by Bree Baker
My mind screamed with things I didn’t dare say.
What if Aunt Fran was hurt? Or worse.
And what if it was my fault?
What if I’d pushed Dunfree’s killer too far?
“Hey.” Grady’s voice was low and reassuring inside the warm truck cab, his words unhurried despite our physical speed. He brushed a tear from my cheek and cupped long fingers beneath my chin. “She’s going to be okay,” he said, glancing briefly to me before applying his attention back to the road. “And no matter what you’re thinking, this isn’t your fault. The only person responsible for this fire, and any damage or injury it causes, is the person who started it.”
I nodded, wishing what he’d said was true but knowing it wasn’t. Not completely.
Grady angled his truck into the space beside a cruiser and climbed down from the cab.
Local men and women had formed a loose perimeter several yards from the building, not gawking and staring, but directing traffic around the hall and relaying information between the sparse emergency personnel. Behind us, an army of trained help poured in.
Ambulances. Fire trucks. On-call EMTs in personal vehicles. More cruisers.
Dark smoke billowed from the windows on both floors of the town hall, curling like gnarled fingers into the bright winter sky.
I ran for the door. “Aunt Fran!”
Grady caught me around the waist before I reached the sidewalk. “You can’t go in there.”
My eyes blurred and stung with smoke and panic. “What if she doesn’t get out?” What if she was one of the ones Brayden had said were trapped? The thoughts were knives on my tongue, slicing my throat and my heart.
Grady held tight to me as firefighters in full gear jogged past us. “They’ve got this, and I’ve got you.”
I turned against him, clutching the fabric of his coat, desperate for some small measure of his strength.
Chaos swirled on the street around us as harried and choking men and women were escorted from the building and EMTs rushed to meet them. I held my breath as I watched the front door, praying selfishly that each new face would be Aunt Fran’s, disappointed when it wasn’t. My heart seized as a uniformed officer strode from the building, his face marred with soot. Maven was unconscious in his arms.
Grady’s hold tightened around my waist until I thought he was the only thing keeping me upright.
I watched in horror as the officer set Maven on a gurney outside an open ambulance bay. He spoke to the EMT, but their words were muffled by the cacophony of sounds on the street and the ringing in my ears.
Grady’s mouth brushed my hair. “Here she is.”
My body stiffened as I dragged my gaze from Maven to the town hall’s front door. Fear and anticipation turned my mushy bones to stone as I strained to see my aunt in the haze of smoke around us.
A fireman walked Aunt Fran from the building. Her face and clothes were dirty. The hems of her long skirt and bell sleeves were singed. But she was upright and moving on her own power. Overwhelming joy launched me forward.
I stopped at the open ambulance bay where the firefighter led her. I waited as the EMT helped her onto a gurney. He snapped an oxygen mask over her face and went to work assessing her condition. I flung myself at her and sobbed.
She patted my back.
The EMT unplugged a stethoscope from his ears. “Minor burns. Smoke inhalation. I’m taking her in for observation, but she’s going to be okay.”
Grady swung an arm overhead, drawing the attention of the officer who’d carried Maven to another ambulance. “What happened?”
The officer changed trajectory, frustration in his eyes. “Town council was gathered in an upstairs meeting room,” he said, eliminating the distance between us. “Looks like someone sprayed an accelerant on the first-floor carpets and curtains, then lit it. The receptionist was locked in the supply room. She inhaled a lot of smoke yelling for help. Smoke carried through the vents. Fire spread quickly.”
“Smoke detectors?” Grady asked.
A deep frown settled on the officer’s face. “Smashed. There’s something else.” His gaze drifted over Aunt Fran’s face before hardening on Grady. “Carpet burns seem to indicate the accelerant was sprayed in a pattern. Letters.”
My stomach gave another hard kick. “CFC.”
A stiff dip of the officer’s chin confirmed it.
“Anything else?” Grady asked.
