Gunnar's Guardian Page 4

  This was the tenth fire and the first one with a fatality. Before last night, the blazes had been set in old mills or other abandoned buildings around the city. This one had been set at a single-family home on the outskirts of town near the Rockport border.

  “Christ,” I muttered, staring at the remains of the house on Wessex Street. The house was singed on all four sides, with melted vinyl siding dripping toward the ground. All of the windows were blown out, I could see the glass shards sparkling on the lawn. The roof was entirely gone with rays of the early morning sunshine filtering through the remains of the kitchen.

  Arson investigation was not part of my training at the police academy. If and when the arsonist was identified, it would be our job to do the background work on the suspect before going out to arrest him or her. It would be the Gloucester Fire Department, in coordination with the Essex County DA’s office, who would be in charge of the fire scenes.

  “Yeah, Christ is right.” Ozzy was standing across from me at what was the front door of the ranch-style house. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

  Over my career I’ve walked into many houses my gut warned me not to. This was the strongest feeling of that I’d ever had. There was no one inside with a weapon or holding a hostage, but my body was still thrumming with adrenaline. Taking a deep breath, I followed behind Ozzy.

  It was the smell that hit me first. My lungs were filled with the odor of scorched wood mixed with something that smelled like chemicals. I coughed. “What the hell am I breathing?”

  “Scotchguard. Possibly household cleaners.” Ozzy shrugged. He wasn’t having any trouble breathing.

  Pushing my own discomfort and feelings of edginess aside, I took a minute to look through the house where an elderly woman had lost her life. The entire living room was soaked and still dripping in spots. Water was puddled near what was left of the sofa. According to Ozzy, that’s where the woman’s body was found.

  I followed him into the kitchen, which was in much worse shape than the living room.

  “This is the point of origin,” Ozzy said absently.

  “How can you tell?” Looking around, everything was burned. How the hell could you figure out where the fire started when everything looked the same?

  “Here.” Ozzy pointed to a dark spot on the kitchen floor. It looked as if it had burned longer than the rest of the floor around it. “See the melted glass?” His hand went from the twisted glass on the floor, to the window above the sink.

  The window was broken, just like the rest of the ones in the house, but I spotted the difference right off. The other windows had blown out, but the shattered glass from the kitchen window was sitting in the sink and on the singed Formica countertop. “The arsonist threw something flammable in through the window.”

  “Yeah. Molotov cocktail, I’m guessing. This looks like what’s left of a bottle of Tito’s Vodka.” Ozzy knelt down to examine the remains of the glass.

  “How can you tell?” I knew damn well Ozzy was right, but I needed to do something to lighten the mood. I could swear I smelled burned human flesh.

  Ozzy’s dark brow lifted. “Don’t be an asshole. How many bottles of Tito’s have we knocked back at Bait with Hennessey and Dallas?”

  More than I cared to count. “Can we get the hell out of here? This place is creeping me out.” Even though Mrs. Genovese had died from smoke inhalation, I could swear I still smelled burnt flesh.

  Ozzy shot me a confused look. “You’ve been at crime scenes much gorier than this, why is this scene upsetting you so much?”

  “It’s out of my expertise.” Finally outside, I sucked in a deep breath of fresh air. That house gave me the creeps in more ways than I had imagined.

  “How? You reconstruct crimes all the time. Killers have patterns, so do arsonists. There’s something here in this burned out wreck that will connect this fire to the others. I just have to find it.”

  I knew Ozzy had a point. Unfortunately, I’d also figured out why this burned out shell of a house was making me so uneasy.

  “It’s your boy, isn’t it?” There was no snark in my brother’s voice. He’d hit the nail on the head only seconds after I’d figured it out for myself.

  “Shit, man, this could have been him.” Not just the scorched house, but being carried out of it in a body bag.

  “I don’t mean to be a dick here, but what the hell kind of grown-ass man doesn’t know how to kill a grease fire? Hell, the kid’s twenty-one years old, why doesn’t he know how to make a meal for himself without the GFD having to rescue him and your entire block?” Ozzy didn’t just sound angry, there was fear in his voice as well.

