Free Trial by Fire by J. A. Jance Page B

thought as she searched for a parking place. And I’m the newbie ringmaster with no assigned parking.
    She finally found a spot on the street three blocks away. When she stepped out of her Cayenne, someone was waiting for her. “Nice ride,” he said admiringly.
    Ali recognized the voice at once—the ELF-centric reporter from the previous evening. “Thank you,” she said and then added, “good morning, Mr. Green.”
    He seemed a little surprised that she knew his name—surprised and pleased. He wouldn’t be nearly as pleased if he knew she knew the Oswald part, but then again, for someone with properly moussed hair, perfect clothes, a perfect tan, andperfect teeth, that was only to be expected. It came with the territory; it was only his just due.
    The man gave her what was supposed to be a disarming smile. Ali wasn’t disarmed. She wanted to ask him straight out what he needed, but she didn’t bother. She already knew the answer. Mr. Green was accustomed to receiving special treatment from Devon Ryan. No doubt he hoped to establish the same kind of cozy relationship with her.
    Don’t hold your breath, she thought.
    “What can I do for you?” she asked.
    “I was wondering if I could have a word.”
    “Sure,” she said agreeably. “For one word there’s no extra charge.”
    Pausing slightly, he blinked at that comment, then he went on. “So you get to do the whole nine yards, the lighthearted stuff and the tough stuff, the cactus rustlers and the fires?”
    If this is his way of winning me over, it isn’t working.
    “That’s right,” she said. “I get to do it all. I’m a one-woman media relations phenomenon.”
    He smiled again, letting her know he got the joke. “I want to apologize for putting you on the spot last night about that ELF fire up in Prescott,” he continued more seriously. “Someone told me later that you weren’t even living here at the time, so it’s completely understandable that you wouldn’t know about it.”
    “I know about it now,” Ali told him. “I understand they call it Street of Dreams gone bad.”
    “Now the same folks are back and doing it again,” he said.
    Ali saw the trap and dodged it. Kelly Green had come to her looking for more than a private word. What he really wanted was a premature arson confirmation.
    “You should probably see what Sheriff Maxwell has to say onthat subject.” She glanced pointedly at her watch. “If I’m not mistaken, he’s about to start.”
    “You couldn’t give me a little preview?”
    Ali needed to put Kelly Green on notice that things had changed. “No,” she said firmly. “I don’t think so. Better you should get that information from the horse’s mouth.”
    “You’re nicer looking.”
    “I’m also late.”
    While they had been talking, they had been walking toward the courthouse. Speeding up, Ali moved away from him and then shouldered her way through the throng of reporters waiting on the steps, sidewalk, and grass outside the courthouse. The building’s portico with its soaring columns provided a suitable background. A lectern, positioned front and center, was surrounded by a sea of microphones. Using her badge, Ali made her way to the top step and stood off to one side. She set her briefcase down at her feet just as Sheriff Maxwell and another man emerged through the glass door. The man stopped and stood beside Ali while the sheriff stepped up to the microphones, where he tapped noisily on one in particular, making sure that the loudspeakers parked on the courthouse steps were turned on and in good working order.
    “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “Thank you for coming. As I’m sure you’re all aware, we’re here this morning due to the incident that occurred outside the Camp Verde city limits last night,” he began. “Before I give you the particulars, I’d like to take this opportunity to welcome Agent Richard Donnelley and his team from the ATF field office in Phoenix, who will be