The officer lifted his hands. “That’s all I know. I was patrolling when the call came in. I heard Maven pounding on the stockroom door when I arrived. I went after her, but she was out cold by the time I got the door open. Firefighters were here before we made it out. You know the rest.”
Aunt Fran tugged the mask away from her mouth, thin lips quivering. “Someone blocked the conference room door,” she said. Her voice was raw and gravelly. “Smoke kept coming in. Underneath the door. Through the vents. We couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t get out. We thought we were going to have to jump from the window.”
I turned in horror to stare at the burning building. A two-story drop onto concrete sidewalks packed in snow and ice. “The fall could’ve killed you.”
Aunt Fran put the oxygen mask back on, her red-rimmed eyes brimming with tears. And I understood. The fall might have killed her. The smoke and fire absolutely would have.
A female firefighter headed our way. “Detective Hays?”
The officer excused himself, and the firefighter reached for Grady’s hand. After a shake, she handed him a piece of paper. “This was taped to the exterior of the lobby window.”
Someone had scrawled Human Safety over Historic Status in thick red script.
Recognition dawned, and I grabbed Grady’s arm. “This is about the lawsuit.” My mind raced over stories of the family’s protests. “Could this be Tony Boyles’s father?”
Grady stared at the paper for several long beats, then raised his eyes to the burning building. The line of ambulances. Victims being treated for a failed attempt at mass murder. “Stay with Fran,” he said, his attention still drifting over the smoky street. “Go to the hospital. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” With that, he walked away, barking orders at a group of uniformed officers gathered near the building entrance.
“Ready?” the EMT asked.
Tears rolled over Aunt Fran’s sunken cheeks.
“Ready,” I said.
* * *
The hospital waiting room was packed with neighbors, family members, and friends of the council and Maven. No one was seriously injured. They were being evaluated, treated, and released one by one.
Janie and Aunt Clara huddled in a pair of chairs near the observation rooms. They’d been at Blessed Bee when they got word of the fire, and they’d headed over when they saw the ambulances leaving the scene.
Amelia sat at my side, clutching my hand. “You can’t investigate this anymore,” she whispered. “You can’t let one dangerous situation become the catalyst for another.”
Grady walked in before I could respond. My quilted bag hung over his shoulder. I must’ve left it in his truck at the fire.
I hurried in his direction, and Amelia followed.
He stopped to crouch before Aunt Clara’s chair, then gripped her hands before rising to wrap her in a hug.
Aunt Clara smiled, and my heart melted a little.
“Everything going okay?” I asked, allowing my gaze to drift from her to Grady.
Janie stood and wrapped thin arms around her middle. “Someone said CFC was burned into the carpet at the town hall. That has to be some kind of silver lining. If it’s true, then it should prove Fran’s not associated with them. Right? I mean, she can’t be the leader of a group who’d attack a building with her inside.”
Grady nodded. “It should help sway public opinion.”
Amelia and I moved in close,
tightening the semicircle in front of Aunt Clara’s chair.
“None of that matters now,” I told them. “The arsonist left a note that might as well have been a signed confession. This has all been about the boy who died at the cliffs.”
Aunt Clara sucked air, her eyes wide with horror. “What?”
Grady turned to face me, jaw tight. “We don’t know that. Meanwhile, I want you to go home with your aunts tonight. I made arrangement to add a patrol to the street. I’ll add one to the front stoop if necessary.” He passed me my bag with a little smile. “You’ll need this.”
“Swan?” A nurse called.
Aunt Clara pushed onto her feet. “That’s me,” she said. “Maybe Fran can finally get out of here.”
Amelia squeezed my arm, then reached for Aunt Clara. “I’ll go with you. I haven’t gotten to see her yet.”
I waited for them to go. Questions piled in my mind. What did Grady know about the fire and Tony Boyles’s dad. He was being careful about what he said in the crowded waiting room, but would he tell me later, if I asked?
