Runs Deeper

by R. D. Brady

  He pulled into the parking lot next to the coffee shop. The crime scene tape was still tacked up over the doors of the clinic. The clinic itself was tucked in the back of the parking lot, so there wasn’t a lot of foot traffic that could just walk by it. But most cars slowed as they passed the parking lot, trying to get a peek. He supposed it was human nature, but it wasn’t a part of human nature that Steve particularly liked.

  Steve got out of the car just as a strong wind blew. The air felt Arctic. He ducked his head and headed toward the coffee shop. He’d come back for the frozen food once he’d emptied out the apartment. God knew the car would soon be as cold as a freezer anyway.

  He stepped into the coffee shop. The scent of fresh coffee greeted him as the warm air coated him, sending a delicious shiver up his spine. There were only a few patrons sitting at tables. He made his way to the counter.

  Evelyn pushed through the kitchen door. “Can I— Steve!” Evelyn came around the counter and hugged him tight. “How are you doing, sweetheart? How are Julie and Bess?”

  “We’re good. Or at least as good as can be expected. Bess doesn’t really seem to understand what happened, so she hasn’t been affected as much. Julie’s working out of the firehouse for a little while.”

  “I heard that. God bless her. We need her in this town, but it would be understandable if she wasn’t up for the task. You’ve got yourself a wonderful woman there.”

  “Oh, I know.”

  Evelyn dropped her voice, looking around. “Those detectives were here again. We told them you and Julie are good people.”

  “Thanks, Evelyn.”

  “I’m sorry you’re going through this. But I should warn you—there’s a man going around town asking questions. I think he’s a reporter.”

  Steve winced. With everything that had happened, Phineas O’Rourke had completely slipped his mind. He could only imagine what the reporter would make of the scene at the Tilden house.

  “He started to ask us some questions, but we quickly shut that down. Politely, of course. He spoke with Mary. She didn’t tell him anything either.”

  Mary was Mary Jenkins, the owner of the hardware store and Laura’s landlord.

  “And Mary really didn’t like his questions. She told him in no uncertain terms.”

  Steve could picture that pretty clearly. “What did he ask you?”

  “About you and Julie. What kind of people you are. And we told him the truth: you’re the best kind of people.” She patted his hand before moving back behind the counter. “You want your regular?”

  His regular was a coffee with two sugars and a little dash of milk along with a buttered roll.

  “Yes, please.”

  Evelyn made both quickly and then handed him the cup and a small bag. Steve reached for his wallet, but Evelyn waved him away. “Not today. You have yourself a good day now, and you two call me or Craig if you need anything.”

  Steve took the coffee and bag. “Thanks, Evelyn.”

  A few minutes later, he was stepping into the small lobby at the base of the stairs of the entrance to Laura’s apartment. She lived in a large apartment above the hardware store. She had the whole floor to herself, as it was the only apartment in the building. She’d lived there since she’d gotten divorced ten years ago, and she seemed to love it.

  Steve thought back to last Thanksgiving. Laura’s son and daughter had been in town for the holiday, and Laura had invited a half dozen friends to come share with them. Reggie, Nevaeh, and Trey had been there as well as Declan, Russ, Craig, Evelyn, and Mary. The food had been delicious, and they’d ended the night playing a highly competitive game of Pictionary. It had been a great night. Steve smiled at the memory, although the memory was bittersweet now, knowing what a hole Laura’s death had opened up in all their lives.

  He opened up the mailbox at the base of the stairs with the key that Laura had given him for when she was out of town. The mailbox was full. He’d have to stop by the post office on his way home and ask them to hold her mail until Shayna and Todd decided what to do. Balancing the mail with his coffee mug and little bag, he headed up the stairs. Rifling through his key ring, he found the key for Laura’s place and unlocked the door.

