Cinders

by Asha King

  Crates were still stacked off to the side, several of them empty and the rest containing the shop’s usual ordered stock. Usually the crates were stored in the small cold cellar beneath the shop until they could be returned to their supplier when new stock was dropped off. Odd, she thought, that Maureen had just left them, but then Gina did most of the work—it was possible it didn’t occur to her stepfamily to put them away. Gina glanced through them, not finding anything out of the ordinary. She knew the suppliers and did most of the ordering—all Maureen ever needed to do was sign off on them.

  With nothing looking odd there, Gina moved on to the counter, scanning for anything out of place. Maureen and her daughters would’ve had primary shop duty the past two days but Gina had done the baking for them ahead of time and so none of them had a reason to be back there using supplies. Countertops were polished, sink was clean...

  She paused by the sink and felt the cloth hanging over the faucet. Still damp. Not soaking, it hadn’t been used within the hour, but definitely sometime after the shop had closed for the day.

  Next she checked the cupboards, finding everything neatly put away and where it should be. The pantry was stocked with the usual, and then her gaze settled on the jar of shaved almonds, heart beating a bit harder at the sight. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d used them so it was difficult to say if any were missing.

  The adjoining cupboard was also orderly and clean. Near the front sat the mortar and pestle. Gina frowned at the sight—normally it was back a little further, she thought. She lifted it from the cupboard and a droplet of water struck the countertop. Though it had been dried, it must’ve been done in a hurry and set back in the cupboard with dishwater still on the bottom.

  She did it. She ground up almonds and somehow slipped them into the mayor’s dessert.

  It was absurd, preposterous, at least to anyone who didn’t know her stepmother. But Gina had no doubt the woman was capable of it and vindictive enough to do so.

  Signs of doing dishes and an uncharacteristically damp mortar and pestle were hardly a smoking gun, however. If Maureen had any actual evidence on her, surely she would’ve gotten rid of it. Maybe it wasn’t worth trying to prove, not when Mike had already found enough evidence of other wrongdoing to at least get Gina’s bakery back and possibly get her stepmother charged with fraud. Maybe after the truth of everything finally came out, it might be enough to sway the McMillans from promised legal action even without actual proof.

  Maybe it wouldn’t.

  Regardless, the woman had beaten, lied to, mistreated, and even framed Gina. She’d made her life hell since even before her father died and she was officially putting a stop to it.

  Tonight.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Gina left her purse on the lower step as she stepped into the dark front hall. The alarm by the door chirped quietly with her entry and she punched in the code. The big house was silent and still but more eerily napping than slumbering, like if she made too much noise it might wake and eat her whole.

  Barefoot, she ghosted up the main staircase. Nothing sounded above, no indication anyone was awake if they were even home. It wouldn’t have surprised her if Tamara and Tatum were gone for the night but where would Maureen go after midnight?

  When she encountered no one, not even a sign of someone else’s presence, Gina continued straight for her attic bedroom. She didn’t have much she wished to keep, especially not with so much of her mother’s things gone now and nothing of her father’s that Maureen would let her leave with, but at the very least she needed clothes.

  An old wide shopping bag, brown paper with a twine handle she’d brought home clothes from the Sally Ann in once, hung on the back of her doorknob, and that she grabbed immediately and then began clearing out her dresser drawers. Enough clothes for a week, including underthings. Her toiletries, which she brought up and down the stairs with her every morning rather than leave them cluttering the bathroom against Maureen’s wishes. Shoes. A couple of old paperback books and some photos she’d saved over the years of her parents.

  Her whole life fit in one big paper bag.

  With everything she wanted packed, Gina took another look around the room that had been her home for over a decade. In truth, she felt nothing for it. No sense of nostalgia, no sadness for anything she was leaving behind. This house hadn’t actually been her home in all these years, not since her dad died, and she knew, then, that he had been her home. Her family. This was just a pile of bricks she no longer felt any attachment to.

