Page 28 of Ink and Ashes

Holland

I t takes four minutes and thirteen seconds from the time I hang up with Colson to the time the fire department shows up. I figured this town would have a good response time, given that nowhere is more than a ten-minute drive away from the station, but I didn’t expect them to be that fast.

I exhale as the truck parks on the side of the road.

I spot Dom in the driver’s seat, but he avoids my gaze.

I’m not sure if it’s the article that he’s mad about, or if Colson finally spilled the beans that I’ve been lying about my identity.

Maybe it’s both. Either way, he hasn’t returned a single call or text of mine in the past week.

Whatever I did to piss him off, I don’t know, but he seems to be one hell of a grudge-holder if he won’t even look at me.

Colson jumps out of the truck, running over to meet me.

“Rhodes, what the hell happened?” he asks, his eyes shifting between me and the blaze behind me.

“My car’s on fire,” I tell him, sarcasm dripping in my tone.

He rolls his eyes. “I can see that. Are you okay? What happened?”

“I’m fine,” I say, appreciative that he cares enough to ask.

“I’m not sure what happened. I’ve been in the inn all day.

I just came out because I was going to walk over to join the events, and I found my car like this.

” I gesture toward the burning vehicle that the rest of the team is now working on extinguishing.

I’d spent my day locked in my room, not wanting to risk being the cause of more chaos on a day like today.

I know the town doesn’t want me here, and I wasn’t about to force my way into their holiday when I’ve already done that in every other aspect of their lives.

But after a full day of sitting around and watching the parade from the dining room window, I decided to venture out and at least see what all the fuss was about.

Imagine my surprise when I walked out the front door to find my car on fire instead.

Colson’s jaw flexes as he eyes the flaming vehicle. “This is a hybrid. When did you last have the battery checked?”

My brows pull together. “Before I made the four-day trip out here. I’m not an idiot. I take good care of my car.”

“Clearly not good enough, considering it caught fire,” someone mumbles. I look past Colson to see Ray Morgan leaning against the fire truck.

I cock a brow at him. “You’re trying to argue that after sitting parked for an entire day, my car spontaneously decided to catch fire? Even though there’s nothing wrong with the battery?”

Colson places his hands on my upper arms, blocking my view of Ray, then calmly says, “We’ll have it towed to the garage and have them take a look at it, but that is the most common cause of car fires, especially in electric vehicles.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “Unless someone set it.”

“Holland—” Colson begins to argue, but I cut him off.

“You don’t think this happening two weeks after receiving a threatening note, one I very publicly ignored, is related to the arsonist?”

“I’m not saying that,” he says plainly.

“Did you look at the files?”

Colson nods, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “ Yes, and—” he starts, but he’s interrupted by another presence coming to stand beside him.

“There a problem here, Col?” a cop wearing a sheriff’s badge asks then.

Colson tenses, then replies, “We’re good, Uncle Mike. Thanks.”

I huff a laugh. It figures he’s related to the town sheriff. “‘Uncle Mike?’ Are you related to everyone in this town?” I turn toward Mike. “Hi, I’m Holland. I’d like to report an arsonist.”

Mike, probably in his mid-fifties, narrows his eyes and looks back at his nephew. “This the one who’s been causing trouble all around town?”

Colson’s eyes don’t stray from me as he reluctantly nods.

“This town ain’t got an arsonist,” is all Mike adds, his lip curling as he looks at me again. His eyes trail up and down my body, and I resist the urge to squirm beneath his gaze.

I have a feeling the cops won’t be taking my statement anytime soon.

Shaking my head, I look back at my car to see Dom laying on his stomach, searching for a sign of what started this.

When he comes up empty, I sigh, frustrated that there’s no evidence at this scene either.

Whoever’s behind these fires is damn good at covering their tracks, and I’m getting sick of looking for something I’m not even sure is there.

With each day that passes since my article came out that I don’t find anything new, I wonder if Colson was right—if maybe I did jump the gun.

Cass mentioned that things have been…chaotic, to say the least, and I know that I’m to blame for that.

There’s a reason I’ve spent the past week hiding at the inn, and it’s not because of Emmett’s cooking.

It’s because I’m questioning if my eagerness may have clouded my judgement, if publishing made the town extra wary for no reason.