  Stepping in, he headed for the large kitchen island. Half the apartment contained the kitchen and a large open living room area that overlooked Main Street. Huge floor-to-ceiling windows dominated the side. In the back were another two bedrooms and two bathrooms. Hardwood floors lined the apartment and original brick face lined two of the walls. Laura said that when she saw the brick face, it had made her feel like she was living in a large metropolis rather than a small little town in Maine.

  Caught up in memories, Steve dumped all the mail on the counter and placed his coffee and bag there without really looking around. But when he turned to look out the window, he frowned. There were cups and plates littering the coffee table. Garbage had been strewn along the floor. A frozen pizza box lay next to the garbage can, which was overflowing. The counters were covered in dishes and plates as well.

  Steve stared around in shock, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Laura was one of the neatest people he’d ever met. Her most prized possession was her label maker. There was no way she made this mess, never mind left it like this.

  A chill crawled over Steve. Someone’s been here. He pulled out his phone. A floorboard creaked behind him. He turned to look when pain blossomed across the back of his head. He pitched forward as the world turned dark.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  The smell of smoke worked its way into the edges of Steve’s consciousness. Julie must have made a fire in the fireplace. She loved a good fire, although it wasn’t like her to make one early in the morning.

  He became aware of how awkward his arm felt. Had he fallen asleep on top of it? A new smell reached his nose, making him rear back. Gasoline?

  Then everything came back to him. Going to Laura’s, seeing the mess, getting hit on the back of the head. His eyes flew open and then slammed shut at the brightness. He tried again this time with more of a squint. Flames danced across the floor only ten feet away from him. He scurried back, crashing into the side of the kitchen island. The world went in and out of focus for a moment as his head spun. He grabbed on to one of the chairs at the kitchen bar to pull himself upright.

  Laura’s apartment looked much the same, except for one large glaring difference: Someone had set it on fire. Fire ringed the wall of the apartment by the door, and the kitchen stove was engulfed in flames. A line of fire shot from the wall by the door to the couch, and soon the couch was engulfed in flames as well. A thin haze of smoke covered everything.

  More lines of fire spread out from the wall by the door. Steve smelled gasoline again. He pulled up his jacket to his nose and sniffed. Oh no. Lines and puddles of gasoline were scattered throughout the apartment. Someone had doused the place and him as well.

  Steve stripped off his jacket and tossed it on the counter. Smoke was beginning to build. He scurried around the island, careful to stay away from the burning stove. He yanked open the drawer where Laura kept the kitchen towels and soaked one in water from the sink before holding it to his mouth. He dropped to the floor, his mind racing as he tried to figure a way out. There was only one door in, and there was no roof entrance.

  A good three feet of fire stood between him and the door. He looked down at his pants and could see splashes of liquid. They had gasoline on them too. The minute he went through them, he’d go up like a Roman candle.

  Come on, Steve, think. He rushed over to the giant windows. They didn’t open. They were picture windows and extremely thick. He was never going to be able to break through those. But Laura’s bedroom, those had some double-hung windows.

  Steve hurried down the hall just as a line of fire crossed from the couch to the hall, setting the carpet on fire behind him. Steve dove into Laura’s bedroom and slammed the door shut behind him. Fire was already brushing against the backside of the door, with
smoke curling underneath it.

  Steve rushed to the window and threw it open. Laura’s apartment was only on the second floor. It was a drop, but he would survive it. There was a dumpster with a lid to the side of the alley. It was still covered in about two feet of snow. If he aimed for that, it would probably break his fall a little. The door behind him burst into flame.

  Steve wasted no more time. He shoved out the screen and then lowered one leg over the side of the window, ducking his head underneath the top part of the window as he looked below. Dizziness washed over him. He grabbed the side of the window to keep from plunging into the alley. The fall might not kill him if he jumped correctly, but if he went headfirst, that would definitely be disastrous.

  He gripped the windowsill as the dizziness passed and then brought out the other leg until he was sitting on the sill. He’d never been fond of heights. This situation was definitely not helping that old fear.

