Her eyes went wide. “But—Oh my God.”

“And you’re still certain gasoline isn’t something any of you would use?” Joe asked.

“I’m sure.”

“Do you or any of your employees smoke?” Joe asked.

She paused. “Is that relevant?”

They’d found two cigarette butts now. They were being tested for DNA, which wouldn’t help them unless they matched in their database with a convicted criminal. But both butts were the same brand, smoked down to the same length, and couldn’t be discounted.

Nothing when it came to this fire would be discounted, not now.

“It could be relevant, yes,” Kenny said.

“Well, no one smokes in the store, of course.”

“But what about outside? Anyone?”

For the first time, she looked away. Down at her clean, neat fingernails.

“Camille?” Kenny said.

“I can’t think of anyone off the top of my head.”

“Do any of your nieces smoke? Or your sister?”

“Oh, you know kids. They’re bound to try stupid things.”

Over her head, Joe exchanged a look with Kenny. She was holding back. Camille, holding back. He couldn’t believe it. “What made you call Summer on her cell phone the night of the fire?”

“I…she’s my daughter. We call.”

“But you don’t,” Kenny said very quietly. “You don’t call her.”

“I don’t want to bother her. But that night…she was leaving the next day. I wanted—I thought maybe—” She covered her mouth with a shaking hand.

“You thought what, Mom?”

Everyone turned in unison to see Summer standing in the doorway. Ashes, at the end of her restraint, leapt to her feet and bounded over to her.

Summer bent and scooped her up. She wore one of her long, loose, sleeveless sundresses with a tank top beneath, both in the color of a California poppy, which showed off bronzed, toned limbs and all that shiny fiery hair. Joe imagined he could smell her, some complicated mix of spring flowers and sexy woman. On her face there was a somber, unreadable expression, though her eyes lighted right on Joe’s. “Sorry,” she said, petting the puppy. “I’m eavesdropping.”

“I called to see if you were busy,” Camille said, tears in her voice. “On your last night in town.”

“I’d’ve liked to see you.” Summer came into the room. “I’d been feeling alone.”

The statement sliced right through Joe. He hadn’t gone to her that night out of self-protection, but he should have thought about her being alone, feeling as if she had no one to turn to, no reason to stick around. Some friend he’d made.

“So you’ve connected the two fires.” She sat heavily. “Which means, of course, you’ll be looking at that first fire again. And the one where my dad died.”

Camille gasped, and when everyone looked at her, she swallowed hard. “I hadn’t thought—Oh my God.”