Flames from Ashes

by Caitlyn Willows

  “Any idea how the fire started?” he asked.

  “Arson investigator says it was in the garage. Someone broke into the rear entrance to gain access. The fire originated near the adjacent kitchen door. Arsonist used a cigarette, oily rags, paper bag, and then spread a line of accelerant all around the house foundation. Captain Barnard suspects gasoline, which was the method used to burn the Randall house on Friday night.”

  “But this wasn’t Keith Randall’s work.”

  “No. We’re looking at his sister and are trying to find her. It looks like it might have something to do with life insurance. With Randall left for dead in the desert, a presumed baby would have the prime spot to collect that insurance rather than the sister.”

  “The baby’s mine.” No one was ever going to know differently.

  “These are some crazy, devious people, Clint. They’ve killed before. Randall’s sister would have seen the news and connected dots. This fire was set to ensure there’d be no survivors.”

  “Surprise,” he mumbled.

  “Yeah, you two were damn lucky.”

  “Luck had nothing to do with it. That was skill and good training.”

  “They are a good bunch, but don’t tell them I said so.” Dwight chuckled. “So, are you here hoping to salvage something for your hero?”

  “I am. And I’d like to prepare her for the worst.”

  Dwight clapped his shoulder. “Buddy, she’s a firefighter. She knows.”

  Clint could only imagine the utter despair she’d feel. Last night her concern was him. This morning, reality would have hit hard. Maybe it was better to leave it all behind rather than face it. He hoped that didn’t include him.

  They took the narrow sidewalk leading to her back patio in single file. Clint could clearly see the path the fire had taken in the ground around the house. A determined person had done this. A murderer.

  “I’ve got to warn you.” Dwight stopped and looked over his shoulder. “Firefighting is dirty business. Their job is to stop the fire. They do their best to respect property, but sometimes things get messed up. It can’t be helped. The house was a loss. Two people were injured. They had to keep the fire from spreading.”

  Having said that, Dwight stepped onto the flagstone patio, giving Clint a clear view of the backyard. It looked like a war zone. The grill was gone. Most likely removed because of the propane tank. Every potted plant was toppled and lay among shards of clay and ceramic. The vegetable garden up against the fence had been trampled to nothing. In a daze, he wandered toward her plants. If he scooped them up and got them back to his house, maybe he could replant them. Clint reached Sandy’s prized jade plant first—a beauty at least eighteen inches tall. It had been crushed to pulp.

  “I did warn you.” Dwight pulled his ringing phone from his pocket.

  Squatting by the jade’s remains, Clint blocked out the conversation and studied the destruction. Something wasn’t right. He could see pots getting knocked over during the heat of the battle and breaking. These pots weren’t broken. They’d been smashed and the soil scattered as if someone had picked them up and slammed them onto the patio. Each plant had been stomped into the flagstone. How could they not have heard this from inside? But then, Sandy’s bedroom was in the front corner of the house, and the house was as soundproof as possible.

  The vegetable garden had been trampled, but the wire fencing to protect it from the animals was on the other side of the yard. Firefighters wouldn’t have taken the time to remove the fence. Any footprint evidence would have been lost in the muddle of firefighting.

  “I’ll kill you before I’ll allow you to declare my daughter dead!”

  Clint wouldn’t put it past Martin Hall. The man was a manipulative control freak with his fingers in more pies than anyone could count, which explained how he got to be mayor of Valley View in the first place. He treated his wife and daughters like royalty, but there were always strings attached, because he was the puppet master. You played by his rules, his decree, or you were out. “My way or the highway,” Marjorie had told Clint. She’d chosen the highway, and it hadn’t gone over well. It was another of those reasons he and Danny protected Jenny and Caleb. They didn’t want the children exposed to that on top of everything else.

  A man like Martin would think nothing of taking an innocent person down to further his agenda, and he was smart enough to use the parameters of the other recent arson event to hide his handiwork.

