by Amy Vansant
Charlotte nodded. “Seems like it.”
They returned to the Jeep and a minute later Declan pulled into Charlotte’s driveway. He saw Abby’s head rise into the window, her nub of tail wagging. Every time he drove up Abby shot to Charlotte’s bed to get a view, if she wasn’t napping there already, and just popped up like a puppet. When he headed for the front door, the dog ran to be sure she’d be stationed inside like a Walmart greeter.
Charlotte opened her front door and stooped to pet Abby, sneaking a glance at her watch as she moved.
He smiled. “Should we stay here tonight?”
She straightened, relief radiating from her like a magical aura.
“Could we? I didn’t think about the things I have to pack for Abby and, to be honest, I didn’t really get to me yet either. If I rush I know I’ll forget something.”
“It’s late. And the storm won’t hit until tomorrow. No hurry.”
She hugged him, he suspected half out of affection and half because she wanted to rest her head on his chest and close her eyes. He didn’t mind. He slid his hand up her back to pull her close to him.
“I love that I never have to watch the weather with you around,” she mumbled.
“I know that’s all I am to you. A weatherman.”
She nodded. “That, and I get the friends and family discount at the Hock o’Bell.”
He chuckled. “I feel so used.”
***
By the time Declan finished brushing his teeth, Charlotte was asleep, Abby pressed against her, the dog’s long legs stretched like crime tape across any spot he might have found to lie down.
It didn’t matter. He felt wired, and imagined sleep would take work. Still dressed, he went outside and wandered to the end of Charlotte’s driveway, looking left and right down the road. A quiet had settled over Pineapple Port, small lamp posts and dim solar path lights the only illumination. The wind picked up, but the rain stayed at bay.
He hadn’t jogged in a while, much preferring swimming as a daily exercise, but with so many of the neighborhoods represented at the Five Families table close by, he thought he’d take a quick jog through them. He could be back in an hour and never be more than ten minutes from Charlotte’s door. Hopefully, the exercise would make it easier to sleep.
It couldn’t hurt.
Declan retrieved a bag of spare clothes he kept in his Jeep. Changing into running shoes, athletic shorts and a sweat-wicking top, he locked Charlotte’s door and started down the road, scanning between houses and down roads.
I forgot how much I hate jogging.
His back felt stiff.
Having a serial killer after you and your girlfriend can do that to a back.
He glanced down each street, not sure what he was looking for, but hoping he’d know it when he saw it.
Too bad Jamie drowned her car.
It had been an advantage, knowing the color and general make of her vehicle. By now, she’d have secured herself something new.
He looped through Pineapple Port and crossed the street into Silver Lake.
He had to admit, Silver Lake was definitely more upscale.
Point to Penny’s sister.
By the time he’d finished the second neighborhood, he knew he wanted to quit. He headed back across the street toward Pineapple Port as fire truck sirens wailed in the distance.
He didn’t think much about the sirens, until he spotted an orange glow coming from somewhere inside Pineapple Port.
Somewhere in the direction of Charlotte’s house.
Declan broke into a sprint.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Charlotte’s eyes popped open to stare at the glowing red numbers on her ceiling, where her tiny projection clock displayed the time. Seeing the hour without having to turn her head to look at a clock was one of her greatest guilty pleasures.
Ten forty-five.
She rolled over and poked at her pillow, attempting to shape it into the perfect headrest.
Ugh. I haven’t even been asleep that long.
Abby grunted, irritated to be awoken by movement, and Charlotte heard a thump as the dog jump to the floor. Abby rarely got so angry she left the bed.
I must have shaken her out of a treat dream.
Charlotte squeezed her eyes shut and tried to will herself back to sleep, but her mind felt as though it had already left the bed and made itself a cup of coffee.
Stupid brain.
Her racing thoughts grabbed onto a thread and started pulling, her whole sleep sweater slowly unraveling. She pictured Ted at the bottom of the ladder, the stained brick in the back yard, the generator in the golf course home, Declan speeding after Jamie—
Declan.
Charlotte’s eyes popped open again.
Didn’t Declan spend the night?
She glanced up at the clock projection again.
Eleven-fifteen, a little farther along than she expected.
Hm. I must have drifted off again, after all.
She moved a foot, surprised to find it free to slide around.
Weird.
As a rule, the heavy chunk of fur known as Abby would block any movement, pushing her feet toward her chin, if not off the bed.
Two missing in action.
Where are Abby and Declan?
Did he decide to go home, after all? She didn’t remember much after crawling into bed. Did he sleep in the living room and maybe Abby went to keep him company—
She heard a noise somewhere in the direction of the kitchen. A whining noise, only for a second, and then again and again.
That has to be Declan. But what is he doing?
The noise sounded like a drill.
She sniffed.
What’s that smell?
Something smelled like a campfire hotdog. From the bedroom Abby barked, the sharp crack of her baritone making Charlotte jump to a sitting position.
Abby barked again, and Charlotte felt a jolt of adrenaline dump into her bloodstream. She spotted the dog sitting behind her closed bedroom door.
Maybe Declan closed it on his way to watch television?
