A Burning Desire

By J.R. Lindermuth

The past is always with us. The past comes back to haunt former police chief Daniel "Sticks" Hetrick and his protégé, Officer Flora Vastine as an outbreak of arson shakes residents of rural Swatara Creek, Pennsylvania. At first, the minor nature of the fires inclines authorities to see them as pranks, possibly the work of juveniles. Then, tension increases in the wake of a murder at the site of one fire and an increase in the value of targets. Hetrick and Flora must confront troubling, dangerous people from the past, and errors in judgment add to their jeopardy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Whiskey Creek Press
• Release date: Mar 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9781611606942

Book preview

A BURNING DESIRE

by

J. R. LINDERMUTH

WHISKEY CREEK PRESS

www.whiskeycreekpress.com

Published by

WHISKEY CREEK PRESS

Whiskey Creek Press

PO Box 51052

Casper, WY 82605-1052

www.whiskeycreekpress.com

Copyright Ó 2014 by J. R. Lindermuth

Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 (five) years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

ISBN: 978-1-61160-694-2

Cover Artist: Gemini Judson

Editor: Dave Field

Printed in the United States of America

Dedication

For my children

Chapter 1

Are you anti-Semitic, too?

Aaron Brubaker glowered at the man seated across from him. In all my years in law enforcement, no one has ever accused me of that. And—even if I was—what’s that have to do with you?

I’m Jewish, David Levan told him.

Brubaker chuckled. Yeah, right. That’s why your family raised you Baptist.

Levan nodded, his expression as sober as a man at a wake. That must have been to keep us safe. I only found out a little while ago myself. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial tone. These arsons—they’re aimed at me. The fires have been all around my place. That one building was on my property.

Brubaker thought for a moment. Then he shook his leonine head. That was a school bus shed.

Levan nodded again. "On my property. You got to protect me, Aaron."

Brubaker leaned back in his swivel chair and studied the man. Levan, one of the biggest farmers in the township, didn’t look the type needed protecting from anyone. Nearing fifty—if not past it—the man was built like a fullback. Though he peered at the world through young-looking blue eyes, Levan’s features were wind-ravaged and sun-browned. I’ve known you all my life, Brubaker said after a moment, but this conspiracy theory takes the cake. What makes you think you’re Jewish?

Levan handed him a yellowed newspaper clipping. Read that. It’s my grandfather’s obit.

Brubaker scanned the article. He raised his head and wrinkled his brows. What? I don’t see where it says anything about him being Jewish.

With a scowl, Levan leaned over and pointed with a big finger. "There. Where it first says his name. Levine. That there’s a Jewish name."

Brubaker looked closer. No. It reads Levin there. It must be a typo. Everyplace else it says Levan.

My first name’s David. That’s a Jewish name, haint it?

Mine’s Aaron. You could say that’s a Jewish name, too. They’re both bible names. That don’t make either one of us Jewish.

I been circumcised.

Brubaker guffawed. Me, too. And probably three-quarters of the men in Swatara Creek. Don’t mean a damned thing.

Levan shot out of his seat and wagged a fat finger in Brubaker’s face. You can scoff. But somebody’s out to get me. You and all the rest who shunned me when we was in high school probably knew about my origins.

People shunned you in high school because you were a jerk. I haven’t seen any sign that’s changed in the last thirty years. Now sit down and tell me why you think you’re the arsonist’s target.

For another fifteen minutes Brubaker listened as Levan spewed out what he considered evidence to support his conspiracy theory. So are you gonna investigate or what? he concluded.

Brubaker blew out breath and did his best to hold his temper. "We are investigating. We’ll take what you’ve told me into consideration."

Damn well better. This guy hasn’t kilt nobody yet. But that haint been nothin’ but luck. You better be doing your job, Brubaker, or I’ll be payin’ my next visit to Elmer Finkbine. And you know me and your boss go way back. He haint gonna like it if—

Brubaker cut him off with more assurances and ushered the man out of his office.

Once Levan was gone, Aaron flopped down in his chair and drew a cigar from his shirt pocket. He slipped off the cellophane and licked the length of the cigar. But he didn’t light up. Instead he released another blast of breath and shook his head. His mouth had gone dry and he felt the pulse pounding in his temples.

