Page 12 of Fire Fight

“So what brings you to town?” he asked.

“Little of this, little of that,” I said noncommittally, taking a sip of my beer.

“You here alone?”

Dragging my finger coyly around the rim of my glass, I asked, “Why?”

He leaned forward on his elbows and dropped his voice. “Just wondering if I’ve got any competition.”

I tipped my head back and laughed. Amazing, how a five dollar tip could change a man’s mood so drastically. With dark hair and eyes and a reasonably symmetrical face, he wasn’t bad looking, though he couldn’t be older than twenty-five and thus too young for me.

Still, it made me wonder what I could accomplish with a twenty—or with a different incentive entirely.

“Yes, I’m here alone,” I answered, shifting closer like I was about to share a secret. “Actually, I’m a private investigator here on a case.”

His eyes widened fractionally, curiosity clearly piqued.

“What kind of case?”

“Murder. Arson. The usual.”

He straightened to his full height—which, if I had to guess, was right around six feet—and crossed his arms over his chest. He had two thick bands of dark ink wrapping around his right forearm, but no other tattoos or identifying marks that I could see.

“The Prom Night Arsonist.”

“Good guess,” I praised. “What can you tell me about it?”

One of his shoulders hitched up in a half-shrug. “I know what the papers tell me. Some sicko has been tormenting our town for decades.”

“Did you know any of the victims personally?”

“A few,” he answered noncommittally. Clearly, the walls hadgone back up, making it unlikely that I’d get anything else out of him.

Still, I pressed. “Are any of the families of the victims still around?”

“Almost all of them, I think. Except maybe the Lees? They typically head south for the winter and haven’t returned yet that I’ve seen.”

“And you’d notice?”

“It’s a small town, lady. And I work here.”

“Fair enough. So let’s say I wanted to talk to someone about those murders and the victims, and the sheriff’s department is no help. What would you suggest I do?”

Once again, he rested his elbows on the bar, this time more menacing than flirtatious. “You want my honest opinion?” I nodded. “Give it up. You’re an outsider, which means the people of this place won’t exactly be welcoming or forthcoming when they find out you’re dredging up all this old shit. There hasn’t been a murder in a few years. I’d suggest letting it go and getting out of town before something bad happens to you too.”

My hackles rose. “Is that a threat?”

He shrugged and pursed his lips. “Statement of fact. Have a nice night.”

And then he was gone, leaving me reeling.

I hadn’t expected to be welcomed with a goddamn parade or anything, but you’d think these people would look a little more kindly on someone trying tohelpthem.

In my haste to get away from the bar, I accidentally collided with another body. My beer sloshed all over my bag, hand, and the front of my shirt, immediately suctioning the material to my skin.

A very pissed off woman, her strawberry blonde hair cut in a severe bob at her chin, glared at me in disgust.

“Watch where you’re going!” she sneered, striking green eyes shining with malice. “What is wrong with you?”