Blue Smoke by Nora Roberts Page B

John?”
    “Anything soft’s good. Thanks.”
    “I’ll have it brought right out. Gotta get back to work.”
    “Tell me everything,” Reena demanded. “How are you, your kids, the grandkids, life in general?”
    “Doing good, keeping busy.”
    He looked good, Reena thought. A little heavier under the eyes, and his hair was nearly stone gray now. But it suited him. The fire had madehim part of the family. No, more than the fire, she corrected. What he had done since. Pitching in to work, answering the endless questions she’d posed.
    “Any interesting cases?”
    “They’re all interesting. You still up for ride-alongs?”
    “You call, I’m there.”
    His face softened with a smile. “Had one start in a kid’s bedroom. Eight-year-old boy. Nobody home at the time it engaged. No accelerants, no matches, no lighter. No sign of forced entry or incendiary components.”
    “Electrical?”
    “Nope.”
    She began to eat again as she considered. “Chemistry set? Kids that age often like playing with chemistry sets.”
    “Not this one. Told me he’s going to be a detective.”
    “What time of day did it start?”
    “Around two in the afternoon. Kid’s in school, parents at work. No previous incidents.” He twirled spaghetti, closed his eyes in appreciation of the taste. “Not fair to quiz you when you can’t see the site, or pictures.”
    “Wait a minute, wait a minute, I’m not giving up yet.” Puzzles, she’d always thought, were made to be solved. “Point of origin?”
    “Kid’s desk. Plywood desk.”
    “Bet he had a lot of fuel on it. Construction paper, glue, the desk itself, school papers and binders maybe, toys. Near the window?”
    “Right under it.”
    “So he’s got curtains, probably, they catch, keep it going. Two in the afternoon.” Now she closed her eyes, tried to see it. She thought of Xander’s desk when he’d been that age. The careless jumble of boy toys, comic books, school papers.
    “What way did the window face?”
    “You’re a pistol, Reena. South.”
    “Sun should be coming in strong that time of day, unless the curtains were closed. Kid isn’t going to close his curtains. What was the weather that day?”

    “Clear, sunny, warm.”
    “Kid wants to be a detective, probably has a magnifying glass.”
    “Bull’s-eye. Yeah, you’re a pistol. Glass is sitting right on the desk, canted up on a book, over a bunch of papers. Sun beats through, heats the glass, fires the papers. Wood desk, cloth curtains.”
    “Poor kid.”
    “Could’ve been worse. Delivery guy saw the smoke, called nine-one-one. They were able to contain it in the bedroom.”
    “I’ve missed being able to talk shop. I know, I know, I’m just a student, and most of the courses I’m hungry for I can’t take until my junior year when I transfer to the Shady Grove campus. But it feels like talking shop.”
    “Something else I need to talk to you about.” He set down his fork, looked in her eyes. “Pastorelli’s out.”
    “He—” She drew herself in, glanced around to see if any of her family could overhear. “When?”
    “Last week. I just got word.”
    “It had to happen,” Reena said dully. “He’d have been out before this if he hadn’t gotten extra time for punching a guard.”
    “I don’t think he’s going to give you any trouble, or even come back around here. He’s got no ties to the neighborhood anymore. His wife’s in New York still, with her aunt. I checked. The kid’s already done a stint up there for assault.”
    “I remember when they took him away.” She looked out the window, across the street. There were pots of geraniums on the steps of what had been the Pastorelli house, and the curtains were open.
    “Which?”
    “Both. I remember how they brought Mr. Pastorelli out, in handcuffs, and how his wife buried her face in a yellow dish towel, and one of her shoes was untied. I remember Joey running after the car, screaming. I was standing with my father. I think