Buried In Buttercream

gratification from setting fires, watching them burn, and reveling in the secret joy of knowing they had created the ensuing havoc.
    She ran down the mental checklist: 90 percent male, usually white, ages seventeen to twenty-six, with possibly some form of mental illness, substance abuse, previous felony convictions.
    And she decided to add one more qualifier: mud-wallowin’, slop-suckin’ pigs, who ruin other people’s wedding days.
    Of those assembled to watch the mayhem, only a few fit the description, and even fewer when she ruled out those young white men who were excitedly chattering with others about the drama before them.
    Instinctively, she knew she was looking for a loner.
    And at the edge of the crowd, she found one.
    On the opposite side of the community center’s parking lot, on a small hill dotted with sagebrush, stood a solitary figure—a young, Caucasian man, dressed in baggy, dark clothes, who looked like he had just emerged from his mother’s basement for a rare outing. He was farther from the fire than the rest of the spectators, but from his elevated position, he had one of the best views in town.
    Gradually, Savannah worked her way through the crowd to get closer to him and have a better look.
    Leaving the rest of the spectators, she casually strolled across the asphalt parking lot toward his hill, trying her best to watch him without being too obvious. Instead of making a beeline for him, she turned left and meandered in the direction of a path that appeared to lead from the lot up to where he stood.
    Concerned that he would spot her, she moved slowly, trying to stay behind any tall brush that would provide cover. Fortunately, he seemed so fixated on the scene below that he was oblivious to all else.
    Drawing closer, she could see that he was young, probably early twenties. He was dressed all in black, and once, when he turned her way for a moment, she caught the glint of a large, silver medallion around his neck.
    Her pulse rate quickened. She was pretty sure she’d seen a star on the pendant. Maybe a pentacle?
    Ducking behind a tree, she reached into her jacket pocket, pulled out her cell phone, and gave Dirk a call.
    “Yeah?” he said.
    “Other side of the parking lot, on the hill,” she whispered. “The guy in black, watching the fire. I think it’s him.”
    “Where? Oh, yeah. I see him.”
    “Where are you?” she asked.
    “On the far side of the crowd. Where are—? What the hell!”
    She grinned. He’d spotted her. And even from sixty yards away, she could read his indignation in his body language. She gave him a little wave.
    Instantly, he started to elbow his way through the spectators, heading in her direction.
    “Don’t even think about taking him yourself,” he told her. “You wait for me.”
    Savannah’s grin disappeared. “I know the drill,” she said.
    And she did. Having been a cop—his partner, in fact—she knew all too well about waiting for backup. But it was one thing to wait for assistance as part of the routine. It was another to have someone—especially a former partner—tell you to do so because he was afraid you couldn’t handle a situation by yourself.
    “Be very careful, Ms. Reid,” she could hear the doctor saying. “I know your work involves physical altercations from time to time. You can’t afford to—”
    “Oh, shut up,” she whispered to the voice in her head.
    “No,” Dirk barked back. “I won’t shut up! You wait for me!”
    Rather than admit she’d been talking to herself, she just said, “I’m waiting, okay?” and clicked the phone off.
    He’ll be here lickety split anyway, she thought to herself as she watched Dirk push through the crowd like a football player within a few yards of a Hail Mary touchdown. Even if he has to mow down women, children, and a couple of grandpas to get here.
    Poking her head out from behind the tree, she sneaked another peek at her suspect.
    And saw him staring right at her.
    Nailed, she thought. Shoot f’re. Now what?
    She stuck her best ain’t-it-just-a-fine-day look on her face and came out from behind the tree. “Boy, this here’s a steep hill,” she said, strolling up the path toward him, pretending to be out of breath. “But it looks like you got the best view from up here. Mind if I join ya?”
    The look on his face told her, yes, he minded. Very much.
    He also looked quite excited ... in a way that reminded her of when she’d walked into the bathroom and caught her younger