  The thought that my house could have gone up in flames occurred to me around midnight last night. I had almost been asleep when the image of my neighborhood in flames had me sitting bolt upright in bed, gasping for breath. “I don’t know what to say. That kid grew up with all of the advantages of wealth. I’m guessing he didn’t have to lift a finger. Not like we did.”

  Ozzy snorted. “Slave labor! That’s what we were to our parents.”

  I laughed along with him. Growing up in the McCoy household, we all had chores. Each of us did our own laundry and helped cook and clean up from dinner. We were the garbagemen, the landscapers, and the snow removal team. We worked hard, but we all played hard too. “Even when I had blisters on my hands from raking leaves or the beginnings of frostbite from shoveling out the neighborhood, it was still the best time of my life, being part of a real family.” I’d said too much. My emotions were about to overtake me.

  “Me too, man. Me too.” Ozzy gave my shoulder a squeeze. “So, what’s new with your boy? He set anything else on fire?” He snorted.

  “Gunnar is not my boy.” I shrugged his arm off me. Ozzy was obviously giving me the business, but I wasn’t in the mood for it. My heart still pounded every time I thought about Gunnar and the grease fire.

  “Of course he’s not.” Ozzy crossed his arms over his broad chest. “You just took him home with you like those stray cats you used to rescue. I know you fed him. Did you pet him until he purred too?”

  “Fed, yes. Pet, no.” Don’t get me wrong, I wanted to. Now that Gunnar had dropped the asshole act, he was eminently more petable. If that was even a word.

  Ozzy shot me a look that said he didn’t quite believe what I was telling him. He should know better. I’ve got the world’s worst poker face. He’d know in a minute if something more than making sandwiches happened between Gunnar and me.

  “What’s next for him? You said you thought he got thrown out of the house. Does he have a job? Furniture? Food that doesn’t need to be cooked?” Ozzy was all business now. He sounded as if he were truly interested in Gunnar’s situation. I wasn’t a bit surprised. The McCoys raised us with a giving spirit and an attitude of gratitude.

  My heart hurt thinking about Gunnar’s situation. The go-getter in me had a bit of a different attitude. I stuffed those feelings down deep and tried to be the man my mother raised. “He doesn’t have a job, just a few thousand dollars his mother had hidden in a closet. I gave him the any-job-is-a-good-job speech. Don’t know if it took. He was supposed to go around town to apply for jobs at McDonald’s and Walmart.”

  “Thousands of dollars hidden in a closet?” Ozzy shook his head. “I’m lucky if I’ve got twenty bucks left at the end of the week, never mind thousands.”

  “Maybe if you stopped giving money away, you’d have more.” I shot my brother a proud grin. Ozzy always gave back to his community. He was truly one of those people who would give you the shirt off his back and the last twenty bucks in his wallet.

  Not only was he generous with his money, he also gave freely of his time. My brother volunteered at the local food bank, St. Theresa’s Table, coached boys’ soccer in the fall, and baseball in the spring. He also volunteered at a local summer camp for kids. He’d bring one of the fire trucks by and let the kids explore it, wear his turnout gear and spray the hose. The kids loved it so
much, that Ozzy had gotten Dallas and me to do the same with my police car and one of the ambulances. My brother was a prince among men.

  Ozzy waved a dismissive hand at me. “Does Gunnar have any skills?”

  “You mean aside from riding my last nerve like it was a bucking bronco?” I wasn’t lying. That kid could get my temper to slide sideways faster than anyone I’d ever known, my brothers included.

  “Yeah, aside from that.” Ozzy looked like he was biting back a smile.

  “I don’t know. My guess would be no. He was sheltered growing up. I’m not sure he knows how the world works.” Not the way I did at his age, anyway.

  “Tell you what, if he struck out today at the Golden Arches and Wally World, send him down to the firehouse in the morning.”

  I was stunned. “What are you saying?”

  “There’s always something to do at the house. Scrubbing the fire engines, sweeping the floors, cooking, cleaning up, laundry.” Ozzy was silent for a minute. “Call it an extension of the McCoy crash course.”