He spun around, propelled himself out of the chair and seized his cap and jacket from the rack behind the desk.

Goin’ for lunch, he said as he passed Joe Fishburn, the dispatcher, and headed for the front door.

Already, Joe said. It’s only eleven o’clock.

Brubaker didn’t reply. He was chief and he didn’t need anyone’s permission to go for lunch when he felt like it.

His temper had cooled by the time he entered Lena’s and he was glad it was early and he had his choice of places to sit without fighting the normal lunch crowd. Brubaker chomped his still unlit cigar and glanced around. He could have taken a booth. Instead he straddled a stool at the counter.

Hiya, chief, Sally Rickards greeted him. How ya doin’?

Okay, Sally. He picked up a menu. What’s the special today?"

You’re a little early, haincha?

Aaron scowled at the girl. You’re the second one to ask me that. Can’t a man eat when he feels like it without the dad-blamed clock tellin’ him it’s the proper time?

Sure, sure, Sally said, smiling. Didn’t mean to stoke your blood pressure. Uh, you’re not gonna light that thing, are you? she asked, gesturing at the cigar. You know we got that ordinance…

Brubaker grunted. Forgot about the danged thing. He dropped it in his shirt pocket and scowled at Sally. Well?

Huh?

The special. Is there one today?

Oh, sure. Every day. You know that. Today we got our super cheeseburger special. Comes with fries, coleslaw, pickle and a shake. Then there’s the Reuben with Swiss cheese and kraut, comes with a cup of soup. Or you could go with a salad and…

Brubaker raised a hand. Just give me the burger special. And I want a chocolate shake, okay?

Sally gave a thumbs up. Gotcha. She bustled off to prepare his order.

Brubaker sipped from the tumbler of water Sally had brought while he waited. He realized it wasn’t Levan’s ridiculous claims had riled him. It was the arsons. For the most part they’d been more nuisance than dangerous. A trash can fire at the laundromat Elmer Finkbine had opened across the street from Gicker’s market. That was the first one and they’d regarded it as an accident until the next night when a pile of oily rags was ignited on the porch of an abandoned house down on the Flat. A couple days later it was the school bus shed on Levan’s property. Minor stuff. But Aaron knew these incidents always posed the possibility of becoming serious.

The minor nature inclined him to think kids were responsible. Again, that wasn’t something could be taken for granted or lightly. Even a kid looking for attention had the potential to provoke something property-or life-threatening.

Sally brought his food and as Aaron was eating he saw Sticks Hetrick pass by the window. It seemed only yesterday he’d resented and been suspicious of Hetrick’s offer to serve as unofficial consultant to the police department. Brubaker had to admit he’d learned a lot from the former chief and missed him since he’d gone to work as county detective.

Chomping his burger, Aaron acknowledged he’d been unprepared when he assumed the office of chief, and Hetrick had helped give him the confidence needed for the position as he gained in experience. Swatara Creek, Pennsylvania was no New York City. But like most communities in the 21st century the burg had its share of crime.

Brubaker was grateful and suddenly realized how much he missed Hetrick’s friendship and advice. Well, they still saw one another socially. But it wasn’t quite the same thing as their previous relationship.

Moments later Hetrick came in the restaurant and Brubaker gave him a wave and a hearty hello.

Hetrick took the stool next to him and they shook hands. Been a while since you ate lunch here, Brubaker said with a smile.

Hetrick blushed. Most days Anita sees to our lunch.

Brubaker smiled again. Yeah, that woman’s doing wonders for you. You’re lookin’ great, man. And he was—tanned and fit, a bounce to his step and an eager gleam in the man’s eye. Job must be suitin’ you, too.

Hetrick nodded. Keeping me busy, which is what I like. Guess you heard about our drug bust the other day?

Yeah. Feather in your cap, just startin’ out in the new job.

Hey, Mister Hetrick, Lena’ll be glad to see you’re back with us, Sally said, stepping up to their spot.

Nice to see you, too, Sally. Tell Lena I’m sorry I haven’t been in more lately. It’s a jaunt from the courthouse, you know.

