Page 91 of Burning Caine

I stepped in the way before she reached the driver’s door, catching her. “I want to meet the real Samantha. You plan everything?”

Her muscles were tight from the sudden panic and her breath was even more rapid than when we’d kissed, but she stood in front of me, chewing on her lip. “Can you play hooky tomorrow morning?”

“Hooky?”

“Unless tomorrow’s too soon?”

I ran a hand across her cheek. “Five minutes from now wouldn’t be too soon.”

“I don’t have any appointments until two o’clock. I’ll pick you up at your office at seven.”

“In the morning?”

Her panic dissolved as a smile spread across her face. “We’re going hiking. I know just the spot.”

“Hiking?”

“You want to know the real me? That’s as real as it gets on short notice.”

“It had better be a good hike.” I winked at her and planted a quick kiss on her cheek. “I have decisions to make after all!”

Chapter 35

Samantha

JoshIrons,theleadpainter at the Scotts’ house on the day of the fire, was a tall man with short, dark brown hair. He looked strong, but not athletic, likely from years in his profession. He had slightly crooked teeth and a yellow tinge on the thumb and index finger of his left hand, identifying him as a smoker.

We were in the Pines conference room at Foster Mutual, the last place on Earth I wanted to be. Maybe not the last, but it wasn’t the first. That would have been anywhere Antonio and his lips were. And his scent. He smelled so much better than the stench of stale cigarettes emanating from Mr. Irons…Work. Focus on work.

Earlier, we’d interviewed the security system installer. As expected, he told us about disabling the security system and being kicked out of the house before connecting the new one. He also told us about an argument between Olivia and Josh Irons the morning of the fire, which wasn’t mentioned in the police report. I’d asked Lucy to start the interview with Irons, then I’d intended to handle a few questions about the dispute.

After he sat and we’d finished the date and name routine, Lucy dove in. “Can you go over what happened when you arrived?”

“Yeah.” He leaned back in his chair like he didn’t care to be there. “We arrived, talked to Mrs. Scott, she showed us where we would be working. The room was almost all wood, including the ceiling, not much to paint, so we didn’t need all three of us. Seemed like a waste of money and time. So, we talk it over, she makes sure we know what we’re doing, and we get to work.

“Step one, move the furniture to the middle of the room since we were only gonna be painting the walls. Step two, take the dressing off the walls, paintings, light switches, you know. Step three, tape the edges. Step four, throw down a tarp to cover the furniture and floors, so nothing gets splattered. Step five, we paint. It ain’t rocket surgery.”

“Did you get to step five?”

“Hell, no. Mrs. Scott threw us out before we started. I’d opened a couple paint cans to get going and barely had time to seal ’em back up before she flipped.” He shook his head and tapped on the chair with his fingers.

“Flipped?”

“Yeah, she was fucking rude. She got a phone call, then told us she had to leave immediately so she could deal with it. I told her we were bonded, not to mention honest working men, so we could stay, but she forced us out. Like we would steal her stuff or something.”

“Did you argue with her?”

“Argue?” He rubbed the armrest. “I tried, but she wasn’t having it. Like I said, I just got the cans resealed. They woulda dried up sittin’ there uncovered. Waste of money!” He rocked in his chair, growing fidgety.

“Did you argue about anything else?”

“Hell, yeah!” He leaned forward in his seat, putting his hands on the table, talking with them slightly. “We were moving the paintings into the office. Standard stuff. I take this one off the wall, and she goes ape. Yelling at me to put it down, like I was some little kid. Fuck. She said her son would move it. Said it was worth five times our lives. Arrogant bitch. Seriously, who says shit like that to people? Just because they’ve got money, they look down on people like me.”

He leaned back in his chair again, shaking his head. “Ya know, sometimes those rich dicks get what they deserve. Divine justice. Everyone’s the same when they get to the pearly gates, ya know?”

He flexed his left hand a couple times, agitated and itching for a cigarette. Time for me to jump in.

“Which painting were you moving that got her so upset?”