The Hightower Insurance office had burned to the ground, destroying valuable personal records and expensive office equipment. Five employees had lost their jobs, since R. L. Hightower had decided to retire rather than rebuild. The most devastating incident had occurred two months before the insurance company fire, in mid-January. A small hunting cabin in the woods just outside of town had burned, killing Truman Kellogg, who’d died in bed of smoke inhalation.
Unlike the other fires, that had been the only one in which there’d been no clear-cut evidence of arson. The cause was still listed as undetermined. It had been a fluke that Kellogg had even been at his hunting cabin that night. He had visited it only infrequently during the past few years and almost never at that time of the year.
Eddie Stamps had finally confessed to most of the arsons, yet denied responsibility for the insurance company and the hunting cabin. Most locals believed he was willing to confess only to the fires with the least serious consequences, hoping for a lesser sentence. Dan had pointed out to Riley that there were some differences in those two fires, but he, too, suspected that Eddie might have been involved with them. The timing seemed too coincidental to believe otherwise.
Dan tended to believe that Truman’s death had been accidental. Since Truman so rarely stayed at the cabin, it was conceivable that the arsonist—if there was one in that case—could have believed the cabin was vacant. Because prosecutors had reluctantly decided to accept a plea bargain from Eddie’s attorney and charge him only with the fires he’d confessed to, it was possible no one would ever know whether Truman’s death had been the result of arson or merely a tragic accident.
Since Eddie’s arrest, news had been slow for the two reporters for the Evening Star. Lindsey stayed busy covering school programs and civic meetings and doing features on interesting locals. She shared hard news coverage with Riley, informally taking turns showing up when real news occurred. Riley’s regular responsibilities included attending and reporting on weekly city council meetings and sporting events and a twice-weekly column of biting political and social commentary.
The column was new, an idea of managing editor Cameron North. At first Riley had been reluctant to commit to the demands of a regular column. Cameron had talked him into it, assuring Riley that he could do most of his work at home, giving him plenty of freedom to work his own hours at his own pace, on the condition that he would produce two columns a week.
Riley enjoyed writing the columns more than he’d expected. It gave him a chance to get in a few digs at the mayor, the city council, local society leaders, the school board—he liked to think of himself as an equal opportunity needler. Even his friends weren’t entirely safe from his barbs. Dan and his police department had taken their share of hits from Riley’s keyboard.
“Hey, Riley.” The city attorney approached him at the Friday night high school football game, an aggrieved look on his broad, mocha-toned face. “That wasn’t an entirely fair column you ran today. Just because the state Supreme Court overturned one of our city ordinances doesn’t mean I don’t know my job. I honestly thought it would hold up in court.”
“C’mon, Dwayne, every business owner in town has been insisting that ordinance was unconstitutional since the council drafted it almost two years ago. Just because you and the mayor persuaded one lower court judge—a golfing buddy of the mayor’s, no less—to uphold it didn’t make it legal. As the state Supreme Court justices told you quite succinctly, by the way.”
Dwayne’s scowl deepened. “Now that’s just what I was talking about. You can’t accuse a judge of being influenced by a longtime acquaintance with the mayor.”
“Sure I can. Especially when it’s true.”
“Damn it, Riley—”
“Careful, Dwayne.” Riley skillfully sidestepped a mob of kids dashing recklessly toward the concession stand behind them. “There are innocent ears listening.”
He moved on before the mayor’s most devoted minion could get further wound up. Dwayne would get over this offense—until the next time Riley took aim at the local political scene.
“Riley!” A towheaded kid in fashionably oversize clothes skidded to a stop in front of him. A slightly smaller, more feminine figure tagged at the boy’s heels. “Hi. Remember us?”
“Mark,” Riley said, identifying the boy he’d met in the park a few days earlier. “And Maggie,” he added with a smile for the little girl. “Nice to see you again.”
“We’re going to get drinks and popcorn.” Almost shouting to be heard over the noise surrounding them, Mark waved a five-dollar bill in one hand as he pointed toward the nearby concession stand with the other. “Mom’s saving our seats. She said we have to stay close together, hurry back and don’t talk to anyone.”
“You’re talking to me.” Riley couldn’t help pointing it out.
“Well, yeah, but that’s different,” Mark replied with his usual airy disregard for details. “We know you.”
“Still, you’d better buy your snacks and get back to your mom before she starts to worry. I’ll catch you later, okay?”
“Okay. See you, Riley.”
“See you, Riley,” Maggie echoed, staying close to her brother as they joined the shortest line at the crowded booth.
Nodding toward the uniformed officer stationed by the concession stand, one of several on duty in the generally problem-free high school stadium, Riley moved toward the bleachers. It was almost time for kickoff. He wasn’t officially covering the game tonight—a high school senior with dreams of becoming a sportswriter had requested that privilege this evening—but Riley liked football and was a loyal supporter of the Edstown Eagles. He rarely missed a home game, even when he wasn’t being paid to attend.
The crowd was already pumped up and ready for the action to begin. The band played—loudly if not flawlessly—and maroon-and-gold clad cheerleaders and pom-pom girls bounced and chanted. An announcer’s voice boomed from scratchy speakers. The smells of fresh popcorn, hot dogs, nachos, coffee and hot chocolate wafted through the cool air. Young kids who couldn’t care less about football played tag on the grassy hill beside the bleachers, and groups of teenagers strutted and giggled while trying to impress the opposite gender.
Some things, he thought, never changed.
Nodding greetings to people he knew, he spotted an empty stretch of bench with a good view of the field. Climbing over a few outstretched legs, he claimed a spot, settling carefully onto the chilly aluminum seat. He glanced idly left, froze for a moment, then slowly smiled.
The woman sitting only a few feet away hadn’t noticed him yet. Her attention was focused on the cheerleaders, who were doing an intricately choreographed dance routine on the sidelines while the band members played enthusiastic accompaniment.
She seemed to be alone in the noisy crowd. Riley had every intention of changing that. He moved closer to her, waiting for her to recognize him.
Pulling her attention away from the field, Teresa glanced at her watch, then craned her head to look toward the concession stand as if looking for someone. Maybe she wasn’t alone. Maybe her date was getting drinks or something. Riley frowned.
And then she spotted him. Her eyebrows lifted in surprise at finding him sitting only a few feet away. He quickly turned his frown into a smile. “Hi.”
“Hello.” She could have been greeting a total stranger even though he knew that she’d recognized him.
She looked very pretty this evening, he mused. The thin red jacket, snug white pullover and faded jeans she wore were flattering to her—but then, most things would be. “So you’re a football fan?”