CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
* * *
The five-gallon bug sprayer was perfect for the job. He screwed off the top, pulled the sprayer cord out, and dropped in the funnel he’d brought. Then, careful not to spill any, he poured the gasoline out of the can with the “J.R.’s Auto Repair” logo on the side. That should be enough gas, he thought, checking his watch. It was after midnight. Lynda should be asleep by now since it was her first day home from the hospital. She was probably zonked out, what with those internal injuries and those painful broken ribs. She should thank him for putting her out of her misery.
He loaded the bug sprayer and the empty gas can into his car and drove across town to Lynda’s house; he had located it days ago by simply looking up the address in the phone book. Turning down the exclusive street lined with groomed palm trees and extravagant homes, he did a drive-by, checking out the lights in the neighbors’ houses, making sure there were no late-night walkers, no dogs liable to bark, no policemen staked out in parked cars.
He slowed when he reached Lynda’s house, a two story Tudor style that reminded him of a miniature castle, and he thought how ironic that she had that whole house to herself when there were entire families living out of cars. She deserved whatever he gave her.
And it looked like the perfect night. No lights had been left on. The garage door was closed, and even the porch light was off. It would be easy to steal through the shadows and do what he had to do.
He drove the car around the block and parked at a vacant lot he’d found earlier. Quietly, he got out, pulled the empty gas can and the sprayer full of gasoline out with him, and cut through the trees separating the yards.
Her backyard was the third from the vacant lot. He slipped into her yard and saw the deck that would be the first to ignite. Quietly, he laid the empty gas can in the grass, close enough to the house to be found later but far enough away to escape harm. Stealing closer to the house, he began pumping the trigger on the sprayer and doused the side of the deck with gas.
The fumes reached his nostrils, satisfying him, and when he finished the deck, he ran a stream along the walls of the house, then turned up the side between the house and the garage, and kept spraying.
He sprayed until he ran out of fuel, and still there was no sign that Lynda had awakened. It was all falling perfectly into place.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the matches he’d brought. All he had to do now was light it.
And then his problems would go up in flames.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
* * *
Across the street, Curtis McMillan, an eighty-year-old retired judge, awoke from a sound sleep. It happened more and more often these days, this middle-of-the-night wake-up call, when he knew that going back to sleep would be next to impossible.
Careful not to wake Lizzie, who didn’t have that problem and had slept like a baby since he’d met her his senior year of high school, he reached for his robe and slippers and padded into the kitchen.
Without turning on the light, he got a glass out of the cabinet and scuffed to the sink for water. Next to the sink were his glasses; shoving them on with his free hand, he brought the glass of water to his lips.
His eyes focused on the night outside the window and the shadows of windblown trees dancing on Lynda Barrett’s house across the street. Poor woman, he thought. Bless her soul. He hoped she was recovering quickly and would be home soon. The crash was such a tragedy.
He set the glass down and started to head toward the den to see if any late-night movies worth watching were on, but as he turned, a movement outside caught his eye.
It was different from the shadows of trees. It moved more deliberately, more methodically, and he cupped his hands on the glass and peered out more earnestly.
It was a prowler, he thought, someone trying to break into Lynda’s house.
His heart began pounding, as if he’d climbed that flight of stairs at the courthouse, and calling out, “Lizzie!” he reached for the phone.
He heard his wife stirring as he punched out 911. Just as the dispatcher answered, the perimeter of the house went up in flames, draping the walls like neon paint.
And he couldn’t see the prowler any more.
By now, Lizzie was in the kitchen, and the dispatcher was waiting.
“It’s a fire at 422 West Evan Street,” Curtis blurted, and Lizzie looked quickly out the window and threw her hand over her mouth. “It’s arson,” he said. “I saw a prowler, and then it went up in flames.”
“Oh, Curtis!” Lizzie shouted.
“It’s okay,” he said then to both the dispatcher and his wife. “Thank God nobody’s home.”