  She swung around, already stepping toward the bedroom door, when she let out a yelp of surprise at the sight of a figure in her doorway.

  Maureen stood there calmly, no longer dressed in the gown from the party but a long housecoat snuggly knotted at her narrow waist. Her hair was still pinned back severely, jewelry still glittered at her throat and dangling from her ears. She passed a cold, critical look over Gina, and then gave her a chilly smile. “Running away from home?”

  “Moving on with my life,” Gina spat back at her.

  “Running is probably the best option. Oh, but you missed the commotion earlier, didn’t you? Seems you nearly killed one of Midsummer’s elite. Such a shame. Never would’ve happened in my kitchen.”

  Gina tried—and failed—to get her temper under wraps when all she wanted to do was claw the woman’s eyes out. “I know that you did it to frame me. Let’s not even pretend anymore. I have no idea why you hate me so much, or what I ever could’ve done to you—I was a child, for God’s sake—but this ends now. Right this moment. I am leaving this house and you for good.”

  None of it fazed Maureen, whose expression hadn’t changed. “Shacking up with your rich boyfriend—now there’s a bold life choice. Enjoy it while it lasts, child.”

  And she couldn’t stop herself from biting her tongue this time. “You think that’s what this is? I know what you’ve done. All your dirty little highly illegal secrets. This is it for you. I hope you enjoy prison. Maybe the girls will visit.” Clutching her bag, Gina started forward, ready to push her way past if she had to.

  She paused just before Maureen, whose smile had fallen and eyes narrowed, the telltale tightening of her hand into a fist suggesting violence was imminent.

  “Try it,” Gina dared her. “Add assault to the list of charges.”

  Maureen glared at her but took a step back, giving enough room in the doorway for Gina to pass.

  A small surge of pride rushed through Gina, feeling as if somewhere, somehow, both her parents knew and were proud of her.

  The paper bag, weighted with her clothing and items, bounced between her legs and the wall as she started down the narrow staircase.

  Then a force hit her from behind, too fast for her to look back and see. Gina lost her balance and tumbled forward, the sight of the stairs growing closer as she pitched down. Pain lanced through her with the first few collisions and then her vision darkened and awareness left her completely.

  ****

  Brennen swung his Mustang by Gina’s house but found it dark, no lights in any of the windows. He’d checked with all the drivers and the one who’d taken her from the house said something about dropping her off in Midsummer, not anywhere in particular. He didn’t think she’d go home, not to her stepmother, but he’d also found the bakery dark when he checked there too.

  He’d hoped if anything she’d head to his place, but there was no way she’d walk all that way after being left in town. Even if she could’ve walked there in that short time, he didn’t think she would—if she was upset, being accused by that deranged wife of the mayor, she wouldn’t head for Brennen’s. She’d worry too much about getting him into trouble as well. And he knew already she didn’t exactly have friends or anywhere she’d feel safe to go to.

  That left her home and the bakery.

  He parked in front of the large house, pausing for a moment in the vehicle as he glanced up at the imposing old building. No vehicle in the driveway, it
would have to be in the garage. Brennen supposed they were at the end of the line—there was no point playing nice, no reason to pretend for Gina’s sake that he could even stand her stepmother. If Gina was in there, he’d demand to see her—politeness be damned.

  Brennen climbed from the vehicle and eased the door shut, glancing back and forth down the street. All the houses were just as silent. He followed the cobblestone path toward the front door, listening for any sign of life inside. No sound or movement came, so at last he rang the bell.

  More silence. And as the seconds passed, he grew more and more irritated, less concerned with waking someone up and more worried about Gina. He raised his fist and pounded on the door. Mike still had the spare key Gina had cut, otherwise he’d stroll right in there himself.

  A light flicked on inside the front foyer, then a dark shape moved in front of the stained glass window cut into the door. Moments later the door opened, Gina’s stepmother standing before him.

