My Wildest Dream: Whisper Lake #2

by Barbara Freethy

  "I told him I believed him when he said he had nothing to do with the fires," he said, a little surprised Craig was still rattled. On the other hand, he obviously had issues about fire.

  "What about the rest of the investigative team?" his grandfather asked. "Have they cleared Craig?"

  "Based on my reported conversation, yes. He has nothing to worry about."

  Janet let out a sigh of relief. "Thank God. But I don't think he'll be able to relax until this arsonist is caught—if he's caught," she added with a grim look in her eyes. "It might be just like the last time."

  "Why don't you come in and sit down for a minute, Brodie?" his grandfather suggested.

  "All right." While he was eager to see Chelsea, he wanted to make sure his grandfather and Janet had all the answers they needed.

  He followed them into the living room, sitting in the chair across from the couch as they sat next to each other.

  "I know you must think I'm being overprotective when it comes to Craig," Janet said. "He's twenty-four years old now and an adult, but to me he's still the little boy who went through hell because of my decisions."

  "Your decisions?" he queried.

  "If I hadn't decided to leave the campground that night sixteen years ago, Craig wouldn't have been in the house when the fire started. But I didn't like the mosquitos, so I said we should go home." She gave him a pained look. "That's why we went back early."

  "You could never have known," his grandfather put in, covering Janet's hand with his.

  "In my head, I know that, but in my heart, I still ache. Not just for Craig, of course, but also for Sam. He was another reason I decided to leave early. It was supposed to be a family camping trip, but Sam stayed home to work an extra shift that Saturday. He was such a dedicated employee. He never missed a day and he was always the first one to cover for someone else. He put off vacations and retirement because he loved his job so much. He kept saying someday we'd have more time. Someday we'd be relaxing on a beach somewhere, but someday never came."

  He felt even worse hearing that story. "That's rough. Did your husband work at the bakery with you?"

  "Oh, goodness, no," she said. "He was not a baker at all. That was my business. I started it with my sister. Sam worked at the post office."

  At her words, his stomach began to churn. "He worked at the post office?"

  "Yes, for over thirty years. He started out as a mail carrier and worked his way up to postmaster. He was so proud when he got the top job. But he was only in it three weeks before he passed away."

  For some reason, the fact that Sam Robbins had worked at the post office bothered him. Maybe it had something to do with Chelsea's recent message about the mini mail truck with the flower on the window. "Did your husband know George Walker?"

  "Of course. George and his wife Rita were very close friends of ours. Although, we didn't do much together after George's wife passed away. That happened the year before Sam died. George was very kind to me after the fire. He drove me and Craig to the hospital for appointments and tried to make things easier, but eventually he drifted away. I don't see him much anymore, unless he comes into the bakery."

  "Why did you ask her about George?" his grandpa questioned, his sharp gaze missing nothing.

  "He lives across the street from the second fire site."

  "I didn't realize that," Janet said. "But you're right. He would be in that block of Carlmont."

  "His seven-year-old grandson is in a class taught by a friend of mine. Travis was traumatized by the fire. He's been drawing pictures of it every day. But he has learning and communication challenges, and he isn't able to express himself very well. We've been wondering if there are clues in his pictures. In fact, one of those clues was the white van that led us to Craig."

  "That was the clue—some child's picture?" Janet asked with annoyance.

  "It wasn't only the picture. I spotted a white van speeding away from the last fire. One of the neighbors identified Craig as having a van. You told me Craig hadn't shown up for work and has been very upset recently."

  "I still don't see how you could think someone who was burned the way Craig was would become an arsonist."

  "I was just following the leads," he said evenly, hoping one day she'd be able to let go of her animosity toward him, since it was clear she and his grandfather were very close.

  "I'm going to make some tea," Janet said.

  After she left the room, he gave his grandfather a questioning look. "Is she going to forgive me?"

  "I'm sure she will. She understands that you needed to talk to Craig. It's really more that he's having anxiety issues and there's an arsonist still running around, maybe the same arsonist who killed her husband. She's upset."

  "I get it."

  "Do you really think this kid knows something, Brodie?"

  "I'm not sure." His mind went back to the miniature mail truck once more. Had Travis been trying to tell Chelsea that someone in his family was involved? Both his grandfather and his cousin worked for the post office, but his cousin would have been a child sixteen years ago. That left George Walker, who had told the investigator numerous times that both he and Travis had been asleep, that they'd seen nothing. But George and Sam had been friends. And George might have thought that Sam, Janet, and their kid were out of town. "I have to go." He got to his feet.

  "You'll keep me posted."

  "I will."

