Firefly Mountain by Christine DePetrillo

the next morning. He’d slept better than he had in a long time. No dreams. Just the smell of wildflowers. He told himself it had nothing to do with spending the previous evening with Gini. He was tired from getting organized at the house and starting over in a new town so he’d needed the sound sleep. That’s what it was. That’s what he’d believe.
    But the time he’d spent with Gini—with all of them really—had been more fun than he’d expected. The conversation had been easy, and their genuine interest in his building plans had made him feel like one of them. He’d never felt like one of anything back in Rhode Island.
    Well, maybe one of the circus sideshow freaks.
    At the station, he was on dorm duty again, which was fine. Gave him a chance to think. Besides, he liked cleaning. The order of it, the sterility. Freshening a room calmed him. Scrubbing, sweeping, dusting. The method to all of it was logical and efficient.
    So when Jonah came in wearing the muddiest pair of boots in history, Patrick nearly blew up. He jerked his arms toward the gloppy, brown trail of sludge Jonah had left behind.
    “What are you doing?” he asked.
    “Huh?” Jonah looked to where Patrick pointed. “Oops. Sorry, man.”
    Patrick was already on his hands and knees wiping at the mess. On the white of the tiled floor, the tracks were particularly harsh. He grimaced as he wrung out his rag and muddy water sloshed into his bucket.
    “Where were you before work? A pig pen?” Patrick continued scrubbing until the brown streaks disappeared.
    “Almost actually.” Jonah sat and peeled off his boots. He held them in his hand and wavered over where to put them. The look on Patrick’s face told him nowhere in the dorm would be an acceptable place.
    Patrick held out his hand. “Give them here.”
    Jonah shrugged and handed over the boots. Patrick carried them to an open window. He clunked them together until most of the caked-on mud dropped off. Then he set them down on another rag. Jonah watched the entire process while standing in his socks.
    “Do I get those back?” He smiled when Patrick glared his way.
    “On your way out.” Patrick dumped the contents of his bucket and stowed the cleaning supplies. “Now how were you ‘almost actually’ at a pig pen before work?”
    “I was at Gini’s farm. She’s photographing for the calendar today.” Jonah stood and struck several manly poses with his arms flexed. Patrick didn’t know what his reaction to that was supposed to be, and Jonah dropped his arms. “Okay, right. Anyway, I was over there this morning, first thing, to have my pictures taken. Haddy made me stand in the middle of the dirt field beside Gini’s barn while one of Haddy’s dogs stood on hind legs with its paws resting on my back. Freaking huge dog.”
    Patrick started down the stairs to the vehicle bay. Jonah hopped off the chair and went after him. Remembering his boots, he stopped back in the dorm and grabbed them. He slipped them back on and met Patrick downstairs.
    “You’re really not going to let her take your picture, huh?” he asked.
    Patrick’s shoulders slumped. Was he going to have to make a deal with Jonah too?
    “No pictures.” He shook his head.
    “It’d make her so happy though.” Jonah took a step closer to Patrick. “It’s best to keep Gini happy.”
    Before Patrick could ask a question, Jonah turned on his still slightly muddied heel and walked away. Patrick followed, but Chief Warner got in his path.
    “Just the guy I was looking for,” the chief said. “Mason called. Wants to chat about your report for the arson case when you get a minute.”
    “Sure.” Patrick stepped around Chief Warner and headed for Jonah.
    “Patrick, ‘when you get a minute’ means now,” the chief said.
    “Right, of course.” Patrick dug out his cell phone and dialed. He gave the chief a nod and walked to the classroom to get some privacy. He sat at the first conference table and drummed his fingers