  Her robe suggested she’d been asleep, as did the slightly haggard look of her hair falling from its bindings. But her eyes were alert and face skin was pink, perhaps with exercise.

  Maureen didn’t even attempt a smile. “Yes?”

  “Where’s Gina?”

  “I haven’t seen her.”

  Bullshit. He bit back his irritation. “Are you sure she’s not upstairs?”

  “Quite. I’ve just come from there.” At last she smiled, slowly, in a way that made Brennen’s skin crawl. “Did you check the shop?”

  “It didn’t look like anyone was there.”

  “She might be in the back kitchen?”

  He had just swung around the front, saw no lights, and continued on. So it was possible.

  “Let me get my keys so you can have a look.”

  Brennen tensed. He had no reason to fear this small woman he towered over—anyone who abused a child like she did Gina was a coward, not willing to try anything with an adult. Still, he didn’t trust her. “If you don’t mind me borrowing the keys, you won’t have to leave the house—I’ll bring them back.”

  “I’m afraid I have to insist. With the break in, I wouldn’t feel comfortable unless I locked up myself afterward.”

  Brennen nodded, stepping back while she went inside again. He glanced past her into the house again but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Despite her apparent hatred of Gina, she would probably be happy to have her stepdaughter gone regardless of the circumstances, so perhaps she’d help him find Gina for that reason only. He could at least hope so.

  While he waited, the vehicle idling, he texted Mike to let him know he was looking for Gina still and heading over to the bakery. He’d been hoping the three of them would meet Sunday afternoon to look at printouts of everything Mike found, but until he had Gina safely in front of him, he wasn’t making plans for anything else. Mike, ever the night owl, texted back his understanding and asked that Brennen call if he was needed, and Brennen left his phone to sit on the passenger seat.

  Several minutes passed and then at last the garage door opened and Maureen’s slightly older Oldsmobile exited, pulling out of the driveway and onto the road.

  He followed Maureen’s vehicle a few blocks north to the bakery, this time swinging around to the tiny lot in back of the building. His headlights cut over the disturbed gravel near the porch—someone had definitely been by recently—and then his gaze settled on something tucked on the old wooden steps.

  Breath left him and he was out of the vehicle before he’d shut the engine off, the interior chirping to remind him the key was in the ignition still. He left the door open behind him and ran past the car to the porch steps.

  One of Gina’s shoes waited there, glittering in the headlights of his car. The other high heel was knocked over, perhaps discarded or left behind?

  Still clutching the shoe, he climbed the steps and tried the door. Locked. Keys jangled behind him and there was Maureen, unlocking the door for him before stepping back and gesturing for him to go ahead.

  Dread prickled along his skin. “Gina?”

  No answer.

  He stepped inside the dark shop, and immediately an odd scent struck his nose. Brennen breathed in deeply—under the stuffiness of the place being closed up and cleaning products was something else. He moved further into the back kitchen area, glancing around for the light switch.

  If she was there, though, there was no sign of her other than the shoes outside—no faint steps, no noise of someone shuffling to hide. Brennen’s hope sank as he realized that if she’d been here she’d probably already fled.

  Just as he turned around to ask Maureen where else Gina might go, something struck the side of his head and knocked him to the floor.

  ****

  Gina awoke to darkness.

  She blinked a few times but that didn’t change things—she still couldn’t see, couldn’t make out anything at all. Her heart leapt up, pounding with terror as she tried to make sense of things. What had happened?

  She tried to move and winced, flopping back down to the hard ground. Her right arm ached and a sharp pain ran up and down her leg. Her head, too, didn’t feel right, like it was fuzzy somehow. Little by little the pieces came back—she’d confronted...confronted...

  Maureen. Right. Her stepmother. Gina’s memory was hazy, struggling to remember bits of information she should know.

  She knocked me down the stairs. Oh God, I probably have a concussion.

  Gina listened but heard no other signs of life. Again, she tried to rise, at least to a sitting position, and still blinked against the darkness. Something tickled her nose, something beyond the general mustiness the permeated the air—the nauseating scent of gasoline. Gina coughed and raised her left arm to cover her nose.