Lynda rested more soundly that night than she had since her plane crashed, tucked in her own bed on the second floor of her own home. The soft percale sheets on her queen-sized bed were a wonderful contrast to the hospital sheets, and as she snuggled down under her Laura Ashley comforter, she felt welcomed by the items around her she had grown to love: the antique furniture she had collected a piece at a time, the finely crafted vases with silk flower arrangements, the oriental rug on her hardwood floor, the small baskets of potpourri scattered around the room, and her favorite art hung in strategic places on her papered walls.
She had worked hard for these comforts, and as she slipped into the depths of sleep, she had a sweet contentment that all would be well.
But sometime just after midnight, a whining sound outside startled her. Disoriented, she sat up, looking around, hearing it more clearly. A siren . . . no, two or three sirens, right here on her street. She scrambled out of bed, but the moment her feet touched the floor she felt the heat and caught the faint smell of smoke.
“Paige!” Grabbing the pillow from her bed and holding it to her face, she ran down the hall to the guest bedroom where mother and daughter slept. “Paige, get up! There’s a fire!”
Paige sat up and rubbed her eyes. “What?”
“The house is on fire! Get Brianna!”
As though a light had come on in her brain, Paige grabbed the child and began to cough. The smoke was more dense on this side of the house; Lynda was choking on it as well. Grabbing another pillow and wrestling it out of its case, she tossed the case at Paige. “Here, cover Brianna’s face with this!”
“The floor’s hot!” Paige shouted, and Brianna started to cry.
“We’ve got to get out!” Lynda cried as Paige followed her into the hall.
Lynda reached the top of the stairs in a half-dozen frantic strides then immediately jumped back; long, reaching flames were climbing the carpeted stairs and lapping against the wall. “We’ll have to go out the window!” she shouted, pushing them toward the other end of the second floor. “Hurry, before the floor collapses!”
Two of the windows they passed were engulfed in flames from the outside, but at the far end of the house, the flames hadn’t yet taken hold. Lynda threw open the window. “Climb out there on the roof. Hurry!”
Brianna’s screams went up two octaves as she saw the flames licking their way up the side of the house. But holding her tightly, with the pillowcase pressed over the child’s face, Paige climbed out and ran to the edge of the roof. Lynda followed her, ignoring the pain shooting through her ribs, pulling at her stitches, but she couldn’t fight the dizziness beginning to take hold.
“How will we get down?” Paige screamed.
Only then did Lynda see the flashing lights of three fire trucks in front of her house. Someone shouted, “There’s someone on the roof!”
In seconds, a ladder had been elevated to lift them down, out of the grasping hands of the flames.
They hadn’t even reached the ground when the roof they’d been standing on caved in.
And so did Lynda. Covering her face in horror, she got off of the ladder and slid down to sit in the dirt, watching through her fingers as her house and everything she owned surrendered to the fire.
Brianna’s wailing only echoed what was in Lynda’s ow
n heart as paramedics rushed to examine them. Lynda was just too tired and too stunned to express it herself.
“I’m so sorry, Lynda,” a voice said above her as the paramedics put her on oxygen. She looked up into the troubled eyes of Curtis McMillan from across the street, who stood over her in his slippers and robe. “I didn’t know you were home! I thought you were still in the hospital—I should have checked. I should have called.”
She pulled the oxygen mask away from her face. “What are you talking about?”
“I woke up around midnight and happened to look out the window. I saw him start the fire, so I called the police, but I told them you weren’t in there. I didn’t know—”
“Wait a minute,” she said. “You saw someone start the fire?”
“Yes,” he said. “I thought it was a prowler at first. He was sneaking around your house, and the minute I had 911 on the phone, I saw him light it. The house went up in flames, but I didn’t even check to see if you were in there.”
“Did he go into the house, Judge?” she asked in a shocked whisper.