Can’t take all the credit, he told Brubaker after the girl had taken his order and gone off. State Police alerted us to a tip they had about these bozos bringing heroin down the interstate to Harrisburg. Larry Campbell, the sheriff’s deputy, and I had been out in the country serving a warrant. Coming back, we stopped for coffee at the Burger King and spotted the car the Staties had described, parked there in the lot. We called it in and troopers showed up with a warrant. He laughed now, thinking about it. We were prepared for the heroin. Surprise was an additional thirty-some bags of high grade marijuana in the trunk.

They finished their meal before the first of the lunch crowd began turning up, settled their bills and walked outside together. The elms along the main street provided a welcome shade against the early summer sun and they stood talking a moment longer before returning to their jobs.

Usual stuff on our end, Brubaker was saying, except for the arsons. Guess you heard about them?

Yeah. Can’t recall we had anything like that since back when I was still chief. Remember, the girl who tried to torch the Lutheran church?

Brubaker chuckled. Wasn’t she pissed because the pastor outed her during a service and told her she was going to Hell if she didn’t mend her ways?

That’s the one. Iris Renninger. Time in Juvie and counseling straightened her out. Married now with three or four kids last I heard.

Yeah. Don’t think we need to put her on our suspect list this time.

Any reason for concern about these incidents?

Brubaker doffed his cap and scratched his scalp with the fingers of one big hand. Appears like vandalism. Probably kids. Still, you never know.

Let me know if we can help in anyway.

Thanks.

Hello to Helen for me.

And you to Anita.

Brubaker stood watching as his friend walked away.

Yes, sir, he’s got a new energy about him for sure. This change of jobs was just what he needed to recharge his batteries.

Chapter 2

Flora Vastine tugged back the curtain and peered out into the dark yard. As her eyes adjusted, she detected movement near the back fence. It seemed she’d just drifted off to sleep when Change, her dog, roused her. Housebroken, the dog was usually good for the night after a final run in the yard before bed and it was obviously not a need for relief that disturbed her. Change had gone directly to the window facing the yard and set to whining and growling low in her throat.

Raccoon and opossum occasionally got into the trash, but Flora thought it was something larger lurking by the fence. Deer had got into her dad’s garden last summer. Was there anything big enough to attract them now? It was too dark to tell from here. Barefoot and clad in shortie pajama bottoms and a T-shirt, Flora padded downstairs, trailed by the dog. She didn’t want to wake her father and shooshed Change when she left out a throaty woof.

Retrieving her sidearm from the lock box in the hall closet, Flora made her way to the kitchen and glanced out the window over the sink. Nothing. Had she just imagined it? But, no, Change hadn’t been disturbed by something in her imagination. There was something out there. Slipping into a pair of flip-flops she kept here in case of need, Flora unlocked and slowly opened the door. Before Flora could stop her, Change slid between her legs and bolted out into the yard.

Flora flicked on the outside light and, weapon at the ready, followed.

June bugs darted in the sudden light and spring peepers shrilled in the distance. The warm air was fragrant with the scent of damp grass and her father’s ripening strawberry plants. Change had disappeared into the gloom beyond the perimeter of light from the back porch. Cautiously, Flora made her way down the yard. Dew-wet tendrils of grass trailed against her ankles and feet.

Flora came to the end of the yard. Despite the gloom under the heavily-leafed old apple tree, she saw the trash cans were undisturbed. But the gate leading into the alley stood open. Flora stepped through the opening and looked up and down the street. A sudden noise to her left, and she turned. Nearly a block away an engine rumbled and she saw the glow of taillights as a vehicle pulled out. As it spun away, Change came trotting back, tongue lolling and panting softly.

Flora knelt and patted the dog’s head. Scared him away, did you? Good dog. She rose. Come on. Let’s get back to bed.

As she started back into the yard, Flora noticed something on top the gate post. A CD album. She picked it up and carried it with her to the porch where she examined it in the light. Bizarre Ride II the Pharcyde. A hip hop group? Flora wasn’t particularly fond of that kind of music. Yet, for reasons she didn’t fathom, something tingled in her memory.

Shrugging her shoulders, Flora went back inside and locked the door. Change went immediately to her water dish and quaffed deeply. Good idea, Flora whispered. Tossing the CD on the kitchen table, she opened the fridge, got a can of Diet Coke, popped the tab and pulled out a chair at the table. She kicked off the flip-flops, drew her feet up on the chair, hugged her legs and sipped the Coke.

