Page 71 of Buried Secrets

“First, I need to apologize. We had a water leak in the lab over the weekend. Burst pipe in the ceiling, flooded half our workspace. Everything’s been chaos, so I’m running behind on your evidence analysis.”

“Great.” Matt’s pen snapped under the pressure of his grip. “How behind?”

“That’s why I’m calling. I finally got to those fire samples you brought in.” Papers rustled in the background. “You were right about the accelerant.”

Matt straightened in his chair. “Gasoline? Kerosene?”

“No, that’s what’s interesting. We found traces of propanone.”

“Propa-what?”

“Propanone. Sorry, habit. Acetone. Nail polish remover.”

Matt stared at his legal pad, pen frozen in his hand. “Acetone?”

“It’s a highly unusual choice for an arsonist. Most people go with gasoline because it’s readily available and they understand how it works. Acetone is much more volatile, harder to control. It burns extremely hot and fast. You only need a small amount to get a significant blaze going.” Samira paused. “One spark at the wrong moment and you could burn yourself along with your target.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning whoever set that fire knew exactly what they were doing. And they’re intelligent.”

Matt scribbled frustrated notes. “Does that narrow down our suspect pool? People with access to large quantities of acetone?”

“Well, yes and no. You can buy acetone anywhere. And you can even get professional-grade quantities without other additives, like the kind we found in this fire, delivered to your home from online vendors. Nail salons, beauty supply shops, morticians, and some industrial cleaning operations all regularly use the stuff.”

“Nail salons.” Matt repeated the words slowly, wondering if his investigation had somehow descended into complete absurdity.

“Among other places, yes. Why?”

“Because I’m sitting here trying to build probable cause to search an old woman’s house, and now you’re telling me I should be looking for a nail technician who moonlights as an arsonist.” Matt stood abruptly, pacing to the window that overlooked Main Street. “This case is turning into a circus.”

“Hey, I just analyze the evidence. I don’t make it make sense.”

“Right. Sorry.” Matt watched a delivery truck lumber past. “Thanks, I appreciate all your help and insight. Anything else?”

“Actually, yes. Matt, whoever did this wasn’t some random vandal. This was methodically planned. If Kaitlin hadn’t been there to put it out…”

“Everything would have been lost,” Matt finished for Samira. It was a fact they already knew.

Matt stood at his desk, staring at the half-finished search warrant application. Eleanor Holloway’s challenging words echoed in his mind. Ask the right questions. Be specific about what you think you know.

Matt’s headache intensified. An arsonist with a brain and access to pure acetone. An elderly town clerk who knew more than she was willing to share. Two murdered women whose deaths had been covered up for thirty years. And a likely rogue FBI agent.

An idea popped into his head. “Can I ask you something off topic? Do you know Agent Cook well?”

A silence on the line was his reply.

He continued. “I am asking because, well I noticed how you were surprised to see him when he first came to the island. When we were out to dinner?”

“Yes. I was surprised he was assigned to the case. I wasn’t expecting him.” Samira’s tone was professional and cautious.

“I got the impression you knew him on a personal level, maybe had a history of sorts?” Matt took a chance, unsure if she would answer a personal question. “What happened between you two?”

Silence again. Stretching.

“We dated for a period. I don’t normally date people I work with, but he was… persistent.” Samira sighed heavily. “Let me just say, he has a different world view than I do. And vastly different hobbies. I’m much more introverted, stay at home and curl up on the couch with my cats.”

“And he?”