Abby dug at the floor, making it clear she wanted out.
“What’s wrong?”
Charlotte caught a whiff of the strange smoky smell again. Throwing her legs over the bed, she saw a glow beneath her bedroom door. Not a bright white light, like a bulb, but yellow-orange. And not steady like electric light, but dancing, more like a...
Fire.
Sleep stupor stripped away from her brain like a Band-Aid. Charlotte leapt from the bed and pushed in front of Abby, sliding the dog back with her leg. Placing a palm on the door, she felt for heat.
Nothing.
Easing back the knob, she peered into the hall, careful not to let the dog out. Instead of seeing the pathway leading into her living room, a wall of flames raged back, rising from what looked like a tall pile of clothes on the ground. The smell of gasoline assaulted her nostrils and she slammed shut the door.
Not that way.
She didn’t want to risk trying to run through the burning material. She couldn’t know how deep it went or what awaited on the opposite side. The whole living room could be in flames.
Adrenaline caused her body to quiver with energy directed nowhere in particular.
Calm down. Think. What do I know?
She didn’t know anything except she hadn’t left a pile of clothes in the hall. That meant someone else piled them there and set them on fire.
Someone was trying to kill her.
The wild card responsible for the fire could have set any number of other traps.
She whirled and, nearly tripping over Abby, ran into her en-suite bathroom.
“Declan?”
Empty.
Where was Declan? Was he out there, somewhere, trapped in her burning home? Had he tried to stop the firestarter, only to be overcome?
Abby followed her into the bathroom, barking staccato bursts at her.
“I know, I k
now. Window. Let’s get you out.”
Charlotte dodged around the dog to move to the window beside her bed. She flipped the lock on top and jerked it upward.
It didn’t budge.
Shocked, she gasped only to find herself in a coughing fit. The smoke snaking into her room from beneath the door had thickened. Changing her position to gain more leverage, she tried the window again, groaning with effort.
It resisted.
Must be painted shut. Other window.
Rolling over her bed to the other side, she tried the opposite window to find it stuck as well.
How?
Abby’s barking became more persistent.
Right. No time to speculate.
Spotting her charging cell phone on her bedstand, she grabbed it to call 911. She hesitated. She’d called 911 once before when one of her neighbors fell, and had been shocked at how long it took to get someone moving. She didn’t have time to get into a conversation and she needed help now.
Abandoning 911, she called Mariska, who picked up after one ring. For once, Mariska’s insomnia was a godsend—at least for her.
“My house is on fire and I’m trapped inside. Get help.”
“What? Oh Charlotte!” was all she heard as she tossed the phone on the bed.
One thing at a time. One more window to try.
She bolted into her bathroom to find its small window stuck as well.
“Why?” she screamed.
The air felt cleaner in the bathroom and she realized her bedroom would soon be a smoke-filled deathtrap.
Stop the smoke.
Grabbing a towel, she held it under the bath tap and stuffed it underneath her bedroom door to keep the smoke and carbon monoxide at bay.
A wet towel wouldn’t help her once flames engulfed the room, but it would buy her some time. Maybe she and Abby could crawl into the tub...
No. It couldn’t come to that. She had to find something she could use to break the windows and get out.
Charlotte made a full three-sixty, searching for something heavy enough to break the windows. She didn’t keep crowbars and battering rams in her room.
But I will, after this.
Her gaze fell on a gold and red-felted trophy she’d won as second runner up Little Miss Charity when she was eight. She kept it displayed to joke it was the moment her life peaked.
If I don’t get out of this house, it might turn out I was more right than I knew.
The trophy’s flimsy plastic stem wouldn’t be any help, but the heavy marble base seemed perfect.
Charlotte dove for the trophy. Holding the top, she swung the base at the window. Her wrist barked with pain as the marble tore from the trophy and bounced toward her head.
She yelped and ducked to avoid being knocked unconscious. The chunk of polished stone flew past Abby and rolled across the ground to come to rest against the door.
Charlotte looked at the broken piece of plastic in her hand.
Junky piece of—
Oh no.
She hadn’t been truly worried until that moment.
I have impact-resistant windows.
‘Strong enough to stop a bullet,’ the salesman had bragged. At the time, that seemed like a good idea for keeping things from breaking in.
Stupid hurricanes!
Breaking the glass wouldn’t be easy. She had to try and open them again.
Finding leverage, Charlotte strained against the window until her breath left her.
Falling back against the bed, she squeezed her hands into fists and threw back her head to scream.
“Why?”
Abby jumped up and frantically licked her face. She pulled the dog to her, mumbling against her soft ear.
“I’ll get us out, sweetie. Don’t worry. I’ll wrap us in wet towels and we’ll run—”
Something banged on the window she’d been trying to open and she sprang to her feet.
“Charlotte!”
She knew that voice.
Declan!
She ran to place her hands on the glass, screaming. “The windows are stuck!”
Declan ran to the front door and disappeared inside.
That meant he could get into the living room. Maybe he could make it to the kitchen.
I have a fire extinguisher under the kitchen sink.
They’d never sat around discussing fire safety.
