by Jenna Kernan
“Perhaps whoever killed Edward Sullivan and drugged his wife might also have set this fire.” And drugged her, as well. Connor. She didn’t want to think him capable of such acts, but she couldn’t stop herself from considering the possibility. Had Connor drugged her because he had been trying to make a move on her, or was he tied up in whatever was happening at Rathburn-Bramley?
“Do you have any evidence to that effect?”
She shook her head. All she had was a churning stomach and the feeling that she was free-falling out of an airplane.
Frick shut off the recorder.
“I’m just pursuing my investigation. My early estimation is that someone set this fire. If not you, I need to ask who that someone might be.”
“I don’t know.”
Frick headed down the steps of the Lynch home. There in the fast-falling snow, he turned. “We found kerosene in the garage. It is likely the same type of propellant used on the main staircase in your home. Only your fingerprints, again.”
“Would a suicidal woman place the detectors in the kitchen, remove the batteries and then return the kerosene to the garage before setting the fire?”
“Still an investigation.”
“Did you find a lighter upstairs?”
“Can’t comment.”
“Well, I know I didn’t do it, which means that someone was inside my home. Disabled the smoke detectors. Threw kerosene on the stairs and then lit a match.”
“Seems so,” said Frick.
“That’s not just arson,” said Paige. “It’s attempted murder. Someone is setting me up.”
Frick regarded her for a long, silent moment.
“If what you say is true, then you appear to have some very powerful and determined enemies. You should be asking yourself who would benefit from your disappearance?”
Chapter Twenty-One
It was half past three in the afternoon when Logan’s mobile rang. He checked the caller ID. It was Paige. He did not want to speak to her, needed a little time to understand and accept her decision to shut him out. He let the call go to voicemail.
Was this all his fault?
He’d reenlisted against the wishes of his fiancée, without even consulting her, and he’d been so hurt she’d asked him to postpone the wedding. She said that this had upset him enough to break their engagement. This man he had been was like a stranger to him. He’d do anything to have Paige, including postponing their wedding.
But according to her, her dad had just died. Her mother was in terrible debt and she had to assume debt herself to finish school. Had swooping in like a hero been such a terrible thing for him to do?
Perhaps. Marriage was a partnership. He could understand Paige’s anger when he took serious steps without consulting her, reenlisting to help her without asking if that was the help she wanted. But he still struggled with her withholding the information about their relationship and his daughter for so long without trying again. When had his short-term memory improved?
He just didn’t know because he didn’t remember it being impaired in the first place. He thought of Lori’s scarred jaw and a shiver danced across his back. Paige had been protecting Lori from a father who was impaired. If their roles had been reversed, what would he have done?
A large SUV with chains on the tires pulled up to his office. The vehicle was salt and mud-spattered, black and bore no markings. He watched out the window as Sheriff Axel Trace climbed from the passenger seat and adjusted his hat low over his eyes to keep the snow from reaching his face. Trace was tall and broad and wearing his official sheriff’s jacket with the patch of Onutake County.
Logan glanced toward the driver, wondering who that might be. When the driver rounded the hood, he noted it was a woman who was not much taller than the grill. Logan blinked at the diminutive figure. She wore sunglasses and a puffy gray coat that reached her knees. The boots on her feet were practical and salt-stained. She had fine, chin-length blond hair capped with a navy blue ski hat. The bold yellow letters on the hat said DHS.
By the time they reached his door, snow had stuck to her cap and accumulated on the brim of his hat.
He shook hands with Trace and waited for introductions.
“Constable Lynch, this is Homeland Security Agent Rylee Hockings. She heard from Detective Albritton about the recent death of a member of the Rathburn-Bramley product assurance team and the trafficking arrest and wanted to speak to Dr. Morris. We also understand, again from Albritton, that Dr. Morris is under suspension from her workplace and under at least two investigations.”
“Two?”
“Trafficking and arson.”
“Ah, I hadn’t heard about the arson.”
“And there was a large sum of money recently deposited in her bank account,” said Hockings. “I’m very interested in speaking to Dr. Morris. Would you know what products they make down at that plant? Their website is vague.”
“Opiates. Gases for anesthesiologists.”
“Vaccines?” asked Hockings. “Flu vaccines?”
“I don’t know,” said Logan. “Why?”
“Ongoing investigation,” said Hockings.
Logan nodded. Her investigation seemed a one-way street with her collecting information but offering none.
“Well, last I saw Paige, she was over at my father’s house. She and her family are staying with us because of the fire. Would you like me to ride out with you?” asked Logan.
Hockings looked at the snowmobile parked before her gigantic SUV and checked the time on her phone.
The two exchanged a look of concern.
“I need to speak to Connor Lynch regarding the information Constable Lynch shared with me,” said Trace.
“We need to pick up Drake first,” said Hockings.