  “I’ve got to go,” Dwight said. “Randall’s sister was spotted at the fire station. You can’t stay here without me. I broke enough rules letting you in.”

  “That’s fine. I’ve seen enough.” He stood and led the way to the front. Coming right out and accusing Martin wasn’t going to gain him anything. He wanted to run this by Danny first, anyway. Still, it was an active investigation. Once they arrested Randall’s sister, it would be case closed unless he sowed the seeds of doubt now.

  “The garden and plants weren’t a result of firefighting,” he said. “They were deliberate vandalism. I doubt Randall’s sister would have taken the time to do all that. I can’t imagine anyone doing this while we were here. We would have heard the racket.”

  Dwight shrugged. “You were knocked out from the smoke. It could have happened then, or while Freeman was trying to get you both out of the house. Arsonists often like to stick around to see their handiwork. Hard to say what a person will do, especially these two. They’re clever enough to cover their tracks.”

  As was Martin Hall.

  They parted ways after a quick handshake, and Clint was on his way home for real this time.

  He slowed his truck to a crawl after he made the final turn onto his street and found two vehicles parked at his house—one on the street and Sandy’s in the driveway.

  All’s well. Headed home. His home. She’d remembered where he hid his extra key. He tried not to read too much into the action. Emotion overwhelmed him. All he wanted was to wrap his arms around her and hold her tight. Then shove her into the arms of her family and tell her to run.

  Clint found a parking spot two houses down. Danny first. Talking to him might help order his thoughts.

  Danny answered with, “You do realize I have a thousand questions.”

  “I know.” Clint’s headache was back with a vengeance, gnawing at his brain. “I’ll get to that in due time. First, I have a question of you.”

  “Go for it.”

  “Do you really think Martin is capable of murder?” Clint laid it all out for Danny. Sandy’s history with Keith, the fires, what he’d discovered at the house, and his own fears.

  “Honestly, I wouldn’t put anything past the man. But he, Jackie, and their daughters were here last night. They insisted on taking all of us out to dinner. The topic of conversation revolved around not declaring Marjorie dead. Not really something I wanted the kids to hear. So I think their tactic is divide and conquer. Now, you could surmise they were setting up an alibi while they hired someone else to do the dirty work. However, a hire would get in, do the job, and get out. They wouldn’t take the time to destroy your girlfriend’s garden. I agree with the detective that it happened during the firefighting efforts and that the sheriff’s deputies have the true suspect in sight. Didn’t this detective tell you the Randalls killed before?”

  “Yeah, he did. It sounds like a stretch to me.”

  “And your theory doesn’t?” Danny laughed. “Buddy, it’s about money and greed and stopping at nothing to get what they want.”

  “Martin’s not much different.”

  “True, but he’ll drag it through the courts as long as he can. Murder gets him nothing. What’s he going to do? Kill us both? Go after my parents? Kill the kids? All because he can’t stand the thought of Marjorie being dead?”

  When he put it that way, Clint felt like an idiot.

  “I think we—meaning you—need to approach this Marjorie issue from a different angle. The Halls don’t want Marjorie declared dead and will fight t
o their last breath and your last dollar before giving up. You need to move on with your life. File for divorce on the basis of desertion. We’ve talked about it before. Do it.”

  “What about the life insurance? It could help pay for the kids’ college. And with divorce, I’ll lose control of the house.” Because it belonged to Marjorie.

  “Not necessarily.”

  Clint envisioned Danny leaning in on his forearms—a classic stance when he was about to impart information.

  “You’ve been paying the taxes and mortgage on the house for the last five years. You’ve made improvements on the house. You’ve been in control of it. Now, you could ask for the house to be awarded to you in the divorce settlement, or you could file the paperwork with the county to have the house awarded to you based on all the factors mentioned. Everyone wins. You’re free. The house is sold. The Halls still have their daughter alive. As for the life insurance…screw it. The kids will get to college.”

