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Brandon led the way, stopping to nod at the clerk manning the records window. “Morning, Sue. Got a request for you.”
Sue peered over her reading glasses, then flashed a smile at Desiree. “Let me guess. Warehouse fire?”
Desiree nodded. “Need the full ownership chain, past fifteen years. Tax records, liens, fire code complaints.”
Sue was already up and moving, her rolling chair squeaking against the tile. “Give me five. You want coffee, there’s a pot in the back.”
Desiree eyed the clock, then shook her head. Brandon grinned. “Sue’s the best. My theory is she runs the county on the sly.”
Desiree gave a barely-there smirk, then scanned the waiting area—two old men in camo, a mother with a toddler on her lap, and a Christmas tree overloaded with tinsel and candy canes that come twenty to a box.
A few minutes later, Sue returned with a stack of folders, some thick, some nearly empty. “Here you go—made copies of it all. Room three is open if you need a table to review.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Desiree mumbled as she opened the first folder and started scanning, fast but meticulous. Brandon pretended not to watch how quickly she read, but it was impressive.
She summarized as she worked. “Owner before co-op was Greely, just like you said. Sold in a short sale. Co-op went under two years back, tried to unload it to a farmer a year ago, but the offer fell through. No reported insurance claims from either party. There’s a developer that requested a rezoning for the land.”
He chimed in, “That developer’s been sniffing around for ages—they want that rezone before they’ll purchase.”
Desiree nodded. “But there’s nothing here suggesting sabotage. No threats, no legal disputes, nothing public, anyway.”
He shrugged. “Some wars are fought off the books.”
She moved to the next folder, then the next, growing less hopeful with each one. “If this was a setup, they covered their tracks. Or it’s someone with an ax to grind that doesn’t care about cashing in.”
She was closing the last file when a voice boomed behind them, “I heard we’ve got ourselves a regular CSI in town.”
Brandon straightened. “Morning, Mayor Wilson.”
Rhett Wilson filled the doorway, every bit the ex-football player gone to seed, with a paunch that strained his Christmas tie. He radiated cheer, even when it looked like an act.
“Chief Holloway, always a pleasure,” the mayor said, clapping Brandon on the shoulder, then turning his full attention to Desiree. “You must be Investigator Garcia.”
She extended her hand with a nod. “Yes, sir.”
“How’s the investigation going so far?”
“I’m compiling all relevant data on the fire,” she explained. “I can brief you if needed, but it’s too soon for any real conclusions.”
Mayor Wilson boomed, “I trust our chief is taking good care of you?”
Desiree nodded. “So far.”
“Good, good,” the mayor said, already losing interest. “Just make sure you keep me posted, Holloway. Press is all over this, and I’d rather not have to calm the council twice with everything going on with the pageant relocation due to the community center flooding.”
Brandon dipped his head. “Understood, sir. We’ll have answers soon.”
The mayor beamed at both of them, then drifted off down the corridor, trailing holiday cologne behind him.
They left City Hall and headed down the sidewalk. The winter air was crisp, the sun finally warming the world up. As they walked, Desiree kept her gaze straight ahead.
“You shouldn’t have promised him anything,” she rebuked. “There’s no way to guarantee a timetable. Not with a case like this.”
Brandon sighed. “You’ve never done politics in a town this size, have you?” She didn’t answer. He kept going. “You saw him. He doesn’t care about details, just that somebody is in control. He gets panicky if there’s any hint of uncertainty.”
She stopped at the curb and turned to face him. “That’s not my problem. I’m here to solve a case, not to manage egos.”
He leaned against the truck, arms folded. “Around here, they’re the same thing. You want this to go smooth, you keep the mayor happy. It buys us time, keeps the vultures off the scene.”
