“You’re right. And I won’t ask you to do that. This isn’t your battle. It’s mine.”
“Then how?”
“I have to prove myself to the community. That I’m a man of integrity. A man to be trusted.” He glanced down at the again-dozing Missy. “You see, Kara, you’re not the only person who didn’t come forward. Someone else knows I didn’t set that fire.”
Kara’s fists clenched in her pockets.
“One other person knows, because they started it. Left my cigarette lighter there. And I intend to find out who that person is.”
“He’s what?”
Kara clutched her mother’s arm as she helped her to the house’s back door after church on Sunday. She’d hardly slept at all last night. No wonder, after Trey’s bombshell. But surely she misunderstood what her mom said.
“You heard me, doll. Coming for lunch.” Her mother grasped the railing to steady herself. “His nieces, too, of course.”
Trey could be arriving any minute?
Last night he’d no more voiced his intention to find the real arsonist when Mary had trotted into the room to show off her T-shirt PJs. Avoiding Trey’s gaze, Kara had oohed and aahed to the little girl’s delight. Then made her escape.
But now this. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.
Trey had forgiven her when he thought she’d just been a scared, stupid kid. One who immaturely reacted out of fear. Immature revenge. He had no idea she’d known this whole time who’d started the fire.
He’d hate her when he found out.
She held open the door to the enclosed porch for her mom, greeted by the tantalizing scent of a Crock-Pot pork roast and the lingering aroma of an apple pie baked earlier that morning. Mom knew that kind of thing wasn’t on her doctor-mandated diet, but she’d stubbornly called the Warehouse yesterday afternoon and insisted Kara pick up the meat and other ingredients for a few of her many specialties. Said she felt like having company, which had long been a custom on Sundays before her late autumn heart attack. She’d always liked to see who God led her way to invite from church or the neighborhood.
But why Trey of all people?
When they’d divested themselves of coats and boots, they moved on into the kitchen where her mother laid out five plates and handed her a fistful of silverware.
“Kind of surprised you’d invite Trey Kenton, Mom.” She kept her voice even as she arranged the utensils. Years ago Mom had expressly forbidden her to see him outside the church youth group activities. Not that she always obeyed. “I didn’t even know he was in town until Friday night.”
“Need to talk business with him.”
“What kind of business?”
“Looks like he’ll be renting the Warehouse apartment.”
Several spoons slipped from her fingers and clattered to the hardwood floor. She knelt to pick them up with a trembling hand. She tossed the utensils into the sink, then opened a drawer for replacements. “Don’t you think maybe we should have discussed this first?”
“Got to chattin’ with him after you went off with Meg this morning. Returned Missy’s mitten, by the way.” Mom winked. “He says he’s indebted to you. Missy had already lost another mitten on his watch this week. He’s down to the last spare pair and figured he’d be answering to Reyna if at least one of them didn’t turn up.”
She gave her mother a weak smile. She should have returned the mitten herself so Mom wouldn’t have had an excuse to strike up a conversation with him this morning.
“But, Mom, for years you haven’t wanted to deal with the headaches renters can bring.” She smoothed a turned-up corner of the tablecloth. “Don’t forget, I won’t be here much longer to oversee a rental. Run interference if things don’t work out.”
“Haven’t forgotten.” Mom opened a cabinet and pulled out a serving platter. “But he mentioned you’d let him and the girls stay there last night. One thing led to another and, well, it seemed like the right thing to do. Him being the pastor’s brother and all.”
“But if you’ve decided to rent, wouldn’t it be better to get the word out to your friends first? See if they know a nice, quiet, local girl who’d put up pretty curtains and keep the place neat and clean? I don’t want to sound biased, but most guys are notoriously bad housekeepers.”
Mom was okay with some clutter but a stickler for cleanliness, so throwing out that reminder was worth a shot.
Her mother shrugged. “He’s going to use it as an office, too, so I assume he’ll keep it presentable.”
“But Trey Kenton? Mom, don’t you remember how you—”
“Boys grow up.”
Now where had she heard that before?
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