THREE
As she took a quick shower—the first one she’d had since Kestra’s murder—she couldn’t keep her mind from replaying the events of the past few days. Would she always be haunted by fear? Mallory hurried to redress in the same work outfit she’d worn the past two days. It was what she used to call one of her “grown-up” ensembles, part of a limited wardrobe her mother had helped her to acquire when she’d gotten hired as an intern for the Channel Six News. “Dress for the job you want,” Mom had wisely advised. Mallory had done so...and she’d eventually landed a fantastic job...but where had it gotten her?
She frowned at her pathetic reflection. A worn-out looking brunette in a rumpled linen suit and a pale green blouse that was anything but fresh. As she pinned her still-damp hair into a messy bun, she wondered why she’d told Mom to donate her old clothes to the resell shop last spring. Did she really think she’d never need her small-town wardrobe again? Plaid shirts and denim jackets were suddenly appealing. Comfortable and practical and much better than a bright orange jumpsuit. Not that she’d done anything criminal, although everyone seemed determined to pin something on her. Even when she’d told Detective Doyle she wanted to go home, she’d been warned not to leave the state.
Curious about the state of the fire, she went back outside to check. Although it was barely five, the western horizon was gray with morning light—and she still hadn’t slept a wink. And felt pretty sure she couldn’t sleep now. Or ever. A dozen or so firefighters were still at work and although there were various chimneys of smoldering smoke, no flames were visible. Mallory sat down in a front porch wicker rocker, staring down at a large metal pot of pale pink geraniums and trying to remember a time when life had been good. But nothing came to her. All she felt was a bone-deep sort of numbness.
She considered calling her dad. Chances were they’d reached Iowa by now—unless they were still on their way. But she had a feeling that if she heard his voice she would fall apart—and he would turn around and come back home again. Of course, that’s what she wanted...but she knew it was selfish. Her parents rarely took real vacations, rarely traveled anywhere outside of the state. And as soon as they found out about all of this...first Kestra...then this fire...well, she knew that would be the end of their big trip.
Hearing footsteps, she looked up to see Logan McDaniel strolling purposefully toward her. To her surprise, her spirits lifted ever so slightly as she watched him approach. It was as if his mere presence breathed a spark of life back into her. Or maybe it was hope. Whatever the case, she was grateful.
It was interesting to see him by the light of day. Still as tall as she remembered from high school, he appeared a little more filled out now. Dressed in his firefighter gear, he looked ruggedly handsome, and his long slow stride suggested a steady sort of confidence. This man was comfortable in his own skin. While a part of her admired this trait, another part of her was disturbed by it. It was this same quality that had first drawn her to Brock and a frightened little voice inside her head warned her to watch out.
“It’s a hundred percent contained,” Logan announced as he came up to the porch. Leaning against a post he peered down at her. “It should be completely out in a couple of hours.”
“That’s great news.” She forced an uneasy smile. “Thanks.”
“Just doing my job.” He gave her a handsome grin, revealing even white teeth. “You clean up nicely.”
“Thanks.” She slowly stood, folding her arms in front of her.
“Are you okay?” he asked with a slight frown.
She bit her lip, unsure of how to respond. Okay? That was not how she would describe anything related to her life right now. Definitely Not Okay.
“I don’t mean to intrude, Mallory, but you seem uneasy or upset, like something’s bothering you. Need to talk?”
She felt a part of her softening. Why shouldn’t she trust him? And yet...best to play it safe until she knew she could trust him. She sighed. “Well, witnessing your parents’ home...about to go up in flames...that’s a bit disturbing, don’t you think?” She frowned then glanced away to avoid his eyes.
“Sure. It’s understandable that you’d be upset over the fire.”
“Plus I’m a little sleep deprived.” She leaned back, wondering how much longer she could hold it together. His expression was so genuine...so sympathetic...it made her feel as if she was about to crack.
“I’m sure it’s been a rough night for you.”
“Try a rough couple days.” She spoke sharply, then instantly regretted it. Besides not wanting to divulge too much, it wasn’t as though it was his fault that her life was a train wreck.
His brows arched, and she could see the wheels turning in his head, but he kept his thoughts to himself.
“Sorry,” she said quickly. “It’s just that I’ve been, well, going through some stuff. Hard stuff. I came here to be with my parents—but I totally forgot they were going to be gone.”
“Yeah, your dad’s family reunion in Iowa,” he said casually. “He told me about it just last week. He was really looking forward to the trip. Did you know that he hasn’t seen all his siblings, all together in one place, for more than thirty years?”
Of course, this was upsetting to hear. For a couple of reasons. First of all, if she told her parents about everything—as she wanted to do—it would ruin their vacation. How selfish was that? But the other reason she felt bad was hearing how Dad had shared personal family information with Logan—instead of her. But maybe she’d been too busy. Too caught up in her own life. Too selfish.
“No, I didn’t actually know that,” she confessed. “But I do know that Dad has three brothers and two sisters. They live all over the country. I’ve met some of them, but I don’t really know them very well. Not by more than just name.” She studied Logan carefully. What sort of man was this? That her dad confided in him? Maybe she was mistaken not to trust him more.