“I didn’t see it if he did. But he must have doused it with gas because the fire caught instantly and circled the house—”
The paramedics were checking her vitals, prodding under her clothes, checking her incisions and her ribs. Impatiently, she shoved them away and got to her feet. “Judge, did you see his face? The color of his hair?”
The old man shook his head with distraught frustration. “He was more or less just a shadow. I only saw him for a second.”
Smoke fell like a cloud around them as the flames devoured her house. Waving it away so she could breathe, she grabbed the old judge’s arm. “I have to talk to the police,” she told the frustrated paramedics. “I’m fine, really. Just let me go.”
“But you probably need to go to the hospital! You need to be examined at least!” one of them said.
“In a minute,” she said.
Lynda pulled the judge toward one of the trucks to find someone in authority. But as she did, she saw a car approaching, and Tony Danks and Larry Millsaps got out.
Still pulling the judge behind her, she met them at the car. “It was arson!” she blurted before they could even get out. “This is Judge Curtis McMillan, my neighbor. He saw the man who did it.”
Larry shook the man’s hand then somberly studied the house. “Thank God you got out.”
“Only because he called.” Lynda’s face glowed with the orange reflection of the inferno as she gazed back at it. “He called 911. The sirens woke me up.” Turning back to Larry, she said, “It’s official now. Someone’s trying to kill me.”
Larry opened his arms and she collapsed against him, crying out her rage and terror as everything she loved burned down behind her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
* * *
So what’s next?” Lynda’s voice was weary as she looked across Curtis’s kitchen table to the two detectives who had spent the last hour questioning the old couple.
“We follow up on the leads we’ve got until we apprehend the right person,” Tony said.
“You don’t have any leads,” she said in a hoarse voice. “You don’t really have a clue who he is, do you?”
Larry leaned forward on the table, meeting her eyes directly. “Here’s what we know, Lynda. It’s probably a man, between five feet eight and five feet ten, around 180 pounds. We know that he has at least a working knowledge of airplanes—”
“And we have the gas can he used with the name of an auto repair shop on it, even though he didn’t leave any fingerprints.”
“And you know he wants me dead.”
“Yes,” Tony admitted. “That does seem to be his goal. Now all we have to do is find someone with a motive. We still need your help for that.”
But Lynda couldn’t help. Wearily, she got up and went to the same window through which Curtis had seen her house catch fire, and she peered at the smoldering pile of rubble that had once been such a source of pride. Next to the pile the garage still stood, unscathed except for the black scars from the fire that had just begun to penetrate the structure when the fire trucks arrived. Lizzie, who had been tending to a fresh pot of coffee, slid her arm around Lynda. “It’ll be all right, honey. These young men aren’t going to let anything happen to you.”
Lynda didn’t respond. Instead, she ambled into the living room where Paige and Brianna sat in a rocking chair. Brianna was asleep, and Paige’s smoke-stained face looked numb with shock as she leaned her chin against her daughter’s head and stared blankly in front of her.
“Well, I guess the thing to do now is figure out where we’re going to go,” Lynda said. “At least our cars survived.”
“I was just thinking how glad I am that we did,” Paige whispered, bringing her dull eyes back to Lynda’s.
Lynda shook her head, feeling gently—and, she was sure, unintentionally—reproved. What were her lost treasures compared to her life? And Brianna’s? “You’re right. Once again for some reason, God spared us.”
Lizzie squeezed Lynda’s shoulder again. “Honey, I’ve already made up the guest rooms for you. You’re going to stay here tonight, all three of you.”
“No, Lizzie. That’s sweet of you, but I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
Her face reddened, and she hugged herself as a shiver ran through her. “Someone’s trying to kill me,” she said. “I’m not safe. And if I’m in your house, you’re not safe. I shouldn’t even be here now.”
Lizzie’s eyes drifted to her husband’s. Curtis took the baton. “Lynda, don’t you think you’re safe enough tonight? I mean, he wouldn’t dare come back, and besides, how would he know you were here?”