  Moving in with my foster family had certainly been a crash course in being part of a family and learning how to take care of myself and other people. “It’s not a bad idea. He’d learn basic skills under the guise of working for an honest paycheck.” The more I thought about it, the more on board I got with the idea. Gunnar would be working for Ozzy instead of being lectured by me. “I’ll mention it to him tonight.”

  Ozzy slapped my back, pulling me into his shoulder for a hug. “Even if he sets the station on fire, we’ve got people in place who can handle the situation.”

  Hugging my brother back, I couldn’t help wondering what could possibly go wrong.

  6

  Gunnar

  It was another day from hell in a long line of hellish days. I did what I promised Kennedy I would do, and I went job hunting. I dropped applications at McDonalds, Burger King, Wendy’s, Subway, two local grocery stores, and Wal-Mart.

  The worst part of it had been when the applications asked for references. I had none. I’d worked in my father’s dealerships, but I doubted he would do much to help me. I also didn’t want him to have any idea I was applying at fast-food restaurants. I used Bryce Hopkinton, after all, he was my landlord. I sent Kennedy a quick text to ask if I could use his name, and when he didn’t get back to me, I just decided to use his name anyway. He was the one championing my cause, after all.

  The manager at McDonalds had given me the grand tour after he read over my application. He’d raised a silent eyebrow when I told him my name. I knew what he was thinking. Hell, I was thinking the same thing myself. What’s a rich-bitch like me doing, applying at the local McDonalds? To be honest, the fryolator scared the pants off me. The good news was that if I got the job, I’d learn how to make a hamburger without burning the place down. He said he’d be in touch after he spoke to my references. I didn’t leave empty handed, he’d given me a free meal voucher. I’d used it to buy the biggest meal possible.

  It had been the same song and dance at the other places. They’d be in touch. Blah. Blah. Blah.

  They needed to be in touch soon. My mother’s closet money-how ironic was that?-wouldn’t last forever. The one thing I did know was that they hold back one week’s salary. So, even if I’d been hired on the spot, I wouldn’t have gotten my first paycheck until next Friday.

  One extra week without a check meant extra time sleeping on the carpeted floor in my sleeping bag. It was the one splurge I’d made with my mother’s money. At least now I wouldn’t be snoozing on the bare floor.

  After I’d eaten my Double Quarter Pounder with large fries, I got to work checking out what other nearby places were hiring. I avoided Rockport, not wanting to run into any of my parents’ friends. Knowing them, they’d only be too happy to run back to my father to say they’d seen me working the fryolator at McDonalds. They might have been rich bitches like my parents, but everyone loved a Big Mac from time to time.

  The worst part of my day was thinking about Kennedy’s reaction to my striking out. Getting a job and being able to support myself was my number one priority now. However, I wasn’t any closer to a job today than I had been twenty-four hours ago.

  I was off the floor and heading to the fridge when the doorbell rang. Fuck. I didn’t need to be a psychic to know it was Kennedy. It was about 2:00 p.m. and his usual shift started at 3:00 p.m. I went to the door and yanked it open. It was Kennedy.

  “Did you even use the peephole?” He sounded annoyed with me.

  I hadn’t. What the hell was a burglar going to steal from me? My sleeping bag? “No. I knew it was you, so I opened the door. It’s not like I’ve got anything worth taking.” I ushered Kennedy in, already exhausted from dealing with him.

  “No, I guess you don’t.” Kennedy did a long, slow turn around the empty living room. The anger he’d walked in with seemed to evaporate as he surveyed my nearly empty living room. I’d brought my sleeping bag and pillow downstairs, so I’d be more comfortable as I looked for jobs. “Where’s the rest of your things?”

  “What things? This is it.” I took a seat on the floor. The embarrassment of living in an empty house was too much to bear, especially with the pitying look in Kennedy’s blue eyes.

  “You had a U-Haul.” Kennedy threw his arms wide. “I assumed you had…things.” His look had turned from pity to shock.