  He left the house and walked quickly to his car. On the way home, he called Chelsea. Her phone went to voice mail again. "I should be at my house in about fifteen minutes. Call me back or come over when you're free. I need to talk to you."

  After leaving that message, he called Adam, but he didn't answer either. He'd have to wait to run his new theory by him. It was just as well. He wanted to talk to Chelsea about the mail truck Travis had brought in anyway and see if the little boy had said anything else. Hopefully, she'd be home when he got there.

  Chelsea glanced at her phone as she came back downstairs after changing clothes. She had two missed calls and voice mails from Brodie. She listened to them both, sorry she'd missed him, but eager to see him soon. Since she had a few minutes, she decided to go across the street and feed Lady Jane. She entered through the side door, calling out for the cat as she moved through the kitchen.

  A strong stench filled her nostrils. It smelled like gasoline.

  Walking into the hallway, the smell got even stronger.

  There was liquid on the ground. She stared at the puddle in horror.

  Heavy footsteps came from over her head.

  Someone was in the house!

  And then a shocking hot blast knocked her off her feet. Her head bounced off the wall. Lights flashed in front of her eyes. She tried to breathe, but smoke filled her lungs, and in the blur of that smoke, she saw a figure come down the stairs.

  As she scrambled to her feet, they came face-to-face.

  His jaw dropped in shock.

  She couldn't believe the man standing in front of her. "Mr. Walker? What are you doing?"

  "No one is supposed to be here. The Bakers are on vacation."

  He knew the Bakers. That fact moved through her confusion, but it was the gasoline can in his hand that drew all her attention. "You're the arsonist? Why?"

  "Go, get out of here," he told her, trying to move past her.

  She stepped in front of him. "How could you do this?"

  "It's too much stress, taking care of that kid. He won't talk. He's nuts. I had to relieve the stress."

  She didn't know what he was babbling about, but then another explosion came from upstairs. She grabbed onto the stair rail. A new terrifying thought entered her head. "Lady Jane," she cried. "Where is she?"

  "Who?"

  "The cat," she said impatiently, moving up the stairs.

  "I haven't seen a cat. Don't go up there. You won't make it back."

  "I have to save her."

  "Get out. Just get out. I don’t want anyone else to die."
r />   She ignored him, running up the stairs, only one goal in mind—to rescue Lady Jane.

  Smoke was now pouring down the stairwell. Flames licked up the wallpaper in the halls. It would be an inferno within minutes. There was gasoline everywhere.

  She coughed against the smoke and the heat, pulling her shirt up over her nose as she ran toward the master bedroom.

  Brodie had no sooner pulled into his driveway when he heard the blast from next door and saw flames in the upstairs windows of the Bakers' house. He jumped out of his car and ran through the side yard to the kitchen door. It was open.

  His heart stopped in pure terror. Was Chelsea inside? Had she come to feed the cat?

  As he entered the room, he was knocked backward by a large, male figure, intent on escaping. He followed him to the door, tackling him in the side yard, shocked to realize it was George Walker. The older man stared up at him with resignation.

  "It finally happened," he said. "You finally caught me. Thank God."

  "Is anyone inside?"

  George stared back at him.

  "Is Chelsea inside?" he demanded.

  "I told her to get out. She's looking for a cat."

  "God dammit!" he shouted. He let go of Walker as the neighbor on the other side of the house came down the yard. Rex Donovan ran the rock-climbing gym. "Call 9-1-1," he ordered.

  "Already did. Did this guy start the fire?"

  "Yes. Can you keep an eye on him?"

  "No problem."

  "When the cops get here, tell them the arsonist is George Walker."

  Brodie ran back into the house, yelling for Chelsea, but she didn't respond.

  His heart was in his throat as he moved toward the stairs. The fire was blazing. The entire house would be gone within minutes. "Chelsea," he called again, coughing through the thick smoke, his eyes watering as he tried to see where he was going.

  He was almost to the top step when another explosion took the ceiling down around him. The weight pushed half his body down through the stairway. He tried to get free, but he was stuck.

  "Brodie," Chelsea called out, appearing above him, a squirming cat in her arms.

  Intense relief washed over him. She was alive. She was all right. "Get out of here," he yelled.

  She moved toward him. "Can you move?"

  "I can free myself. Just go past me. Don't argue. We don't have time."

  She bit back a protest, then climbed over the rubble, running down the stairs. He pulled at the plaster surrounding him, as the flames came closer, the heat intense. His eyes watered, and he tried not to breathe as he struggled to loosen the plaster around him.

  And then Chelsea was back, coming up the stairs.