“Can you imagine how it would feel not to see a sibling for that long—thirty years? I know I’d miss Selma a lot.”
She sadly shook her head. “Truth is, I was just missing my own baby brother, but at least I got to see him last Christmas.”
“How’s Austin doing? I know he’s still in the navy, over in the Persian Gulf the last I recall.”
“That sounds about right.” She stifled a yawn then regretted it. It wasn’t that she was bored...just extremely tired.
He stood up straight. “Well, I can assure you that the fire is completely under control, Mallory. If you need to catch some winks, there’s nothing to worry about now. You’re safe.”
She frowned toward the west where the sky was starting to glow like burnished gold. Nothing to worry about? She was safe? Really?
“I would like to ask you some questions about the fire,” he continued in an authoritative tone. “Just to fill out my report. If you’re too tired now, I can come by later. That is, if you’re sticking around awhile.” He looked slightly puzzled. “I mean, with your parents gone on vacation and all. You plan to stay here, anyway? By yourself?”
Before she could answer, she heard her phone buzzing inside the pocket of her linen jacket. Afraid it might be one of those nosy detectives again, demanding she return to the city, or maybe they wanted to lock her up...she wasn’t sure she wanted to answer it in front of him. Just the same, she reluctantly slipped it out to peek. But seeing it was a text message from “unknown” made her curious. The last text she’d gotten from “unknown” had contained a veiled threat. And, although the police had not taken it seriously, she had.
“Excuse me a minute,” she told Logan as she quickly read the words—shuddering at the meaning. This was no veiled threat. This was for real. With trembling knees, she sank back down into the wicker chair. As horrible as these words were, she read them again, letting the meaning sink into her.
Y
ou got lucky again. Ever see a burned corpse? Not pretty.
Someone definitely wanted her dead. She couldn’t help but think it was Brock Dennison. Despite his rock-solid alibi, this nightmare seemed related to him. She’d witnessed his dark side while dating Brock. And she’d watched him lose it when she broke up with him six weeks ago. In her mind, Brock Dennison was capable of anything. Even murder.
“Are you okay, Mallory?” Logan moved closer, peering down with concern.
She nervously slipped her phone back into her pocket. “I, uh, I don’t know.”
“I really don’t like to intrude, but I have to say something. I mean, it really feels like something’s wrong. Want to talk about it?”
She glanced to the left and the right, searching through the trees in every direction, almost as if she expected to spy a killer hiding out there. Or even Brock, although she knew that was crazy. But someone had set that fire. Logan had insinuated that it was arson. And even if it wasn’t Brock, someone had killed Kestra. And someone had threatened her. Was he out there now? Was he going to slit her throat the way he’d slit Kestra’s?
Feeling completely overwhelmed and frightened to the core, she broke, beginning to cry. No, it wasn’t just crying, it was sobbing—loud and uncontrollable sobbing. The next thing she knew, Logan had wrapped an arm around her shoulders and, helping her to her feet, he led her—practically carried her—back into the house.
When she regained her composure, or a semblance of it, she was seated on the old plaid couch in the living room, and Logan was sitting in her dad’s leather recliner directly across from her. Leaning forward, he studied her with more than just casual curiosity.
“Wanna talk?” he asked gently.
“I—uh—I don’t know,” she told him. “It’s kind of a mess and I really hate to involve you in it. I mean, well, it could be kind of dangerous.”
He made a crooked smile. “Hey, I’m a firefighter, danger is kinda my thing.”
She sniffed as she pulled out her phone again, trying to decide, but feeling too muddled to even think straight.
“Is this related to the fire?” His brow creased as he rubbed his chin.
She sighed. “I’m not sure. And, really, it makes no sense. Why would he...do that? But then again...there’s the text message. And unknown caller ID? I mean, I’m sure it’s from him. I mean someone I know...someone I don’t trust...someone I consider to be my enemy—and it’s pretty disturbing.”
“May I see it?” Logan held out his hand in a way that suggested authority, but at the same time his eyes were full of empathy.
She pulled up the text, then handed her phone to Logan.
“‘You got lucky again. Ever see a burned corpse? Not pretty.’” Logan looked alarmed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“What do you think it means?”
“It sounds like a very serious threat.”
“Yeah...” She looked down at the worn braided rug beneath her feet. The homely old rug had been here for as long as she could remember. Her great-grandmother had made it long before Mallory was born. For some reason, the even lines and predictable colors gave her a faint sense of comfort.
He handed her phone back. “Who sent you this?” he demanded.
“I’m not positive. But I honestly think it’s my ex-boyfriend. Or someone connected to him. No one believes me, though.”
“What kind of person is this?” He frowned. “I can’t believe you ever had a boyfriend who would write something like that. Even if he is an ex.”
“See.” She held up her hands. “I told you that no one believes me.”
“That’s not what I meant.” He looked frustrated. “I mean, it’s hard to believe a girl like you would be involved with someone who would send a text like that.”
“Well, we’re estranged now. Very estranged.” She knew that was an understatement, but how much should she tell Logan? Could she really trust him? And would he even believe her? He already sounded doubtful.