  “Yeah, so did I. My mother texted to tell me to come get my stuff. I assumed I’d be able to take my bed and all the other furniture in my room. I was wrong. I got to keep my clothes and my toiletries. And I’m almost out of most of them.” I shrugged, hoping it looked careless rather than heartbreaking.

  Kennedy’s eyes widened at my story. “You don’t have a bed to sleep in? Not even an old mattress?”

  I shook my head no without meeting his eyes. I’d never been more ashamed in my entire life.

  The room was silent. Kennedy hadn’t responded to my pitiful head shake. When I chanced a glance up at him, he was texting. It was nice to know I was less important than hitting some friend back. My eyes started to roll, but I shut them instead, just in case he was looking at me.

  “Okay, I think we’ll be able to get you into a bed tonight.” Kennedy took a seat on the floor next to me.

  “How? You gonna rent me out to one of your friends?” I meant it as a joke, but I could tell by the look on Kennedy’s face that it had missed the mark.

  “Hardly.” Kennedy’s look was serious. “Ozzy and Dallas both have some leftover furniture in storage. They’re going to check out what they’ve got. They’ll check with our parents too.”

  My mouth fell open, but no words came out. I think this was the first time in my entire life I’d been speechless. I looked up at him through quickly beating eyelashes. “I don’t understand.” Not the best line under the circumstances, but I didn’t look like a fish gasping for air anymore either.

  “We’ve got some extra things we don’t need, and you do.” Kennedy gave his shoulders a casual shrug. “How did the job search go?”

  Just as quickly as my spirits soared, they crashed back to earth. “I put in a bunch of applications. They all said they’d get back to me.”

  “I was expecting as much. Sorry I didn’t get back to you about using me as a reference. I was out with Ozzy this morning at the latest arson scene.”

  “Arson?” I hadn’t heard anything about this. Then again, I’d spent last night cleaning up after my own little fire. Once I’d eaten my salad, I’d gone to bed with music on and had been asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.

  “This is the eleventh fire, but the first where someone died. Ozzy wanted to see if anything caught my eye during a walk through this morning.”

  “Did something catch your attention?” I liked this, chatting with Kennedy like we were friends.

  He shook his head no. “I was having a hard time concentrating because…”

  “Because what?” Surely he wasn’t upset over my little mishap last night.

>   “I was worried about you.” Kennedy rolled his eyes.

  I felt my eyes widen in surprise. I started to tell him I’d been fine but didn’t get the chance.

  The text tone alerted on Kennedy’s phone. “They’re here.” He was on his feet and heading to the front door. “My brothers constantly give me shit. Don’t pay attention to them.” With that cryptic comment, he was pulling open the door.

  “Step back. Big load coming through.” Ozzy was at the front end of a large mattress. A redhead brought up the rear. I assumed that was Dallas.

  “Don’t stand there gawking, Kennedy. Grab your boy and get the bedrails.” The redhead winked at me as he moved past.

  A blush bloomed across my cheeks. I ducked my head so Kennedy wouldn’t see it. Why was his brother calling me Kennedy’s boy? There wasn’t time to answer the question. Two total strangers came into the house carrying a box spring.

  “You must be Gunnar,” the woman said with a bright smile. “I’m Mandy McCoy, Kennedy’s mom. I’ve got more supplies for you in the car, just give me a minute to set this thing down.”

  “For God’s sake, Mandy! It’s a hundred and twenty degrees out here. Can you get a move on?” the man at the back of the box spring shouted.

  “He’s harmless. All bark. No bite.” She grinned knowingly at me and started shuffling backward toward the stairs.

  “Those were my parents, David and Mandy. In case that all got lost in translation.” Kennedy was out the door and jogging down the front steps.

  There was a large pick up truck in my driveway. I could see Kennedy wrangling a headboard from the back of it. I raced over to help him. “This is for me?” I still couldn’t get over what was happening. Kennedy texted his family and here they all were, bearing gifts. I was stunned. I was so stunned that I couldn’t think of another word to use besides stunned.

  “You’ve just been McCoyed, son. As my father would say.” Kennedy lifted the bedrails and started back toward the steps.