? He brought out feelings in her that she didn’t understand. Maybe she should call him. Maybe she owed him an apology.

Maybe
? Probably!

Apologize
, every instinct urged her, yet Rose still didn’t pick up the phone. She was still pondering the next evening when the telephone rang.

“Are we still talking?” Mike’s voice was hesitant. “You ran out of the office pretty fast the other day. I wasn’t sure if you were mad, or what.”

Was she still mad? Did she have a right to be? She hadn’t figured it out herself. “Yes, we’re still talking,” she finally admitted. “What’s on your mind?” He put her right on edge with his attitude. One minute the cool and commanding public official, and the next minute lively and playful, only to turn moody and intense. The change in him was infuriating, exasperating, yet strangely appealing. Mike wasn’t at all the type of man she was used to dealing with. With him, you never knew what to expect.

“You told me to call.”

“I did?” Rose thought hard for a moment. Was he baiting her again? “I don’t remember saying that.”

“You said to call if there was anything else. I’ve got another couple of questions for you.”

Rose nearly choked. Did he actually expect her to answer more questions after everything she’d said the other day?

“I know it’s short notice.” Mike’s voice softened slightly. “I’d appreciate it, Rose. We’re still actively working the condo fire file.”

Did she have a choice? Mike had said the fire was deliberately set and that meant a criminal investigation. As an officer of the court, it was his duty to ask. As a citizen, it was her duty to comply.

But witnesses to be deposed had the advantage of being interviewed at a location of their choosing. If Mike insisted on asking further questions, then she would insist they meet on her own turf… within view of the Judge’s house next door.

“All right, I’ll answer your questions. But you’ll have to come here. My mother came home from the hospital this afternoon. I can’t leave the house.”

“How about seven o’clock? I’m at the fire station till then. I can swing by on my way home after work.”

Rose blew out a sigh as she hung up the phone. He wasn’t giving up, no matter what sort of obstacles—verbal or otherwise—she threw his way. What was it about this fireman that caused her such concern? She glanced at the grandfather clock. Its hands inched toward seven o’clock. Mike would be here soon. If she hurried, she still had time to run a comb through her hair.

At precisely seven o’clock, Rose opened the front door and strode out onto the front porch. She flopped down in one of the wicker chairs lined up near the front steps and eyed the empty street. Lil and her mother were inside, and she wasn’t about to answer his questions under their scrutiny. God knows what the two of them might start asking him.

She settled back in the chair and fanned herself with her hand. Normally the fresh lake breeze blowing in off Lake Michigan kept things cool, but that wasn’t the case this summer. The heat this second evening of July was stifling and oppressive, stagnant in its ability to alter time and attitude. She pushed some stray hairs off the back of her neck. Maybe she should think about having central air installed inside the house. She could afford it, even if she didn’t make partner this year. And if she took the job in Washington, her salary would be even higher. The house could be equipped with central air and her mother would want for nothing. She could even take up winter residence in a Florida condo if she wished. Lil could go with her.

Thank goodness for Lil. Her mother’s best friend had proved a godsend today. Lil’s luxurious sedan had provided air-conditioned comfort while transporting Irene home from the hospital. Rose was grateful for every bit of Lil’s nursing expertise. Tommy Gilbert had also been invaluable in “Irene-proofing” the house. Together she and Tommy had converted the front den into a makeshift hospital room, complete with an adjustable hospital bed. A commode chair with padded arms was now installed in the downstairs bathroom. All the colorful throw rugs covering the hardwood floors had been gathered and stored, so as not to catch on the metal walker that her mother would be using for the next few weeks or longer.

Home calls from the visiting nurse and physical therapist would begin soon, perhaps as early as tomorrow. Considerable effort would be required on her mother’s part, but the doctors had assured them that the flexible new knee would be worth it. Her mother hadn’t complained, not even as Rose helped her from the wheelchair to Lil’s car. Irene probably had thought no one was looking, but Rose had noticed the deep wince of pain that flitted briefly across her face as she settled back in her seat.

What was a little money spent renting a hospital bed if it helped speed her mother’s recovery? What was the point of working so hard, if not to provide those you loved with life’s little comforts? Her mother deserved whatever she could give her, and Rose could afford to pay the price.

She spotted the cherry-red pickup as it started up the small hill at the bottom of their street. Only a few minutes after seven o’clock. Right on time. There must have been no visitors at the fire station tonight.

Mike strode up the porch steps a few moments later. Rose took in his creased dark blue pants and crisp white short-sleeved shirt which sported that same strange-looking cross emblazoned over one pocket. He looked sharp and professional. She tried not to stare. What was it they said about a man in uniform?

“I thought we could talk out here,” she said. “My mother isn’t up to dealing with visitors.”

“Sure, I understand,” Mike said. His face wore an easy look of amiable concern. “Everything going okay?”

“She’ll be all right.”

“Glad to hear it. I won’t keep you long.”

Rose offered him a tentative smile and waved him into a chair. She was ready to forgive him, even apologize for her part in what had happened the previous afternoon. He’d said some harsh things, but so had she.

Something about this fireman made it hard to let go. They had to get things between them back on the right track.

Mike dropped down in the seat beside her.

“Cecilia Rose?” The front door cracked open and Lil’s face appeared behind the screen. “Your mama says it’s way too hot out here for the two of you to be talking on the front porch.” Lil eyed Mike up and down with a frank, appraising look which melted into distinct approval. “Why don’t you bring this nice young man inside?”

Rose bristled. She didn’t want him inside the house. He’d already proved he had no fear about speaking his mind. He was here to question her, but her mother and Lil probably had plenty of questions planned for him… like insisting on hearing all the juicy details of how she and Mike had managed to meet up again. Rose grimaced, remembering the kitchen fire that had nearly set the house on fire. She’d managed to keep the news from her mother, but Mike’s presence in the house would be like introducing a firecracker to a burning match. Her mother and Lil were masters in the art of interrogation. Who knew what he might say?