  It might be a time-consuming process, but no more so than declaring her dead. “I wish we would have thought this through more thoroughly before.”

  “Me too. It would have made everything so much easier. Unfortunately, I didn’t even consider any of this as a possibility until last night.”

  “Before or after you found out about Sandy?”

  “Let’s just say they were simultaneous events. I’ve got a client arriving in a few minutes, so I have to go. Do me a favor. Tell the Halls what you’ve decided. We all could use a break from that drama. Call me later.”

  “Will do.”

  He disconnected and scrolled through his contacts until he found the number for Martin and prayed the call would go to voice mail so he didn’t have to talk to the man. It didn’t. Clint spit out his plan to file for divorce but left out information about the house. The money would go to the kids, end of story. It wasn’t the Halls’ business. Silence ticked off afterward but not for long. Martin unleashed that sound he made—a combination of a sigh, snort, and disgusted snicker. Face-to-face, he’d be trying to look down his nose at Clint, whether standing or sitting.

  “There’s a rumor going around you’re pushing to sell your homestead to a solar farm.” His voice rumbled a decibel below thunder. “People around here aren’t going to put up with that.”

  Not a word about his daughter. “People, or you?”

  “It’s a blight on the desert. When the city council hears—”

  “The Clifford family homestead is ten miles outside the city limits. It’s really no one’s concern what my family does with the property.”

  “The property might be outside city limits, but your business isn’t.”

  That raised Clint’s hackles. “That’s the second time you’ve threatened me, Martin. Considering that I came close to losing my life last night in a deliberately set house fire, I’m thinking the sheriff’s deputies might be interested in that.”

  “Calm down. I’m only warning you there could be an uproar. I’m looking out for your best interests.”

  Like hell he was.

  “The other was said in the heat of the moment. You don’t know what it’s like to lose a child. We’ll never give up hope of finding Marjorie. Think how heartbroken she’ll be when she learns you gave up on her.”

  Heartbreaking was their continued delusion she was still alive. “Believe it or not, if it were my child, I’d probably feel the same way.”

  “Yeah, but a woman… Dime a dozen, right? And you’ve had more than your share over the last five years. How do you think your little firefighter honey will feel when she learns she’s yet another notch on your bedpost? At least, I’m guessing that’s what you were doing at her place in the dead of night when a fire broke out. Ah, but considering word on the street, maybe you were a notch for her too.”

  “We’re done here.”

  Clint ended the call without a second thought, but Martin’s sharp tongue had found its mark, cutting his vulnerable spot to the quick. Doubt crept in to fester the wound, reminding him of how he’d misjudged the last woman he’d fallen in love with. Marjorie had made threats too, like her father. Horrible, nasty threats Clint had countered with anger he’d fought hard to control. She hadn’t made it easy, lashing out the way she had. A better man would have… What? Hit her back?

  All’s well. Headed home. Clint focused on that and not the past. Clearly Sandy thought of this as her home now too, or she wouldn’t be here. And she’d brought her parents with her. He snorted. So much for not reading something into her actions. There could have been any number of reasons they were here and not on the road. Morning sickness topping the list.

  Clint shook his thoughts away. Whether he had a future with Sandy or not, he still needed to be free of Marjorie. It killed him to say that. He’d loved her, despite having hit a lengthy rough patch very early on in the marriage. She’d been his salvation after he left the Marine Corps, giving him stability, normalcy, and love. He’d needed all that and more after a tour in Iraq that shook him to the core of his soul. Clint thought he’d find what he needed by leaving the military and returning home. But home and family were filled with drama. Marjorie and her children represented what he couldn’t get from his family, and he liked to think he gave her stability as well, or at least he tried. Marjorie’s family gave new meaning to the word drama. Living with Marjorie underscored that. His hoped-for haven turned into a nightmare within two months of their marriage.

  You never know someone until you live with them.