“But, even if you are estranged...” He ran his hand through his messy hair. “To send something like that—I mean, it’s a serious threat, Mallory. Whoever sent that is talking about someone getting burned to death. And we just put out an arson fire. Who do you really think sent this?”
“As you can see, it’s from unknown.” She looked at him with apprehension. Why was he being so persistent on this? Was it possible that Brock had already gotten to him? The way that Brock seemed to have infiltrated some of the Portland investigators? What if Logan was a part of Brock’s deadly game? How many people did Brock control, anyway? Once again, it felt as if her head was spinning. Who could she trust? Anyone?
“I need to take a photo of it,” Logan said suddenly.
She retrieved it from her pocket, pulled up the text and handed it to him, waiting as he examined it more closely and then, using his own phone, took a couple of shots. “So you honestly think your ex-boyfriend sent this?” He studied her closely as he held her phone out to her.
“I’m so tired that it’s hard to think straight right now.”
Logan stood up now, clearly agitated. “What’s going on here, Mallory? You mentioned danger. And according to that text, you are definitely in some kind of danger. What kind of person is this? The guy who sent the text—who is he?”
“I’m not sure it matters... I mean, who he is or what he is...since no one believes me, anyway.” She studied Logan closely. She wished she could trust him—she wanted to trust him. She needed someone trustworthy.
“Look, a fire was set outside your parents’ home.” He spoke slowly, almost as if speaking to a child. And perhaps she was being childish—maybe fear and exhaustion did that to a person. “You receive a text that refers to fire and death, a message that is clearly some kind of serious threat.” He sat down on the couch next to her, staring intently into her face. “I’m not just asking you this as your friend, Mallory, although I’d like to think that we’re friends, but I’m asking you this as the Clover fire chief, investigating an arson crime.”
“Oh....” She nodded soberly. “Okay, then.”
“Who sent the text?”
She took in a breath, sitting up straight, trying to think clearly. “I can’t be certain, since it wasn’t sent from his usual phone. But my guess is that it was sent by my ex-boyfriend. A guy named Brock Dennison.”
“Brock Dennison? The anchor guy on the Portland news station?” Logan sounded shocked. “That’s the guy you’ve been involved with?”
“How do you know that?” she demanded. “I mean that Brock and I are involved. I mean, we used to be involved.”
“You just said it was from an ex-boyfriend.”
“Oh...yeah.”
“And you’re saying that Brock Dennison is threatening you?”
She looked evenly into his eyes. “And you don’t believe me, do you?”
Logan looked perplexed. “I didn’t say that. I mean it’s a lot to take in.”
“No one believes me.” She folded her arms in front of her, wishing she’d just kept her mouth shut. Why had she even trusted him?
“I’m sure that’s because Brock Dennison is kind of a celebrity. A small-potato kind of celebrity. Not that I’m a fan.” Logan frowned. “You won’t catch me watching Portland news.” He tipped his head to one side. “But you’re seriously saying that Brock Dennison—the Channel Six News guy—sent that text to you?”
“That’s right.”
Logan shook his head with a perplexed expression. “Wow, that’s a lot to absorb, Mallory. So do you think Brock Dennison has something to do with the fire, too?”
She felt a tiny glimmer of hope. Did he actually believe her? “I really don’t know what to think. I have to admit it sounds unbelievable to think that Brock would do...well, the kinds of things I believe he’s done
...or is involved in.”
“You make it sound like he’s a serious criminal.” Logan seemed genuinely concerned. “And if that text is from him, I’m inclined to agree.”
“Really?” She felt strangely relieved that Logan looked worried. Maybe he wasn’t in Brock’s back pocket, after all.
“And you’re obviously upset by it,” he continued. “So I have to assume that it’s not a joke or a romantic quarrel or—”
“There is no romance,” she said quickly. “We only dated briefly. I broke it off a couple of months ago. The truth is, I can’t stand him.”
Logan slowly nodded. “So why would he send you that text? And why is he talking about fire?” He waved his hand. “Especially in light of what appears to be an arson incident.” He narrowed his eyes. “Were you in communication with him earlier? I mean, about the forest fire?”
“No, of course not. He’s the last person I want to talk to.” She held up the phone. “Check my phone if you want. And, like I said, that text isn’t from his cell phone. If it had been, I probably would’ve ignored it completely.”
Logan’s brow creased. “Then how do you know it’s him?”
She frowned. “I just know.”
“Okay, let’s say it is from your ex,” Logan said thoughtfully. “What do you think he’s really trying to say? Does he want to see you burned? Was it a genuine threat?”
Mallory was still a little unsure of Logan but knew she had to trust someone. “I do believe it was a threat.” She watched him carefully, gauging his reaction.
“A death threat to you?”
“I know it sounds a little crazy...especially when you don’t know the whole story...but that’s what I believe.”
Logan looked uneasy or maybe confused. “So, let’s be crystal clear. You’re saying that Brock Dennison, your ex-boyfriend, probably sent you that text?” He pulled out a little notebook, flipping it open to write something. “About a burned corpse not being pretty?”
Perfect Alibi Page 3
