Chasing Fire
considerable power—physical strength, strength of will. She disliked Dolly intensely, on a personal level and in general terms. Her alibi is a man she’s currently sleeping with. Men will lie for sex.”
DiCicco paused to tip a fraction of a teaspoon of sugar into her coffee. “Dolly claimed Rowan had it in for her because Brayner tossed Rowan over for her. She was a liar,” DiCicco added before Quinniock could respond. “Rowan Tripp isn’t. In fact, she’s almost brutally upfront. If Dolly had had her face punched in, I’d put my finger on Tripp. But the kill spot off the road, the broken neck, the arson? That doesn’t jibe with my observations. Whoever killed her and put her in the forest might have expected the fire to burn her to ash, or at least for it to take more time for the remains to be discovered. It would’ve been monumentally stupid for Tripp to call the discovery in, and she’s not stupid.”
“We agree on that.”
“Sticking with the victim, I’ve spent some time trying to verify her claim she had work in Florence. So far, I haven’t been able to verify. I’ve started checking places like this, along the highway, but I haven’t found any that hired her, or anyone who remembers her coming in looking for work. And, given her history, I’m wondering why she’d go to the trouble of looking for work down this way when she recently deposited ten thousand dollars in two hits of five—I traced it back to Matthew Brayner—in a bank in Lolo. Not her usual bank,” DiCicco added, “which leads me to believe she didn’t want anyone knowing about it. Which likely includes her parents.”
He hadn’t hit on the money—yet—and money always mattered. “She might’ve been thinking about running again.”
“She might have. There’s another pattern in her history. Men. Which is why I’m going to start checking motels along the route from Florence to Missoula. Maybe she decided to try out the other Brayner brother.”
“Sex and money and guilt.” Quinniock nodded. “The trifecta of motives. Want to get started?”
17
G ull sat on his bed with his laptop. He’d answered personal e-mail, attached a couple of pictures he’d taken that morning of the mountains, of the camp. He’d done a little business and now brought up his hometown paper to scan the sports section.
He knew the jump ship was back, and wondered how long it would take Rowan to knock on his door.
She would, he thought, even if just to pick up the fight where they’d left off. She wasn’t the avoid-and-evade type, and, even if she were, it was damn near impossible to avoid and evade him while working on the same base.
He could wait.
Out of curiosity he did a Google search for wildfire arson investigation, and while he shifted through the results, considered heading into the lounge to see what was up, or maybe see if Dobie wanted to drive into town.
Always easier to wait when you’re occupied, he thought. Then an article caught his interest. He answered the knock on the door absently.
“Yeah, it’s open.”
“Unlocked is different than open.”
He glanced over. Rowan leaned on the jamb.
“It’s open now.”
She left the door ajar as she stepped in, and angled to see the laptop screen. “You’re boning up on arson?”
“Specific to wildfire. It seemed relevant at the moment. How’d the mop-up go?”
“You left a hell of a mess.” She shifted her gaze from the screen to his face. “I heard things got hairy up there.”
“There were moments.” He smiled. “Missed you.”
“Because I’m so good or so good-looking?”
“All of the above.” He shut down the computer. “Why don’t we take a walk, catch the sunset.”
“Yeah, all right.”
When they went out, she pulled her sunglasses out of her pocket. “The fact that I’m surprised and not happy that my father’s involved with a woman I don’t know and he didn’t tell me about doesn’t make me jealous.”
“Is that what we’re calling it? Surprised and not happy. I’d’ve defined it as outraged and incensed.”
“Due to the surprise.” She clipped the words off.
“I’ll give you that,” Gull decided, “since you’ve apparently gone your entire life without witnessing a lip-lock.”
“I don’t think I overreacted. Very much.”
“Why quibble about degrees?”
“I’m not apologizing for telling you to butt the hell out.”
“Then I don’t have to be gracious and accept a nonexistent apology. I’m
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