"Grady's house burned to the ground last night," Sterling clarified, faltering now because his father was here. "Did you set the fire, Mom?"
"Don't be ridiculous, Sterling. Is that why you look like you've been in a war zone? A fire? Good God. Walter, fetch a clean shirt for him. Are you all right?"
"Fine. You really didn't burn down Grady's house?"
"Of course not. Honestly, Sterling."
Sterling automatically looked to his father.
His father shrugged. "She brought supper out to the lake house. We've only been home long enough for me to shower."
And now that he was thinking a little more clearly, Sterling could see a certain relaxation in his father's demeanor that hadn't been there for a while. Had they-?
Ugh. That was more information than he required. And what the hell was wrong with his old man that he had welcomed her back? Had come home with her.
The only woman he had ever loved.
Sterling rubbed his chest where he'd taken a spark and it felt like it was still burning.
"Was anyone hurt?" his father asked, looking genuinely concerned.
Sterling shook his head, kind of dazed. "No, the house is a total loss, but Lyle was away and Paige got out in time."
"That's a shame," his mother said.
Sterling shot her a look.
"About the house," she clarified.
His father sat down. "But you weren't there with her."
"No," Sterling said, sitting too, able to acknowledge the true depth of his horror now, feeling damned close to tears as the last of his adrenaline dissipated. How nuts did it make him that he wished he had been in there with her? She had almost died.
"I'll have to prepare some casseroles. I'd best get on the phone to the Ladies Auxiliary. Maybe go through your closet, hmm, Walt? Would anything of yours fit Lyle? I suppose they'll stay with Connie?"
"I'm going to ask them to stay with me," Sterling said.
His mother paused in scanning her personal telephone book, opened her mouth to say something.
Sterling gave her his coldest stare, daring her to cross the line one more time.
She clamped her lips shut, confining any protest she might have made to a barely audible sniff as she dialed the phone.
"She really drove herself out to the lake house?" Sterling asked his father.
"I took the promissory note out there and burned it," she said, then into the receiver she'd shouldered, she said, "Barbara! Have you heard? Oh, you did? Well, I haven't listened to my messages yet. We just came back from the lake."
"She burned it?" Sterling asked his father.
His father lifted his coffee cup, watching his mother with quiet contentment. "She's quite reasonable when she wants to be. We discussed your taking over the factory. I think she's right, son. It makes sense, especially once I'm elected."
The factory. Paige had almost died, but it was time to host a post-mortem on whether or not his mother had been right about the factory, like there was ever any question how that vote would go. Sterling dug his fingertips into his itchy stubble in the softest part of his throat.
His mother hung up. "Barbara has the phone tree organized. She's calling Shirley. Shirley's quite close with Connie, you know. Now let's see. I'll scramble some eggs for you both, then I need my bath. I'm meeting Barbara at the church to see what's in the basement for clothing and linens."
Sterling stood. "No eggs for me. I have to get back."
"But you must be hungry."
"Starving. But I want to get back to Paige." Now that he knew his own mother hadn't tried to murder her, he could look her in the eye.
Someone had almost killed her, though. He would be riding Cam's ass until the police figured out who.
"Listen, son," Walter said, stopping him as he reached for the knob on the back door. "Use your influence and see that girl doesn't say anything about the promissory note. We'll settle fairly when the time comes."
"Call her by name and I'll think about it."
~ * ~
At home, Paige was asleep, curled on her side on the sofa, the feather quilt from his bed thrown over her.
He sat down on the coffee table, watching her, and felt the bliss of sleep calling him. How would she feel, he wondered, if he scooped her up and took her to his bed so he could sleep holding her?
Footsteps sounded in the hall and Lyle came into the parlor. "Wanna tell me what you're planning in here?" He pointed back toward the bathroom.
Sterling went with him to the door, surveyed the disaster it had been for over a week, since he'd pulled up the carpet then started to rebuild the subfloor.
"Everything," he answered. "You could have surfed on the waves in the plywood, and look at the mildew in that grout. It heckles me every time I shower. That sink has to go and the toilet needs a new seal." He would have ripped out the works, but only had the one bathroom so he was working in stages.
Lyle walked across the new sub-floor. It squeaked. "Throw a few screws in this, and you'll lose that noise."
"I'll try to fit it in between saving your sister's life and running a factory."
Lyle gave him a look. "Just trying to be helpful."
Sterling realized his exhaustion was showing. "I'm not in the mood for renovations right now."
Lyle nodded, pushed his hands deep into his pockets. "I could do it."
"There's a jar of screws in the garage. Knock yourself out."
Lyle nodded again, rocked his weight to find the noise again. "You have beer in the fridge," he stated.
"A few," Sterling agreed, ire rising.
"Wanna get rid of it?"
"Look." Sterling searched for a civil tone. "I was going to invite you and Paige to stay, but if you're going to be drinking-"
"I mean, would you get it out of the house so I won't drink it. I'm on the wagon until my court appearance."
"Oh. Yeah, I can do that."
"Thanks. I'll wait here." Beads of sweat showed on Lyle's brow.
Sterling nodded and started to turn away, paused and turned back. "I'm, uh, not rescinding the offer to stay, but my mother thought you might want to go to Connie's."
"Jesus, no. It's one bedroom and she plays religious music."
Sterling would have walked away then, but Lyle moved on the floor, making it squeak again. "The rehab clinic would keep me sober, but they nag worse than a wife for conversation. I'd rather keep busy with something like this."
And stay close to Paige, Sterling thought he meant, because she wouldn't have brought that quilt out for herself. The way Lyle had hugged Paige in the yard said a lot. Sterling acknowledged that he might have misjudged the man. Paige had tried several times to tell him. He just hadn't wanted to hear it.
"There's a light fixture in the garage too," Sterling said.
"Will do."
Sterling went to the kitchen where he found a paper sack for the beer, then reached into the cupboard for his near-empty bottle of bourbon. It wasn't precisely where he'd left it, as though someone might have taken it out and put it back. An empty tumbler sat on the counter, but when he sniffed it, it was clean.
"Yeah, that was a close call," Lyle said, pausing on his way to the garage.
What did you say to an addict when they were struggling to quit? "Good thing you hate me enough that you can't bring yourself to drink my booze."
Lyle snorted and kept going.
Sterling took all the alcohol across the yards and donated it to the next firefighter barbeque. Cam was there, along with milling neighbors and lookie-loos.
"You've had a busy week," Sterling said to Cam.
"A day off from talking to a Fogarty would be nice. Shit." He surveyed the rubble with a shake of his head.
"Yeah." Sterling scratched his hair. It felt gritty. He wondered if Lyle would put off construction in the bathroom long enough for him to shower. "You'll want to talk to Paige. She's asleep right now, though, and needs it."
Another car pulled up and they turned to see Britta and Zack climb from their vehicle. Zack's eyes bugged out. Britta covered her mouth as she saw what remained of the house: not bloody much.
Zack shot a horrified look across the car roof at her. "Why is Dad's truck here?"
"He came back this morning. He's at my place," Sterling said.
Zack walked around where the carport used to be, eye-balling the last of the firefighters as he made his way across to Sterling's yard.
"Paige is there, too," Sterling told Britta.
She nodded jerkily and pulled a plastic bag from the back seat. It was stuffed full of something, clothes maybe. She flicked a glance at Cam then drew back from something in his expression.
Cam scowled at Britta's back as she walked away.
Sterling felt the same chill he always felt between his parents when a trip to the lake house was imminent. "Look, I want to know who almost killed Paige last night. Should I wait for another officer, or...?"
Cam swore under his breath. "No. Let's get it done."