“You don’t know anything, you stupid little soldier,” he hissed.

“Mr. Pike, you are under arrest,” the sheriff said.

The sheriff walked over and grabbed Dorian’s left arm, locking the second cuff around his wrist.

“For possession of accelerants with intent to commit arson, and grand theft of personal property.”

“You can’t arrest me for having fuel in my truck!” Dorian shouted.

“I use that for the heaters at the ranch!”

“In July?” the sheriff asked.

The sheriff didn’t wait for an answer.

He guided Dorian toward the back seat of the first patrol car.

Dorian’s boots dragged in the dirt, kicking up small clouds of dust.

“Maren!” Mr. Voss’s voice came through the phone speaker. “Are you still there?”

“I’m here,” I said. “They found the kerosene. They’re putting him in the car.”

“Thank God,” Mr. Voss said.

“But we have a bigger problem.”

“What is it?” I asked, walking a few paces away from the noise of the idling engines.

The mountain air was growing colder as the night deepened.

“The receipt the deputy found,” Mr. Voss said.