“It’s okay,” she said, waving off the questions. “I’ve got an idea. I still have my father’s house on the other side of town. I’ve been trying to sell it, but I’ll just have to live there until I can rebuild. It should be safe. Only a few people even know I have that house. If I don’t tell anyone where I am . . .” She met Paige’s eyes, and saw the despair on her face, the indecision. “Paige, I know you won’t want to come with me, but I can give you some money so you can get by until he’s caught. You could stay here or get a hotel—”
As if she’d spent the last hour holding them back with a paper-thin wall of resolve, Paige’s eyes filled with tears. “Maybe I should just take my chances and go home.”
“No,” Lynda insisted. “You can’t. Paige, we’ve come this far. Don’t let this make you drop your guard.”
Paige pinched the bridge of her nose and tried to steady her voice. “I can’t keep taking your money, Lynda. I’ve got to start handling things myself.”
“Not until after we go to court, you don’t.” Lynda stooped in front of her, making Paige meet her eyes. “I know this was traumatic tonight, but don’t give up just because some lunatic is out to get me. That has nothing to do with you.”
Larry, who had been jotting notes on a pad, looked up at Paige. “What do you mean, take your chances? What’s the risk in going home?”
“My ex-husband.” Paige swallowed, and a tear dropped from her cheek onto the top of Brianna’s head. “He’s abusive, and he’s suing me for custody of Brianna. Lynda’s representing me.”
“She’s not safe at home,” Lynda cut in. “Despite our restraining order, he’s tried to take Brianna, and he’s broken into her house. That’s why she’s staying with me.”
“I see.” Frowning, he got up and paced across the kitchen. “And you don’t have anyone else you can stay with?”
Paige shook her head. “My family is in Arizona. But the judge ordered me to stay in town until this court thing is settled.”
Tony frowned and stared thoughtfully at Paige, as though flipping through possibilities in his mind. But it was Larry who had the solution. “Listen, Lynda, what if I guaranteed that we’ll have someone guarding your father’s house, at least for the next couple of days? That way Paige and Brianna could go with you, and
you could feel safe. If it isn’t common knowledge that you have that house, chances are you’d be okay there anyway.”
Lynda was skeptical. “Larry, I know how the police department works. They’re not going to waste a man guarding me twenty-four hours a day.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Larry promised. “Even if Tony and I have to take turns on our off-hours, I know I can at least get them to agree to somebody the rest of the time.”
Lynda glanced at Tony, who was gaping at Larry, but Larry ignored him. “You both need protecting. You might as well be in the same place so we can kill two birds with one stone.”
Lynda smirked. “Somehow that cliché isn’t very comforting to me right now.”
“Sorry,” Larry smiled. “So what do you say?”
Lynda turned her worried eyes back to Paige. “Paige, this is up to you. I can’t ask you to put your life and your daughter’s life in jeopardy to stay with me.”
The turmoil on Paige’s face told Lynda what a struggle this was. Then Paige wiped her eyes and settled her troubled gaze on Lynda. “Who’ll take care of you if I’m not there? I promised. You just got out of the hospital. The doctor said—”
“Paige, I’ll be fine. For heaven’s sake, I just scaled the roof and got out of a burning house. I can take care of myself. I’ve done it for a long time.”
Paige dropped her head back on the chair. “This nightmare just keeps getting worse.”
They waited for her decision, not prodding her, and finally, she took a deep breath and tried to steady her voice. “I guess we’ll stay in a hotel. But . . . I swear I’ll pay you back someday, Lynda. I know it’s hard to believe, but—”
“It’s not hard to believe, Paige. But I don’t care about the money right now. That’s not important.”
“I feel like I’m letting you down or taking advantage of you, and you’ve been so nice to me.”
Stooping down in front of the rocking chair, Lynda stroked Brianna’s sleeping head. “You aren’t letting me down, Paige,” she said softly. “You’re protecting your daughter. I think you’ve made the right decision. And when they catch this guy, you can stay with me again.”
Evidence of Mercy Page 12