Does he know I have a fire extinguisher?
She ran to the door hoping to scream the information to him, but found the knob warm to the touch. Terrified to open it, she screamed as loud as she could.
“Under the kitchen sink!”
She hadn’t looked at that extinguisher in years. They’d be lucky if it still worked.
Still trying to work out how old the extinguisher might be, her ears picked up the whooshing noise fire extinguishers made in movies.
He found it!
She jerked the towel from under the door and took a few steps back to wrap her arms around Abby’s barrel chest.
From the opposite side of the door she heard Declan scream.
“I’m coming through!”
He sounded close.
Charlotte jerked the dog off the bed as the door burst open and bounced on the opposite wall.
“Don’t touch the knob, it’s hot.” Declan stepped into the room, appearing from a cloud of smoke like a rock god.
Charlotte felt her eyes fill with tears, unsure if they’d been spawned by irritation or relief. She guessed a little of both.
She smiled, feeling shaky. “Am I glad to see you.”
Deep in an all-business mode she’d seen him adopt only once or twice before, Declan declined to share one of his reassuring smiles. Instead, he looked down at her bare feet and held out his arms. “Fire’s out but the hall’s full of embers. Put on shoes. Give me Abby.”
She handed over the dog and Declan disappeared into the wall of smoke. Before she could slip into her second sneaker, he returned. Without a word, he scooped her into his arms.
“Whoop!” she yelped, caught off guard.
He carried her over the smoldering pile of clothes and into the front yard as the fire truck pulled up. Mariska and Bob stood in her driveway, Bob holding Abby by her collar.
Declan set Charlotte on her feet and she put a hand against him to steady herself. Her legs felt weak. For the first time she noticed he wore running clothes, his red tank singed and blackened with soot.
“Thank you,” she said.
Declan took a deep breath and hugged her to him. “What happened?”
“I don’t know. I woke up to a burning pile of clothes in the hallway blocking my way. The windows were painted shut.”
Declan shook his head. “Not painted. Nailed.”
She pulled out of his embrace to gawk at him. “What?”
“Someone nailed them shut.”
“When?” she said, even as it occurred to her it could have been any time. She never opened her bedroom windows, preferring more reliable air-conditioning.
Mariska threw her arms around her neck. “Oh, Charlotte, I was so scared.”
“What happened?” asked Bob.
Charlotte let Mariska finish her hug and then wiped at her own irritated, weeping eyes. “There was a pile of burning clothes outside my bedroom door.”
Mariska’s eyes popped wide. “Your laundry caught fire?”
Charlotte laughed. “They weren’t my clothes. I don’t think someone could have emptied my drawers without Abby waking up.”
“But they were able to set the fire without her waking up,” grumbled Bob, looking down at the dog. Abby yawned and slid down to the ground, tongue lolling. She didn’t seem concerned over the prospect of losing her job for poor performance.
Charlotte found herself overwhelmed with love for the dog she’d been almost unable to save and squatted to press Abby’s head against her own. “We’re going to have to talk about your watch dog skills, missy.”
“I don’t understand. Where d
id the clothes come from?” asked Mariska.
Declan brushed soot off his nose and mumbled his answer. “Someone tried to kill her.”
“Us,” corrected Charlotte.
He nodded. “Or they saw me leave.”
“Where did you go?”
“I couldn’t sleep and went for a run. I never dreamed—”
Their neighbor and local fire chief, ‘Mac’ MacBrady, strode over and took off his helmet. “Well, that was exciting.”
“Please tell me you didn’t fill my house with water,” said Charlotte.
Mac took off his hat. “We raked out the clothes. Looks like someone put out the main fire before we had to sic the big hoses on it.”
“That would be the guy with only one leg of hair,” said Charlotte. From her position squatting next to the dog, she could see singed hair nubs on Declan’s right leg.
He looked down. “Hm.”
Mac reached inside a large pocket on his yellow jacket and pulled out a misshapen red hunk. It smelled vaguely Christmassy even over the smoke. “Why were you burning a candle next to a giant pile of clothing?”
“I wasn’t. This isn’t my candle.” Charlotte gawked at him. “Did it look like an accident?”
Mac shook his head. “No, not really. Giant pile of clothes in the hall, and it looks like an accelerant was used—”
Declan interrupted. “There was something else. Two by fours. Blocking the end of the hall.”
Mac scowled. “I saw those on the ground. You’re saying they were across the hall?”
Declan nodded. “I almost ran into them. I pulled them off, but it wasn’t easy. They were screwed into the wall, about head and chest high.”
“Screwed?” Charlotte remembered the sound of what she’d thought was Declan drilling something and gaped in horror. She’d been ready to throw a wet towel over her head and run down the hall with Abby in her arms. If she’d hit those two by fours she would have bounced back into the pile of burning clothes...
She felt the blood drain from her face.
“That doesn’t sound like an accident,” muttered Mac. “But if the whole house had burned down—”
“They might have been just another piece of charred wood. No one would have known.”
Charlotte spotted Frank and Darla hustling toward them and realized one person was missing.
“We have to find Gloria.”
