Blue Smoke

they didn’t like him.”
    Captain Brant nodded, sat back. His hair was ice white, his eyes a cold blue. There were pictures of his grandchildren on a desk he kept as tidy as her aunt Carmela’s company parlor.
    “So, it’s looking like he lit the place up, trying to cash in on the insurance, got trapped inside.”
    “Looking that way, Captain. The ME didn’t find any signs of foul play, no wounds or injuries. We’re still waiting for tox,” Reena added, “but nothing’s popping that indicates somebody wanted him dead. He has a small life insurance policy. Five thousand, and it goes to the ex-wife. He never changed the beneficiary. She’s remarried, got full-time employment, so does her husband. She doesn’t look good for it.”
    “Wrap it up. Quick work,” he added.
    “I’ll write the report,” she offered when she and O’Donnell walked into the squad room.
    “Have at it. I’ve got some other paperwork to catch up on.”
    He sat. His desk faced hers. “It your birthday or something?”
    “No. Why? Oh, the flowers.” She settled in front of her keyboard with her notes. “Guy I’m seeing was a bit of a jerk last night. I get the bennies.”

    “Classy.”
    “Yeah, he’s got that going for him.”
    “This a serious deal?”
    “Haven’t decided. Why, you hitting on me?”
    He grinned, and the tips of his ears reddened. “My sister’s got this kid who’s done some work for her. Carpenter. Does good work. Nice kid, she tells me. She’s trying to fix him up.”
    “And what, you think I’ll go on a blind date with your sister’s carpenter?”
    “Said I’d ask.” He lifted his hands. “Nice-looking boy, she says.”
    “Then let him find his own girl,” Reena suggested, and began to write her report.

11
    Bo scarfed down the last peanut butter cookie, washed it down with cold milk. Then, sitting at the breakfast counter he’d built himself, gave an exaggerated sigh.
    “If you’d ditch that husband of yours, Mrs. M., I’d build you the home of your dreams. All I’d ask in return would be your peanut butter cookies.”
    She grinned, and flicked her dish towel at him. “Last time it was my apple pie. What you need’s a nice young girl to take care of you.”
    “I’ve got one. I’ve got you.”
    She laughed. He really liked the way she laughed, with her head thrown back so the big boom of it hit the ceiling. She had a round, comfortable body and so would he if she kept feeding him cookies. Her hair was red as a stoplight and all fuzzy curls.
    She was old enough to be his mother, and a hell of a lot more fun than the one nature had given him.
    “Need a girl your own age.” She poked a finger at him. “Handsome boy like you.”
    “It’s just that there are so many to choose from. And none of them hold my heart like you, Mrs. M.”
    “Go on. You’ve got more blarney than my old grandda did. And he was Irish as Paddy’s pig.”
    “There was a girl once, but I lost her. Twice.”

    “How?”
    “Just a vision across a crowded room.” He lifted his hands, flicked his fingers. “Evaporated. You into love at first sight?”
    “Of course I am.”
    “Maybe this was, and I’m just wandering aimlessly until I find her again. Thought I did once, but she poofed on me that time, too. Now, I’ve got to get going.”
    He unfolded himself from the stool, six feet two inches of lean muscle. The years of physical labor had built him up, toughened him.
    She might have been twice his age, but she was still female, and Bridgett Malloy appreciated the view.
    She had a soft spot for this handsome boy, that was the truth. But she was too practical to have continued to throw work his way over the past six months if he wasn’t skilled and honest.
    “I’m going to find you a girl yet. Mark my words.”
    “Make sure she knows how to bake.” He bent down, kissed her cheek. “Say hi to Mr. M. for me,” he added as he pulled on his coat. “And just give me a call if you need anything.”
    She handed him a bag of cookies. “I’ve got your number, Bowen, in more ways than one.”
    He headed out to his truck. Could it get any colder? he wondered, and stuck to the path he’d dug out for her from steps to driveway. The ground was white with snow that had melted to ice, refrozen. And the sky above was a heavy gray that promised more of the white stuff.
    He decided he’d stop at the market on his way home. Man didn’t live by peanut butter cookies alone. Maybe he wouldn’t have minded