There’d been a rash of arson attempts lately. More like vandalism than anything serious. Chief Brubaker and Harry suspected it was probably kids. Had she and Change scared off the perpetrators? Or had her visitor been up to something else altogether? Flora couldn’t be sure. And, nibbling her lip, she pondered other possibilities.

* * * *

I wish I’d been more careful picking it up.

Wouldn’t have mattered, babe, Harry Minnich said. There were probably already so many smudged prints on that case I couldn’t separate one from another if I tried. You know how people handle those things in the music stores.

I thought it was worth a try, Flora said, spinning the CD case on her desk top and giving him a disappointed look. I thought if you could pull a print it might tell us who’s lighting those fires.

It was a good thought, honey. But we don’t even know if your prowler was the firebug.

Yeah, Ryan Fausnacht said, flashing a big grin, maybe you just got yourself a secret admirer, Flora. Then he snapped a look at Harry. Oops, maybe I shouldn’t have said that in front of the corporal.

Harry laughed. That’s certainly a possibility, Ryan.

Well, if I do, Flora told them, he certainly doesn’t know my taste.

Yeah, Ryan said, didn’t figure you for the rap stuff.

Wouldn’t imagine they’d have that many admirers here, Harry mused. They’re more West Coast and alt than straight hip-hop. Besides, I don’t think they’ve done much commercially since around, oh, 2003-2004.

Odd thing, though, Flora added, the name meant something to me when I found the CD.

Like what? Ryan asked.

Dunno. It just sounded familiar and I can’t place my finger on why.

Harry glanced at his watch. Well, you two better hit the streets. Time to serve and protect.

Between vacations, sick leave and budgetary cutbacks, the Swatara Creek police department was down to skeleton level. Harry, as second in command, along with Joe Fishburn in reception would man the office for the day shift while Flora and Ryan split patrol duties between them.

Divs on the east side, Fausnacht said, doffing his cap.

Took that for granted, Flora said, grinning. She knew Ryan was dating a secretary who worked in the new office complex in the former shoe factory building. A visit to her would be on his agenda.

Harry drew her to him and they kissed as Ryan exited the squad room. Be careful out there, he whispered as she pulled away.

She gave him a thumbs up. You’re coming for supper tonight, right?

You betcha.

Chapter 3

Intent on a text message on her phone, Anita Bailey nearly collided with a man as she exited the court house elevator. He, equally engrossed in a sheaf of papers held in a folder, sidestepped, lost his grip on the folder and had his documents slip and scatter to the floor. Oh, I’m sorry, Anita said, kneeling to help him gather up the papers.

No problem, he responded. They’re not fragile. He glanced up, noted the cell phone still grasped in her left hand and smiled. Ah, the dangerous weapon of the day.

What? Then realizing the focus of his gaze, she added, Yes. A major distraction. I’m sorry. I should have been watching—

He grinned. My fault as much as yours. I wasn’t paying attention either. He took the papers she handed him and put them back in the folder with the others. They rose and Anita was about to walk away.

You don’t recognize me, do you?

Pardon? She peered at him. Tall, round-faced, salt and pepper buzz cut. He was dressed casually in a navy seersucker shirt, tan chinos and boat shoes. There was something vaguely familiar about the man, but she couldn’t put a name with the face.

It has been a long time. He extended a hand. Frank Vogel.

Oh, my God! Anita took his hand. The eyes. That was what was so familiar and should have clued her in. Those horrid dark little eyes that bored right into a person and never seemed to blink. Vogel squeezed her hand, harder than she expected, and she winced. It has been a long time.

Vogel kept his grip on her hand a moment longer before releasing it. The grin again. Yeah. I guess you weren’t expecting to see me back in Swatara Creek again after all these years.

But it’s good to see you, Frank. Her tone was a bit disingenuous and she hoped he didn’t notice. You’re looking fit.

Thank the military for that.

You made a career of it?

Yeah. Out now, though. Decided to give the old home town a try again.

Are you…

Married? No. You?

She shook her head, disinclined to share more.

Good. Maybe we could get together—

I’m seeing someone. The speed of her response evinced a sharp glance and a curl of his lip. A chill swept over her, thinking of the past.

I was just going to say mebbe we could have a coffee and catch up on old times.

Anita glanced at her watch.