“I’m telling you,” he says, with a heavy sigh, after gesturing me into a seat across from his desk. “Got home just a few days ago, and I wish I could turn around and head right back on vacation.”

“Where were you?” I ask.

“Sarasota. Got a condo down there. Swampy as hell right about now, but I like it when tourist season’s over. Besides, all I do’s sit in front of a pool anyway.” His teeth are whiter than I remember, too. I can just see him in Sarasota, greased up and mahogany-colored, tanning oil quivering in his chest hair. “Now, what can I do you for?”

“I came about Monty Devue.” This is at least half true.

“Oh, sure.” Sheriff Kahn’s expression turns even sourer. “Sorry, but I can’t help you there. Turned the whole thing over to the county prosecutor.”

I think of Monty when he was six or seven, bending over to scoop a caterpillar from the asphalt, holding it carefully in his palm. “Do you know if they plan to charge him?”

Kahn settles back in his chair, crossing his hands on his stomach, so his watch catches the light. “Arson’s a serious business, especially in drought time.”

Behind him, a bulletin board is pinned with memorabilia, ancient municipal notices, five-year-old local newspaper clippings about the police department’s latest successes, and a flyer advertising the date of the Monroe County Police Department cookout. No surprise, Optimal is listed as one of the sponsors.

The air in the office is so dry it feels like trying to inhale sawdust. “He says he didn’t do it,” I point out.

“What do you expect him to say?”

“All your evidence is circumstantial.”

“He boasted about getting revenge. The kid’s a firebug, too. He’s got all sorts of disciplinary problems.” Kahn’s losing patience. He leans forward again. “Listen, Abigail—”

“Miss Williams,” I correct him, and he smiles like I’ve just told him the name of my doll at a tea party.

“You used to know Monty as a kid. But kids change. And even their own parents don’t know the difference.” He leaned forward. “Did you know Monty got in trouble last September for threatening a classmate?”

He grins when I react. “You didn’t know? Tatum Klauss. Cheerleader, straight A-student. Nice kid.”

“Threatening her how?” I say.

“Hanging around too much. Following her after school. Showing up when he wasn’t invited.” Sheriff Kahn is obviously enjoying himself. “One time she came home from a party and found him waiting for her.”

I want to believe it isn’t true. At the same time, I know Monty, and remember how he would fixate on things. I once spent forty-five minutes trying to coax a dead turtle out of his arms. He just kept clinging to it, trying to make it come back to life.

“I never said he didn’t have problems,” I say. “But that doesn’t mean he started the fire. Look. You said it yourself. Monty’s been threatening to get revenge on Gallagher since the fall. But we only recently came down to investigate Optimal. Don’t you think that’s a big coincidence? We could have lost a key paper trail.”