  The words reopened the gash Martin had expertly scored. What did he and Sandy really know about each other? Wasn’t he doing the same thing over again—clinging to her at a point where he was trying to have a normal life? What about Sandy? She hadn’t mentioned the rape until she’d had no choice. Only then had they finally had sex. Because she had something to prove, or Clint did? Then there was the baby, the one he’d stepped up to claim. Sandy needed him to protect the child. All things considered, weren’t they doomed before they started? Maybe not the notches Martin had mentioned, but benchmarks on the road to normal.

  “Goddamn you, Martin! You are not getting in my head again,” he snarled and called his lawyer.

  Chapter Seven

  Sandy stretched awake in Clint’s big bed. She’d never imagined her first time in it would be without him. Admittedly, she’d felt awkward when she’d slipped into his room shortly after she and her parents arrived at his house. That feeling lasted as long as it took for her to crawl naked between the cool sheets. She’d been out like the proverbial light in seconds. Sleeping in the hospital the night before had been impossible.

  She’d loved Clint’s house from the moment she’d stepped through the front door two months ago. Every piece of furniture he possessed was something he’d refurbished or built from scratch. Lovingly so. Like the padded headboard behind her. Custom-made by Clint with comfort in mind, it had a nice slant that let her sit up without needing pillows behind her. He’d told her before that he liked to read in bed. The e-reader, books, and magazines on his nightstand proved that. This ensured he could do so in comfort. Now she could too. Though the evergreen-and-cream houndstooth material wasn’t something she might have selected on sight, the fact the evergreen portion was velvet sold her instantly. Clint had tied that color scheme throughout the room. He definitely had a flair for decorating. No two rooms were decorated in the same color, yet they all blended very well. Not an easy task with three bedrooms, two baths, kitchen, and living room. That gave her pause.

  At present, the extra two bedrooms were for when Caleb and Jenny stayed over and designed with each in mind. A new baby meant one of them would have to give up his or her room. It wasn’t going to sit well. Tricky territory there, and she didn’t have a clue how to navigate it.

  Voices drifted her way through the closed door. Sandy wondered if Clint had finally come home and what he’d thought of having his house overrun by Freemans. Her mother wasted little time making herself at home, taking what few clothe
s Sandy had to Clint’s laundry room in the garage.

  It wasn’t as if Sandy had much choice of where to go. With Keith in custody, there was no need to go to Danny’s. Not that she would have descended upon him with family in tow. She didn’t have the energy or desire to make the long drive down to San Diego either. In hindsight, Sandy should have waited for Clint to be discharged. Had she known her parents lay in wait for her and that Keith was no longer a threat, she might have done that. The news about Keith had come via text when she’d stepped off the elevator and right into the waiting arms of her mom and dad.

  Sitting against the soft, cushioned headboard, Sandy slid her phone off the nightstand and turned the sound on. Clint’s text to call him stood out among all the others from her firefighter family checking up on her. She hit Speed Dial but disconnected when the call when directly to voice mail. She was about to text Clint when the phone rang, startling her. Tim Delaney’s name popped up on caller ID. Though she was tempted to ignore it—as she planned to do with the rest of the crew for now—refusing a call from one of her fire captains wasn’t a good idea.

  “Hello,” she answered.

  “You okay?” Tim asked.

  “Yes, I was discharged this morning.”

  “And the baby?”

  “Okay too. So is my boyfriend,” she said before he could ask.

  “I know. I got word he charged into the fire station this morning, looking for you. Erica gave you up. He must have made quite the impression, because she won’t tell anyone else where you are.”

  Oh, shit. Clint was on his way to San Diego. She had to get a hold of him before it was too late.

  “But since I was at the hospital this morning when you left, I’m thinking you weren’t totally honest with Erica either about where you are.”

  Well, double damn. Now they’d all know where she was. Having her parents here trying to fix everything was bad enough. Now she had her firefighter family on top of it. Not that she didn’t love them to bits, but she needed some quiet time to process everything.