Logan knew of only one person named Drake. That would be Allen Drake, the CEO of Rathburn-Bramley.
“He could save us a trip,” said Trace.
They returned their attention to him.
Hockings nodded then turned to Logan. “Will you go and get Dr. Morris and bring her to the plant? I would like her there when we go to the production floor.”
“Now?” he asked. The afternoon gloom and snow made it seem to be already growing dark, though it was not yet four in the afternoon.
“Yes. We’ll pick up Drake and meet you at the plant.”
“The plant is closed today for the snow emergency,” said Logan.
“I’ve contacted Drake. He’s the CEO. He’ll give us access to the production areas.” Hockings aimed a gloved finger at Logan. “Get Dr. Morris and meet us at the plant. If you beat us there, just sit tight.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
* * *
PAIGE HAD HER own boots on and her feet in dry socks. That was something, anyway.
Spending much of the morning with the kids had shown her that not everything in the world was bleak. But the fire inspector’s visit had dampened her mood and the news that he had cleared the scene did not cheer her.
Her mother had been to their church this morning and returned with a bounty of donated clothing for them all. That made Paige hopeful again and together, dressed in hand-me-down items, she and her mother headed over to their house.
They spent the afternoon sorting through the frozen, water-logged mess of downstairs and the charred ruin of the second floor.
The house was freezing inside, but fortunately, their coats were stored in the coat closet downstairs and had avoided getting soaked by the water sprayed by the fire department on the upper floors. The garments did, however, smell like a fire pit.
It was terrifying to see the walls, where she and Lori, had slept, blackened and burned to the studs. There was nothing salvageable from the upper level. Thankfully, the closed bookshelves and the chest of drawers downstairs had protected the photo albums. Many of the framed ph
otos were ruined but she had more than a few of them safely stored on the cloud.
They would have to begin again. Clothing and personal care items were Paige’s priority. She would take her mom and Lori shopping just as soon as the insurance money arrived.
“Have you called the insurance company yet?” she asked her mother.
Her mom stopped and dropped the armful of photo albums on the dining room table.
“Not yet.”
“You have to file a claim. You have to do that right away.”
Her mother turned and leaned back against the table, gripping the edge with blackened fingers.
“I let the policy lapse.”
“What? No!”
“Paige, I can’t manage it all. It’s too much.”
“But, Mom. I moved in with you to help you. I pay you every month. It’s enough to cover the expenses including insurance.”
“Well, it isn’t. I thought I’d save a few dollars. I mean, you have the smoke detectors and the CO detectors and the volunteer department is right down the road. I never thought...”
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. Consult me.”
Her mother huffed. “You’re a fine one to be talking about consulting people.”
Paige turned her back as anger and guilt collided inside her like two rivers.
“Connor was by while you were sledding. He said he has lots of room. He said he’d be happy to have us all stay there at his place.”
“No.”
“But why? He’s got a good job and a big house. And you love that house. What is wrong with taking him up on his offer?”
“Because his offer comes with strings,” said Paige. She’d already turned down his marriage proposal, twice. Leave it to Connor to smell desperation and be there to “help.” And she still had her suspicions about him drugging her at the Harvest Festival.
“Well, Albert said we could stay with them as long as we like.”
“I will rent us an apartment.”
“Hmm,” said her mother. “With what?”
“I make a good salary and...” Her words trailed off. She was suspended and her prospects at Rathburn-Bramley looked dim. “I’ll get a new job.”
“Where? In Washington, DC, again?”
“Virginia.”
Her mother waved a hand. “This community has been my home for nearly forty years. My church, my book club and my golf and bowling leagues are here. My friends are here. I’m not leaving.”
The thought of leaving Logan and Albert behind with the two Sullivan kids hurt her, and Paige paused, thinking. When had Steven and Valerie become among the people she counted as family?
She pictured them, her and Logan, with three children and perhaps more. But first she’d have to get him to speak to her. He was justifiably angry at her. She’d made decisions based on what she knew at the time. But as he had improved, she had held on to her grievances and her old fears. Now she feared she might lose him.
“What are you thinking about?” asked her mother, her voice cautious.
“Marrying Logan.”
“What? Don’t be silly.”
“It’s not silly. I could marry him and we could adopt Steven and Valerie.”
“I think your daughter might have something to say about that.”
“I’ll check with her.”
“But not with me?”
“We are having a conversation right now, Mom.”
“Well, I don’t approve.”
“I’ll take you off the guest list.”
“Don’t be smart with me. He’s got permanent brain damage. He’s different, Paige. Admit it.”
Logan was different because he was better. This man would never leave her to fend for herself as his younger self had done. This man would stay and protect her until the bitter end. Now she hoped that end was still far, far away.
He had a heart as big as the outdoors and a protective instinct a mile wide and paternal instincts as strong as steel. For the second time in her life, she wanted to marry Logan.