  An explosion sounded from the kitchen, which Steve realized was the gas stove exploding. The wall of the bedroom shattered.

  He was out of time.

  Steve shoved off from the windowsill and plunged down.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Death hurried down the street. His hand still smelled like gasoline. He hadn’t expected Steve. He’d been caught unawares. As much as he hated to admit it, he’d panicked.

  Stupid, stupid. I should’ve killed him.

  But he hadn’t been thinking clearly. He’d had a couple of beers this morning, and his thoughts were a little muddy. He’d been asleep in the back room when Steve entered. Ever since he’d killed Laura, not a soul had come near her place. The lady from the hardware store had come up the stairs once, but she’d just hovered at the doorway before bursting into tears and hurrying back downstairs.

  That time, he’d been prepared. He’d been waiting with a large carving knife on the other side of the door.

  But this morning, he’d been dead asleep. He’d grabbed a beer bottle next to the bed and slammed it over the back of Steve’s head. Steve had gone down like a pile of bricks.

  He hadn’t planned on killing Steve, at least not like that. Steve was supposed to be last, after he’d watched all those he cared about suffer.

  He took some deep breaths as he turned the corner, stepping under an awning to give himself a moment to think. Okay, all the evidence of my presence should be destroyed in the fire.

  He’d had the gasoline at the apartment for just that purpose. He’d always planned on burning it down to make sure that no one could tie him to it. He’d just had to move up the timetable.

  His breathing calmed as he strolled down the street. At the end of the street, he could see the firehouse. The lights came on and the door rolled up. He watched as the truck slowly exited the garage and then sped up as it reached the street.

  He stepped into a small alley between two houses and watched the fire truck go by. His plans might have changed.

  But in reality, this was for the best. Change was good. Adapting was good. It was time to really get this party started.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  The fire engine raced around the corner. Even though she was holding on tightly, Julie still slipped, feeling like she was going to be flung into the side of the rig at any moment. She’d been in the firehouse when the call had come in about Laura’s apartment. She’d known immediately that Steve was inside. She tried to call him but had gotten no answer.

  “I’m sure he’s fine, Julie,” Pete Failia, the fire chief, said from where he sat across from her. He had agreed to allow Julie on the rig, even though he thought she was overreacting. There were three other firefighters with them, along with the driver. It was a volunteer fire department, but the firefighters happened to be in the firehouse for a meeting when the call came in.

  Julie didn’t say anything to Pete’s attempt at comfort. She didn’t know how to explain it, but she knew Steve was in trouble.

  She knew this was related to Laura’s death.

  She knew this was related to Jack.

  Across from her, Scott Decker sucked in a breath. Julie looked out the window and was glad she was sitting down. The windows of Laura’s apartment were gone. Large swirls of fire flared out from each of the gaping spaces, smoke curling up to the sky. “Oh my God.”

  The fire truck cut across the street, blocking it. Without a word, all of the firefighters bailed from the rig as soon as it stopped. Julie just sat there staring at the flames bursting out of Laura’s apartment and reaching for the sky.

  Steve, please don’t be in there. Please don’t be in there.

  Slowly, she opened the door and stepped down. She was careful to stay out of the firefighters’ way as they rushed to get the hose hooked up to the fire hydrant in front of the coffee house. It was buried under three feet of snow, so first they had to dig it out. Pete was already setting up one of the hoses to the emergency supply on the truck itself. A minute later, water blasted up at the fire above.

  Julie noticed a group of people huddled on the other side of the street. Mary Jenkins, the owner of the hardware store, was staring up at the fire in horror. The building had been in her family for seventy-five years. Evelyn and Craig were there as well, matching looks of horror on their faces. Julie knew how they felt. It was too much in too short a time period: too much loss, too much violence.

  Julie wrapped her coat around herself a little tighter, feeling the bite of the wind and the icy spray of the water. She stepped back to stay out of the spray, figuring she was cold enough as it was. She walked over to Mary quickly. “Are you all right? Was anyone hurt?”