  It was then she realized her fingers grasped something—something small and thin, boxy, locked in her grip. Unable to see it, she felt around the exterior and rough end. A matchbook.

  She started to open it but paused. With light, she could see where she was—her body bruised and aching, possibly with a fracture and likely a concussion, she didn’t want to risk fumbling around in the dark. But the heady scent of gasoline cautioned her.

  She moved her right hand over the ground, feeling gingerly and wincing as pain spiked up and down her muscles with the movement. The floor beneath her was solid dirt.

  Where the hell am I?

  At last she decided to take the risk and folded open the matchbook, grasped a match, and ran it along the side. The scent of sulfur flared briefly and then the light burned, illuminating the space directly around her.

  Immediately she recognized the small cold cellar beneath the bakery. Gina struggled to her feet, yelping at the unbearable pain blasting through her lower leg as she stood. She toppled over, barely keeping her grip on the match as she slammed into the dusty cinderblock wall. Terror rose even as she tried to stuff it back down. The cellar door locked from the outside—if Maureen went to the trouble of dumping her down there, Gina could be sure she’d bar her escape.

  The match burned down and Gina shook it out, giving it a few seconds to cool before she dropped it. Too soon the overwhelming darkness got to her and she struck another, leaning against the wall and stretching her arm out with the lit match to take another look around. Her gaze settled on the chain in the center of the room that led to the single bare bulb, the cellar’s only light source. Gina limped to it, crying out every time she moved her sore leg, and gave the chain a tug. Light flared out and she blew out the match.

  A door slammed upstairs. Gina looked up, could glimpse nothing past the floorboards. Her heart hammered and eventually she fell to her knees, dragging herself toward the creaky old steps across the cellar. The intense pain in her leg didn’t wane but she endured—getting out of the cellar had to be her top priority, possible fractures be damned.

  “Is anyone up there?” she called, bracing her hand against the trapdoor. It didn’t budge and she pushed again, this time getting her shoulder into it. To he
r surprise, the door gave, and flipped open. Sudden light assaulted her eyes and she ducked back down, blinking against the spots playing over her vision.

  Slowly she opened her eyes again, taking in the shifting orange glow and thick clotting smoke above.

  Oh God, she set the shop on fire. With me below.

  And if gasoline was involved, it was only a matter of time before the whole place went.

  Gina discarded the matchbook and covered her face, scrambling the rest of the way up the steps and hunching over to keep low. She scanned the kitchen, already ablaze with dancing flames. Her gaze struck the dark letters carved into the floor by the trapdoor:

  I’m sorry. Gina.

  Her eyes widened despite the smoke stinging them—Maureen wasn’t just setting the place on fire, wasn’t just trying to kill Gina, but was making it look like suicide by arson.

  The woman was pure evil.

  But she didn’t have time to think on it, instead pulling herself out of the cellar and falling onto her hands and knees on the floor. The intense smoke filled her nose and she coughed deeply, squinted against the fire circling the room, and started crawling around the supply crates stacked by the trapdoor. Surely Maureen couldn’t bar the doors from outside, not if she wanted Gina to appear guilty of the crime. Maybe she expected her to die of smoke inhalation first. Maybe—

  A dark shape solidified across the kitchen, legs visible past the butcher’s block in the center of the room. Gina frowned, coughed again, and crawled forward. The ruined skirt of her gown caught on the crates, tore, but she kept going, moving as swiftly as she could with her aches and pains until she got a better look.

  Oh God, Brennen.

  She tried to rush forward, slipped. Got herself crawling again and stopped at his side, coughs wracking her chest. Brennen’s eyes were closed and he didn’t stir, blood leaking from a wound on the side of his head.

  Immediately she checked his suit pockets but didn’t find his cell phone or his car keys. His hand was outstretched, and a few feet beyond it sat one of her high heels.