Grady’s phone screen lit up with a new message. He stared at it a short moment. Whatever was there caused a slight tilt to his mouth. “Gotcha,” he whispered.
I leaned closer. Grainy surveillance footage of the town square caught my eye. It was time-stamped before the fire. I recognized one or two pedestrians in the distance and Lanita’s silver SUV driving away.
Grady pocketed the phone, eyes dancing. “Surveillance footage from cameras outside the jewelry store show a vehicle leaving the area today that matches one that visited the post office on the day your first threat letter was mailed.”
Lanita? It couldn’t be. Could it? I swallowed hard, my mouth and throat suddenly parched and pasty. There was no mistaking her vehicle or the Duke University parking pass dangling from the rearview mirror. “And the license plates?” I asked. “Did they match too? Do you know who the car belongs to?”
Grady smiled. “We’re running plates now. Go home and grab your things. Head over to Fran and Clara’s place. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
I covered my mouth, unsure if I wanted to smile or throw up as he walked away. I wanted to call out. To tell him I knew that vehicle, but I couldn’t. So, I stood silently by and watched him go. This was an arrest I didn’t want to be a part of.
Janie nudged me with an elbow and a broad smile. “Come on,” she said. “We can get your things and come back here to wait for Fran’s discharge. Then, we’ll all head to their place together. Safety in numbers and all that, right?”
“Right,” I agreed half-heartedly. My instincts said I wasn’t in any danger. That Lanita wouldn’t hurt me. That all the silly little threats I’d received, broken garden gnomes and piles of glitter, weren’t that bad. Weren’t dangerous. But I followed orders. I’d get my things. Meet Grady at my aunts, then hear the story of why Lanita had done what she’d done.
Janie and I told my aunts the plan, then climbed into her BMW. “You okay?” she asked, pulling out of the busy lot.
“I will be,” I said. I chewed the inside of my lip as Janie navigated the increasing traffic and falling snow. “It was Lanita’s car on the footage,” I said. “That makes me sad.”
Janie offered a comforting glance, still being careful to keep her attention on the road. “I’m sorry.”
I nodded. I was sorry too.
The late morning sky had turned a dismal gray, saturated with clouds, all dumping their contents on my town. The snow seemed gloomy instead of festive, a reflection of my sinking heart more than the weather.
Lanita knew the town inside and out. She’d been here often before. She had family here. Her mother had grown up here. Had worked for Mayor Dunfree and been treated poorly. Lanita’s family despised him. Lanita had told me all those things herself, and I hadn’t let them add up.
An old Garth Brooks song began to play on my phone, and I pulled it from my bag with a nostalgic smile. “Hello, Wyatt,” I answered. “Aunt Fran’s okay, if you’re calling about the fire.”
“No,” he said, a sharp edge of panic in his voice.
My muscles tightened. “What’s wrong?” Had something else happened? What could it be? Who had been hurt and where?
“Where are you?” he asked, the words sharp as knives.
“Headed home to grab some things,” I said. “What’s going on?”
My stomach clenched to the point of pain. I’d seen Wyatt tie himself to an angry bull and smile. I’d seen him wheeled into emergency surgery telling me things were going to be okay, but I’d never known him to be rattled.
“I know why I recognized that lady your aunts are always hanging with,” he said. “I remember why, and I was wrong. I didn’t know her.”
“Okay,” I said, dragging out the little word. “And?”
“I couldn’t place her at first because she’s so much older now,” he said. His breathing was heavy through the phone, as if he’d broken into a jog.
I shot a silly look at Janie, hoping to silently communicate I had a story to tell her as soon as I got off the phone. But she didn’t look my way.
She passed the turn onto Ocean Drive.
I covered the receiver with one hand. “You missed the turn,” I said, thinking of how Lanita never would have. Lanita the killer. My brain rejected the words. Impossible. “You can catch the next right and backtrack,” I suggested.
