Blue Smoke by Nora Roberts Read Free Book Online Page B

more pasta as voices erupted around the table.
    â€œHe was laid off earlier this summer from his job as a mechanic,” she continued. “There was a suspicious fire in the garage a few nights later. Minimal damage, as another employee had plans to use said garage for a tryst with his girlfriend. They talked to people, including Pastorelli, but couldn’t determine arson. A couple of years ago, he had an altercation with his wife’s brother in D.C. The brother managed an electrical supply house. Somebody pitched a Molotov cocktail through the window. A . . .”
    She sent another look down at Reena. “A lady of the evening saw a truck speeding away, even got a partial on the plate. But Pastorelli’s wife swears he was home all night, and they took her word over the other woman’s.”
    Mag picked up her wine. “They’ll use this as a pattern and nail him down.”
    â€œIf Inspector Minger and our arson detectives had been in charge, they’d have stopped him.”
    Mag smiled at Reena. “Maybe. But he’s stopped now.”
    â€œLorenzo?”
    â€œYou’ve got my strong back,” he said. “And I’ve got a friend in the flooring business. I can get you a good price on replacements.”
    â€œGot dump trucks and labor at your disposal,” Paul added. “Got a friend’s brother-in-law in restaurant supplies. Get you a good discount.”
    â€œWith all this, and the neighborhood, Bianca, the kids and I can take most of the money and have a vacation in Hawaii.”
    Her father was joking, but his voice was a little shaky, so Reena knew he was touched.
    W hen the leftovers had been doled out or put away and the kitchen put to rights, and the last of the uncles, aunts and cousins had trailed out the door, Gib got a beer and took it out onthe front steps. He needed to stew, and preferred stewing with a cold beer.
    The family had come through, and he’d expected no less. He’d gotten a “Gee, that’s terrible” from his own parents. And had expected no more.
    That’s the way it was.
    But he was thinking now that for two years he’d been living on the same block with a man who set fires to solve his personal problems. A man who could have chosen to burn his house instead of his business.
    A man whose twelve-year-old son had attacked—Christ, had he meant to rape her?—his youngest daughter.
    It left him sick, and brought home to him that he was too trusting, too willing to give the benefit. Too soft.
    He had a wife and four children to protect, and at the moment felt completely inadequate.
    He took a pull on a bottle of Peroni when John Minger parked at the curb.
    Minger wore khakis and a T-shirt with canvas high-tops that looked older than dirt. He crossed the sidewalk.
    â€œGib.”
    â€œJohn.”
    â€œGot a minute?”
    â€œGot plenty of them. Want a beer?”
    â€œWouldn’t say no.”
    â€œHave a seat.” Gib tapped the step beside him, then got up and went into the house. He came back with the rest of the six-pack.
    â€œNice evening.” John tipped back a bottle. “Little cooler.”
    â€œYeah. I’d say it’s merely approaching the fifth level of hell instead of hitting it square on.”
    â€œRough day?”
    â€œNo. No, not really.” He leaned back, bracing one elbow on the step above. “My wife’s family came today. It was hard watching her mother and father look at that.” He jerked his chin toward Sirico’s. “But they’re handling it. More than. Ready to shove up their sleeves, dig in. Going tohave so much help I can pretty much sit here with my thumb up my ass and have the place up and running in a month.”
    â€œSo you’re feeling like a failure. That’s what he wants you to feel.”
    â€œPastorelli?” Gib lifted his bottle in toast. “Mission fucking accomplished. His kid came after