Because despite my determination and the evidence I’ve found, I still don’t have enough to prove there’s an arsonist. And if the mechanic doesn’t find anything with my car either, I’m not sure what that will mean.

Annoyed with Colson, his uncle, Ray Morgan, and this entire situation, I cross my arms over my chest. “Can I go now?”

The two men share a glance before Colson nods. “I’ll call a tow truck to take it to Jimmy’s Garage.”

“Don’t bother.” I scoff. “I’ll handle it myself.”

I shove past Colson as I pull out my phone, leaving him standing with his uncle. Then I dial the number.

Four hours and a two-hundred-dollar tow-truck bill later, Jimmy re-enters the lobby of Jimmy’s Garage, a small mechanic on the outskirts of Ember Grove.

His shop doubles as the towing company, so when he showed up to the scene, I rode back with him to fill him in on the situation.

I’ve been waiting in the lobby since we arrived, my anxiety heightening with every minute that passes.

When Jimmy looks at me and says, “Well, Miss Rhodes, it looks like you were right,” my pulse quickens even more. He sets some papers down on the counter as he adds, “Someone did this to your car.”

“Someone set it on fire?”

He shakes his head. “Well, I can’t prove the exact cause of the fire, but I did find evidence that the fuel line was tampered with.

” He flips open the file on the desk, showing me a picture of the underneath of my car.

He points to a close-up photo of a line that’s been cut in half.

“See here? This is your fuel line. That rip is too smooth for it to be wear and tear. My guess is someone cut it.”

“Okay…” I blow out a breath. “How would a cut fuel line cause a fire?”

“Gasoline is highly flammable, and when it leaks, it creates a vapour in the air. Any ignition source could set it off. My guess is when you turned your car on, a spark from the engine connected with the vapour, and it went up.”

I shake my head. “I found it on fire. It wasn’t on.”

Jimmy’s brows pull together as he glances at the file again. He hums, and I wish I could read his mind.

“Do you think someone could’ve set it intentionally?” I ask.

His eyes narrow slightly, assessing me. But then he says, “It’s possible, but it’s hard to prove something like that without physical evidence.

Like I said, any other heat source could’ve caused the car to go up.

Vapours can travel far distances. It could’ve been an engine spark from another car nearby, someone lighting a cigarette, or even static electricity. We may never know for sure.”

He continues talking, and I try to focus on the words coming out of his mouth, but the world around me spins. Jimmy may not be able to prove it without evidence, but this is enough proof for me.

I’ve been in plenty of sticky situations through my years as an investigative journalist, but being the target of an arsonist? That’s a new one.

Jimmy’s voice brings me back to the present. “What I do know is that you’re lucky it happened when you weren’t in the vehicle.”

“Why’s that?”

“A fire like this would’ve gone up fast. I’m honestly surprised it didn’t get called in sooner. Was there an explosion?”

I shake my head.

Jimmy hums. “You must have caught it right after it happened then.”

He closes the file as my stomach drops. That likely means that whoever set it was still nearby when I called it in.

“You can take this so you can report it to your insurance and the police, but unfortunately, I can’t let you leave with the car. I’m going to need a few days to uncover the full extent of the damage and determine if it’s even repairable. Do you have someone who can come pick you up?”

“Yeah, I…” I hold up my phone. “I can call someone. Thanks, Jimmy.”

He hands me the file on my car. “Be careful out there, Miss Rhodes. Clearly your business in this town is pissing someone off.”

I swallow roughly, doing my best to fake a smile as I grab the file.

Whether or not the fire was set intentionally doesn’t change the fact that my car was still tampered with.

Someone is definitely angry about my presence here, and I’m beginning to wonder if I should be taking these threats more seriously.

Making my way outside, I dial Cassidy’s number.

“Hey,” she says when she answers on the third ring. “Everything okay?”

My eyes begin to water from that question alone.

“The fire to my car…” I shake my head, trying to grasp my thoughts as I stare down at the file.

“Jimmy said it was intentional. Or at least the tampering of the fuel line was. I can’t drive my car until it can be fixed. Would you mind coming to pick me up?”

“Shit.” Cassidy doesn’t hesitate. “I’ll be there in twenty.”

“Thanks,” I say before hanging up. I take a seat on the curb of the sidewalk in front of the garage, unable to tear my eyes away from the folder.

Then I wait.