Janie stepped on the gas, and we fishtailed over the ice in her expensive little car before regaining traction. She blew past the next street with a menacing frown.
“What are you doing?” I yelled, gripping the dashboard to steady myself.
“Everly!” Wyatt’s voice boomed through the phone’s speaker at my ear. “She’s that kid’s sister,” he said. “The guy who fell from the cliff. He wasn’t alone that day. He was with his little sister. Janie Boyles.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
I turned slowly to look at Janie, her thick brown waves spilling over her shoulder. She had the face of a cherub. Could she also have the heart of a killer?
Could she really be Janie Boyles?
My heartbeat hitched and ice shimmied down my spine as the truth of it settled in. Janie had means and motive. She had access to Aunt Fran, to the red paint, the gnomes, me. She wanted Aunt Fran in office to make a change. To toss Mayor Dunfree out. To bring justice into town for her brother.
I dragged my attention away from her before she noticed me staring and saw through my barely veiled horror. “I’m with her now,” I told Wyatt as calmly as possible. “We’re getting some of my things, then heading back to the hospital to pick up my aunts. I’m staying with them tonight, and Grady’s going to assign us a protective detail.”
Wyatt swore. “That’s no good. You’ve got to get away from her. What if she’s the killer?”
“Yes,” I said. “Exactly. You should come by and see us. We’re on Ocean Drive now, but we missed the turn. We’ll be there soon.”
Janie’s arm flashed out in my direction and pain crashed through my head as it collided with the passenger side window. She tangled her fingers into my hair and gave me another hard shove for good measure. A distinct cracking sound ricocheted around my skull with the second impact.
“Everly!” Wyatt screamed, but my eyes had shut with the pain. Confusion scrambled my thoughts.
I peeled one lid open to gather my wits, and a smear of blood came into view, clinging to the window at my side. Something warm trickled slowly down my face. “Wyatt?” I asked, unclear what was happening or where he’d gone. “I’m bleeding.”
I touched a cautious fingertip to the source of the pain and winced. My phone fell onto the floorboards. My finger came away dark with blood.
Janie jammed the brakes, and the car slid sideways on the empty road.
Outside there were only trees and frozen grasses
followed by endless beach and sea to the horizon. We were headed for the maritime forest. Heading for the bluffs.
She leaned across my legs and snatched the cell phone away from my feet, then threw it out her window with a grunt. “I hate this unholy town,” she said, jamming the shifter back into gear and tearing down the road.
My spinning head collided with the seat back and another flash of pain locked my teeth together.
The world went dark.
* * *
The earth bounced and pitched beneath me. I opened my eyelids to half-mast, unsure how much time had passed or where I was. My head and neck ached, blood rushed and whooshed in my ears. My stomach revolted with every tiny movement.
Janie turned to me. Her perfect face pinched in anger. “I came here to get peace about what happened to my brother. Your Aunt Fran was supposed to help me. She was supposed to be the change this town needs!”
I closed my eyes against her scream, trying and failing to thwart the nausea. “I think you gave me a concussion.”
“Poor little island princess,” she taunted, “you got a headache. So what? My brother is dead!”
I lifted my hands to my ears, protecting them against her suddenly screeching voice. My stomach didn’t approve of the movement, but I couldn’t bring myself to care if I puked in her car. Janie had already made me bleed on her window, and had clearly lost her mind. “You wanted Aunt Fran to fix the town, but you just tried to kill her in a fire, and you framed her for murder. It doesn’t make any sense.”
“It wasn’t my fault she stormed out of your party at the worst possible time and found the mayor in the snow. She set herself up for speculation the minute she picked up his murder weapon with her bare hands. I’ve been trying to redirect suspicions to the CFC ever since, but this town never lets anything go. I made them out to be the bad guys. I made the CFC threaten Fran. What else could I do?”
I rolled my head against the seat back, eyes squinted in pain. “You planted his cell phone in her apron. You set her up.”