Logan’s father’s words came to her.
Instead of mourning the man he was, celebrate the man he is.
Outside, a motor rumbled.
“Who’s that?” asked her mother, peering out the soot-stained window at the snowmobile that roared into the Lynches’ front yard. “Oh, it’s prince charming on his steed.”
“Sarcasm doesn’t become you, Mother.”
“Connor is the smart choice.”
She headed toward the door. “I’ll send Lori and the kids over to help you carry things.”
“Abandoning me,” said her mother, using a shooing motion with both sooty hands. “Go ahead.”
Paige made it across the yard as Logan turned off the snowmobile and headed toward his house. He spotted her and changed direction.
“Logan, I need to talk to you about what happened. What is happening.”
“I agree. But I need to take you to the plant first.”
“The plant? It’s closed.”
He told her about the visit from the sheriff and the Homeland Security agent and all the rest as her mother moved to the porch to eavesdrop.
“They need you on the production floor to help them figure out what might be happening inside.”
Fresh, sweet, cold air filled her lungs. She straightened, coming back to life. The possibility of finding out what was happening, perhaps discovering who was attacking her and her family, invigorated her. Finally, she had a chance to fight back.
“Yes. Let’s go.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
In other circumstances, the ride to the plant might have been fun, exciting even. Paige sat behind Logan as they buzzed over West Main Street, taking the back route over the Raquette River and through Township Valley to Pearl. The snow was deep and unbroken except for driveways cleared by industrious residents in anticipation of the plow’s arrival.
From Pearl Street, Logan veered off the road because they were free to cut across the fields and approach the factory from the opposite side. Paige clung tight and thrilled to the speed and the cold wind rushing past them, burning her cheeks until they tingled.
She wanted to tell Logan she was sorry and that she needed him in her life. She craved the chance to begin again. But for this moment, it was enough to hold him and shout with joy to the darkening sky as Logan made a sharp turn, sending fresh powder out behind them like a breaking wave. His laughter spilled back to her and she hugged him tighter, resting her cheek on his shoulder. He released one side of the handlebar grips to cradle her head in his hand for just a moment.
The beam of their single headlight bounced over the field before them as they flew onto Elm. Here he slowed and her mood changed. The side of the production plant loomed before them, rising from the field of white like a great gray ocean liner.
They had arrived and she’d be meeting with Homeland Security agents and sheriffs and her CEO. She’d only ever spoken to Allen Drake once during her employment interviews. Somehow, she’d become the hound, sent in to sniff out trouble. What was she doing? She didn’t even know if she could find the product batch they were looking for. If she’d been the one trying to hide it, that production series would have been down the drain and all evidence destroyed. They’d had days to do just that. Did the sheriff think the evidence would be sitting out in a pretty package for them to unwrap?
Logan slowed and switched off the light.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
He lifted his gloved hand and pointed.
There, across the parking lot, a single box truck sat at the loading bay. One dock door was up and light spilled out around the truck. Beyond the vehicle were two sets of tire tracks marking the path the driver had taken across the lot from Raquette Road.
“That’s not right,” she
said. “Who is that?”
Logan switched off the snowmobile. They were sitting in Centennial Park at the tree line that bordered the Rathburn-Bramley parking area. She’d walked here at lunch on beautiful sunny days to sit on a park bench or picnic table with coworkers. But tonight the trees swayed with the wind from the nor’easter that seemed to be just gearing up. The heavily falling snow and the darkness obscured her vision. But she could see two men outside the truck. They were holding something.
“Are those rifles?” she asked.
Logan reached inside his coat and pulled out a pair of compact binoculars.
“They are,” he said.
“What are they doing in a snowstorm with rifles?”
“Nothing good.” Logan turned his head, sweeping the area, suddenly the marine once more. “I don’t see the vehicle from Homeland Security. It’s a big black SUV.”
“They should have beaten us here. Shouldn’t they?”
Logan lowered the binoculars. “Probably. They were picking up your CEO.”
“What do we do?”
“Call them.” Logan pulled his phone from his side pocket, but the call failed. The next three attempts yielded the same result.
“Try a text.”
He did but received the not delivered message.
“The storm?” she asked.
“Probably.”
“What now?”
“Well, I’m not approaching armed men. The village didn’t want me armed. Afraid I’d have a flashback, probably.”
“Seems a bad decision in hindsight.” She leaned out to watch the guards, backlit by the bright fluorescents inside the loading dock. “So we wait?”
He nodded.
“What if that’s the shipment?”
“It likely is. Why else would they be moving it when the plant was closed and in this storm?”
“And we should just let it go?”
“Paige, I’m not riding you into danger. Homeland Security has resources. They can find and stop that truck.”
As if on cue, into the lot slid a large black SUV. The guards took cover on the opposite side of the box truck.
