Chip turned onto the road that led to his house. It was deserted, and quiet, the tall trees whispering in the breeze above them. He pulled up to the house, putting his truck into park. None of his neighbors were outside, so there was no risk of being pulled into chit chat.
“Let’s go, Marty,” Chip said as he got out of the truck.
Marty followed without a word. Chip unlocked the back door to the house and motioned for the fugitive – or was he his captive now? – to go inside.
Marty did as instructed, taking a seat at the kitchen table.
Chip closed the door behind him. He needed to maintain some aura of authority, even if the little punk scared him. “Let me see some ID.”
Marty reached into his pants pocket, then his jacket pockets. “Oh no.”
“What?”
Marty frowned, unzipping his bag. “I think I forgot my wallet.”
Chip crossed his arms. “Where?”
“Back at the hotel! They’re going to find it! It’ll be proof that I was there.”
“Hang on, back it up. How do you know Claire?”
Marty didn’t look up from his search of the bag. “I’m her nephew.”
A wave of relief washed over Chip. Her nephew. He thought the guy looked a little young to be Claire’s date, but what did he know? She was an heiress after all.
Actually, her fortune was even more reason for an unscrupulous person to come after her. “Her nephew? But…” He trailed off. There was no way. Claire never mentioned a nephew.
Marty sat back and looked at Chip. “I can tell you the story, but you won’t believe me.”
Chip took a seat at the table across from Marty. “Try me.”
Marty talked nonstop for the next half hour. It was a long story, and a wild one – one that Chip wasn’t apt to believe. Of course, a con man would show up at Claire’s doorstep after she inherited millions of dollars, claiming to be related to her. It was the perfect plan.
“What proof do you have, Marty? Of any of this?”
Marty shrugged. “Ask Claire. She’ll tell you. I gave her a picture of my mom holding me after I was born.”
Chip crossed his arms. “And you just decided to show up one day? Conveniently after you heard she bought the hotel.”
“No, it wasn’t like that.” Marty shook his head. “I didn’t know I was adopted until a few weeks ago. I thought Claire was my mom. I had nowhere else to go.”
Chip stared at him. “Why?”
“Because I tried to do the right thing and I was set up as a Chinese spy.”
“You’re one heck of a storyteller, kid,” Chip said, standing up to get himself some water. He considered offering some to Marty, but he didn’t want to seem too friendly.
Marty shrugged. “You asked. That’s the truth. Claire did nothing wrong. She wanted to help me. She insisted on it.”
Chip took a swig of water and stared at him. That, at least, checked out. He sat back down. “Why do they think you’re a spy?”
He leaned forward. “How much do you know about wildfires?”
“Enough, I think.”
Marty reached into his bag and pulled out a pad of paper and a pen. He started writing, “Fuel, heat transfer, conduction. Moisture levels. Topography. Wind.” He drew lines between the words, listing more beneath each.
Chip watched intently, listening as Marty explained the wildfire model he helped create. For the first time in their conversation, Chip had no doubt that what Marty was telling him was true. The kid was an expert, speaking quickly and passionately about the program he’d help develop.
