The Arsonist. Mary Burton

things.”

      “How’s he doing?”

      Mrs. Sampson started to wipe the cooktop with a rag. “He’s doing just fine. The tavern has never been busier. Thank God, I have him.”

      Darcy didn’t miss the hidden meaning. Trevor was the golden child. “Good.”

      “Well, you better get to work,” her mother said. “That trash won’t take itself out.”

      Darcy glanced at the trash can overflowing with debris. She visualized the story she was going to write and the awards she was going to win.

      “Will do.” Darcy sealed up the green bag lining the wheeled plastic trash can.

      “And when you’re done with that, get this kitchen cleaned.”

      “Right.”

      Darcy pushed up the sleeves of her suit and tried to pull the bag out. It was heavier than she realized. Deciding to keep the trash bag in the can, she tipped the can back on its wheels and started to pull it outside.

      “Darcy?” Her mother looked as if she had something else to say.

      “Yeah?”

      As their gazes met, her mother frowned, seeming to change her mind. “Never mind.”

      “Okay.” Drawing in a deep breath, Darcy yanked at the can again and slowly started to drag it to the back alley behind the Varsity.

      The alley was lined with pitted asphalt and wide enough for cars to drive through. The Varsity, flanked by a bridal shop and a drugstore, was located in middle of the block. The battered blue Dumpster, shared by all three businesses, was tucked in a nook by the drugstore.

      Darcy pulled the trash can down the two steps by the back door, wincing as it banged hard with each drop. Her ankles wobbled as her high heeled boots caught between two of the cobblestones. Cursing, she yanked it free, and in the process, ripped the leather from one heel.

      She stared at the torn Italian leather. The three-hundred-dollar boots had been a Christmas gift from Stephen two years ago. She suspected this was fate’s retribution for the lies she’d told her mother.

      Tracking down the real Nero was worth it, she reminded herself.

      Standing taller, she gripped the handle of the trash can and started down the alley. “I’m not going to quit. I’m not. I will get through this.”

      The heavy can rumbled over the uneven asphalt as she headed toward the Dumpster. She opened the side door of the Dumpster and tugged on the green trash bag three times but couldn’t get it free.

      “You are a stupid trash bag,” she said gritting her teeth. “And you aren’t going to win.” Determined, she jerked the bag. Her fitted jacket strained against her back and she pulled and pulled until finally the garbage bag wiggled free. She dumped the bag into the Dumpster.

      Taking out the trash was hardly a moment to be celebrated, but she did feel a little pang of pride as she brushed her hands together. Tenacity. It had won out over the trash and it would find Nero.

      Her shoulders back, she started to drag the can back to the kitchen. She was so lost in her own thoughts that she didn’t hear the roar of the motorcycle zooming down the alley until it was almost too late.

      The driver hit the brakes and narrowly swerved around her as she looked up. Shocked, she stumbled back.

      Her heart hammering in her chest, she went from fear to anger in a split second. Without thinking, she flipped the Motorcycle Man the bird. “What is the matter with you, sport?”

      Motorcycle Man shoved up his visor. Electric blue eyes that held no hint of emotion stared at her.

      Suddenly, all her senses became very sharp. She was intensely aware of the hot June air and the sweat drizzling down her chest between her breasts.

      The jolt of desire surprised and irritated her. The guy had almost run her over. If she’d had any sense, she’d not have taken on a redneck biker in an alley. But her nerves were shot and her mouth worked faster than her brain. “Hey, mister, do you think you can be a little more careful?”

      “You’re the one that wasn’t watching where you were going.” His voice was hoarse, rusty and sent tremors down her spine.

      Still, Darcy marched toward him, pulling her trash can with her. The idea of coming home had frayed her nerves and she realized she was spoiling for a fight. “This is an alleyway! It’s not meant for high-speed chases. You could have flattened me like a pancake.”

      “You smell like smoke.”

      “What?”

      He looked around the alleyway. “What was burning?”

      She nodded her head toward the restaurant kitchen’s door. “A grease fire in the Varsity’s kitchen. It’s out now.”

      His gaze sharpened. “They had another one?”

      Another one? What was happening to that place? When she’d been kid growing up and working there, they’d never had any trouble. Family loyalty had her keeping those thoughts to herself. “Like I said, it’s under control.”

      His gloved leather hand tightened around the bike’s throttle. “So are you going to be okay, or do I have to call an ambulance?”

      His sarcasm grated her nerves. “I’ll probably have nightmares for a month.”

      Creases formed around his eyes, a sign he was grinning. “So are you the new waitress at the Varsity?”

      “How do you know that?”

      “Who else would be hauling around a trash can with the Varsity stenciled on it?”

      She glanced at the faded lettering. “Right.”

      “You don’t look like a waitress.”

      “I’ll take that as a compliment.” She sounded bitchy—even to her own ears.

      “Right. Well, sorry for the scare.” He flipped his visor down. “Watch where you are walking. You might not be so lucky next time.”

      She gritted her teeth. “Drive more slowly!”

      Laughter rumbled deep in his chest. “Try not to frighten the customers away.”

      The laughter in his voice irritated her. “I’m a good waitress.”

      “Right.” He revved the engine loudly and then slowly drove down the alley.

      Muttering an oath under her breath, Darcy started back toward the Varsity.

      She’d gone two feet when her high heel caught between cobblestones again and she stumbled. Gripping the handle of the trash can, she glanced back to make sure Motorcycle Man had left. He had.

      With as much dignity as she could muster, she brushed her bangs off her face, and dragging the trash can behind her, retreated back into the kitchen.

      Darcy shut the kitchen door and leaned against it. Closing her eyes, she let a sigh shudder through her body as she thought about Motorcycle Man’s laughing gaze. It seemed everyone had questioned her competency since she had arrived in Preston Springs.

      But she’d prove them all wrong—when she found Nero.

      Chapter 3

      Darcy spent the next half hour unpacking and changing into a cotton T-shirt, jeans and running shoes. She itched to go out for a long run before reviewing her notes on Nero, but it was already past three in the afternoon and the dinner crowd would be arriving at five o’clock.

      As she brushed her hair up into a ponytail, she glanced around her old bedroom. Her mother had taken down her posters and painted over the purple. Her brass daybed was still there, but the black-and-white comforter was gone and in its place a green quilt and lots of pillows.