Blue Smoke

to the first tiny bead.
    “I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth.”
    They prayed the rosary, her mother’s quiet voice blending with hers. But she couldn’t pray for Josh’s soul, or the grace to accept God’s will. She prayed it was a mistake. She prayed she’d somehow wake up and find it all a horrible dream.
    When Gib came to the bedroom door, he saw his daughter lying with her head in his wife’s lap. Bianca still held the rosary, but she was singing softly now—one of the cradle songs she’d sung to all the children when they were fretful at night.

    Her eyes met his, and he knew she saw what was in his because grief passed over her face.
    “John’s here.” He waited, felt the pang when Reena turned her head, looked at him with such naked hope. “Do you want him to come up, baby?”
    Reena’s lips trembled. “It’s true?”
    He said nothing, just crossed to her, laid his lips on her head.
    “I’ll come down. I’ll come down now.”
    He was waiting in the living room with Xander and Fran. If she’d read sorrow on her father’s face, it was grim sympathy she saw in John’s. She would stand it, somehow she would stand it, because there was nothing else to be done.
    “How?” It came out in a croak, and she shook her head before he could speak. “Thank you. Thank you for doing this, for coming to talk to me. I—”
    “Ssh.” He stepped forward to take her hands. “Let’s all sit down.”
    “I made coffee.” Fran busied herself pouring. “Reena, I got you a Pepsi. I know you don’t like coffee, so . . .” She stopped, lifted her hands helplessly. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
    “You did just fine.” Bianca led Reena to a chair. “Please, sit, John. Reena needs to know whatever you can tell her.”
    He pulled his thumb and finger down his nose, sat. “I spoke with the company officer, and the investigator called in, and some of the firefighters, and the police. The fire’s being considered accidental, caused by a cigarette.”
    “But he didn’t smoke. Did you tell them I said he didn’t smoke?”
    “I went over that with them, Reena. People who don’t smoke habitually might have a cigarette from time to time. Maybe someone left a pack at his place.”
    “But he never smoked. I—I never saw him smoke.”
    “He was alone in the apartment, with no sign of forced entry. He was . . . It appears he’d been sitting or lying in bed, possibly reading or writing. A dropped cigarette on the mattress. The point of origin andthe progress of the fire is pretty clear and straightforward. Started with a smoldering fire, in the mattress, caught the sheets. He must’ve woken up, been dazed and confused by the smoke. He fell, honey. Fell or rolled out of bed, taking the sheets with him. It worked as a trailer. The, ah, medical examiner will be running tests, and the fire examiner will take another look as a professional courtesy, but at this point there’s no reason to suspect it was anything but a tragic accident.”
    “They’ll look for drugs. Do a tox screen looking for drugs or alcohol. He didn’t do drugs, and he didn’t drink all that much. And he didn’t smoke. What time did the fire start?”
    “Around eleven-thirty last night.”
    “I was with him. At his apartment. I was there until nearly ten. I went there with him after the wedding. We—I’m sorry, Daddy—we made love. He asked if I could stay the night because his roommate was out of town, but I thought I should be home. If I’d stayed—”
    “You don’t know anything would have happened differently if you’d stayed,” John interrupted. “You don’t smoke.”
    “No.”
    “Odds are he knew that, and it’s possible he didn’t want to smoke around you.”
    “Did you examine the scene? Did you—”
    “Reena, it’s out of my jurisdiction. It’s Prince Georges County, and the people in charge are competent. I took a look at the scene pictures, the sketches, the reports—again because they gave me professional courtesy. I’d have come to the same conclusions on this. Honey, you’ve dealt with arson firsthand, and you know about malicious fire-setting. But you’re studying this kind of investigating and you know that sometimes this sort of tragedy is just an accident.”
    “Pastorelli—”
    “Is in New York. Just to cover bases, I asked the local cops to check. He was in Queens last night. He’s got a job as a night janitor, and it looks like it checks