  Craig wrapped an arm around Evelyn. “We’re fine. There’s no one in the coffee shop. Mary was the only one in the hardware store at the time.”

  Julie turned her attention to Mary. She was in her early fifties and had been best friends with Laura. Julie had even thought there might have been more than just friendship between the two of them. “Mary, are you all right?”

  Mary shook her head, tears in her eyes. “No, no. It’s so wrong. First Laura, now her home.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “I don’t understand what’s happening.”

  “Me either,” Julie said quietly. She had spent more than a few nights in Laura’s warm kitchen. Laura had been like a second mom. Laura had even taken Bess a few nights so that Steve and Julie could have a little alone time. It was the closest they had gotten to a vacation in the last couple of years.

  Movement drew her attention to the side of the building. She frowned, stepping away from the small group. A man, his head tucked against the cold, limped around the side with no coat. He looked up, and Julie let out a little cry. “Steve!”

  She raced across the street. Steve stumbled to his knees, his hands plunging into a snowbank before he yanked them out. Smoke and soot covered him.

  Julie fell to her knees in the snow, taking him by the shoulders. “You were in there?”

  Steve nodded numbly, seeming to have some trouble focusing on her. “You need to call Nevaeh.” He slumped forward into her arms.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  The kids had all stood back, their eyes large as the fire engine backed out. Russ, Reggie, and three other volunteers kept the kids out of the way while Brandi Applegate, the youngest member of the fire department, who put all the other firefighters to shame with her workout regimen, carefully and quickly rolled it out.

  Once the sirens had faded, Reggie clapped his hands, bringing all of the kids’ eyes back to him. “Okay, guys, who’s up for a little snack?”

  “Me, me, me!” Six sets of hands rose in the air. The kids ranged in age. Bess, who at five was the youngest, along with Sydney Smith, to eight-year-old Nathan Beauchamp, who was the oldest.

  Melanie Butler, a first-grade teacher who’d volunteered for the morning shift with the kids, stepped forward. “Okay. Let’s go clean up the art supplies, wash hands, and then we’ll get the snacks together.”

  The kids made a beeline for the lounge, which
they’d been using as the art room. Russ was following them when his phone beeped. He pulled it out of his pocket and glanced at it. It was Michael Foster’s parole officer. Russ had been trying to reach him ever since they’d gotten the name. Reggie gave him a look.

  “I’ll catch up. It’s Hastings,” Russ said.

  “About time,” Reggie mumbled before he disappeared down the hall. Russ stepped through the large garage doors and answered the call, peering out through the glass. “Nash here.”

  “Chief Nash? This is Chandler Hastings. Sorry it took so long to get back to you. The weather’s been messing everything up.” Hastings had a strong Brooklyn accent.

  “I know what you mean.”

  “I hear you’re looking for some information on Michael Foster?”

  “Yeah. He’s one of your parolees, right?”

  “Well, he’s on my list, but I’ve never met with him.”

  Russ frowned. “How’s that possible?”

  “He was supposed to meet with me the day after he got out. He never showed. I followed up and spoke with his family, but they hadn’t seen him either. I haven’t seen him since he got out of jail, and neither has his family. The paperwork’s in to have his parole revoked, but you know how the system works.”

  Damn it. Russ wasn’t sure whether or not to be happy by this turn of events or dismayed. The fact that Hastings hadn’t met Foster increased the likelihood that Foster was actually Jack. “I’ve been trying to speak with his family, but I haven’t been able to reach any of them.”

  “All that’s left is the mom and sister. Both work two jobs. And neither of them was very close to Foster. Once he went in, they initially visited and sent letters. But as the years went on, you know how it goes.”

  Russ did indeed. Usually when someone went away, family, if they were close, were supportive. But over the years it became more and more difficult to keep in touch. Prisons weren’t located in easily accessible areas, which meant that families who didn’t have a lot of money might spend an entire day on a bus to go visit someone.