  "What the hell are you doing?"

  "I'm not leaving without you," she cried.

  "The firefighters will help me. Just leave. Please," he begged.

  "Don't argue. We don't have time." She helped him pull large chunks of plaster away from his body, determination in her gaze.

  Working together, he was finally able to free his leg. Chelsea helped him up, and they managed to make it down to the first floor just as the rest of the stairway collapsed in a rolling wave of flames. The fire was nipping at their backs as they sprinted toward the door.

  And then the firefighters were there, coming through the kitchen and the front door.

  The fresh air was a welcome relief, but he was still coughing hard when they reached the sidewalk, and so was Chelsea. His friends on the police force and in the fire department rushed forward as the EMTs also raced to their side, offering oxygen and asking if they had suffered any burns. Thankfully, they could both answer no.

  The oxygen was a welcome balm to his parched, stinging throat, and he sucked in big gulps as Chelsea did the same, her gaze bright and grateful as it met his. His heart was filled with gratitude as well. She was alive. She was unharmed, except for possibly some smoke inhalation, but things could have been so much worse. She could have been burned. George could have hurt her.

  At the thought of George, his gaze moved to the police car along the sidewalk where George Walker was sitting in the backseat. Rex Donovan, the neighbor, he'd asked to watch Walker, was standing nearby talking to Kat Delaney, one of his fellow patrol officers.

  A black SUV pulled up on the scene and Adam jumped out, running over to them, his brotherly gaze moving to Chelsea. "Are you hurt?" His gaze raked her face and body for injuries.

  She took off her mask. "I'm fine."

  He did the same. "We're okay, Adam. It was George Walker. He's the arsonist."

  "I heard." He turned back to his sister. "I was also told that you stayed in the house to rescue a cat."

  "Lady Jane was hiding under the bed. I had to save her."

  Adam gave a bewildered shake of his head. "You could have died."

  "I didn't die, and George didn't get away, so it's all good, Adam," she replied.

  "Did Walker say anything to either of you?" Adam asked.

  "He told me he thought the house was empty," Chelsea answered. "He referred to the Bakers by name. He said he had too much stress taking care of Travis and he needed to release it. I don't know what he meant by that. How can setting a fire release stress?"

  Adam shrugged. "The psychology of arsonists is very complicated. Anything else?"

  "He told me to get out. He said he didn't want anyone else to die."

  "Anyone else?" Adam queried.

  "I think he's referring to Sam Robbins," Brodie cut in. "I just found out today that Walker and Robbins worked together at the post office."

  "I knew that," Adam said. "But I didn't see any link to Walker being the fire bug back then."

  "That clue came from Travis." He looked at Chelsea. "The miniature mail truck with the flower decal."

  A gleam entered her eyes. "He was trying to tell me his grandfather was involved. I just didn't get it."

  "What are you two talking about?" Adam asked.

  "It's a toy mail truck," Chelsea explained. "Travis brought it in to show-and-tell. I realized it was the van from his pictures, but I didn't know what it meant until I saw George with a gasoline can in his hand. I think Travis saw his grandfather set the fire. I have the truck at my house. I was going to show it to Brodie when he got home."

  "The kid had the answer in his head the whole time," Adam said. "You were right. Anyway, I'm glad you're okay. I'm going to talk to Walker."

  "Now that Adam is gone," Brodie said. "You and I need to talk about why you came back into the house to get me. Do you realize how dangerous that was?"

  There was no regret in her sweet smile. "I wasn't going to leave you, Brodie."

  "It was very brave and very foolish."

  "It felt good to be brave again. You were worth the risk. And let's not forget, you came into the fire looking for me."

  "You were worth the risk, too. My heart stopped when I realized you were inside."

  "Don't think about what didn't happen. Let's just enjoy the fact that we're safe and Walker is not going to burn down anyone else's house."

  "I can do that. By the way, where is that damn cat?"

  She started, her gaze sweeping the crowd. Then she tipped her head toward a teenage girl, who was sitting on his porch, with Lady Jane in her lap. "Look at that. She's very content. She never ever lets me hold her. The little traitor."

  He smiled at her annoyance. "She's a snooty cat, and she could have gotten you killed."

  "But she did bring us together in the first place, so I don't think you can call her that damn cat anymore. She also helped solve a crime. If I hadn't gone over to feed her, we wouldn't have caught George red-handed."

  "True. It would have been more difficult to piece it all together."

  "The Bakers' house is gone," she said, her gaze moving to the structure that was still on fire. "I'll have to buy some cat food and a litter box and keep Lady Jane at my house."

  "We'll figure it out. Why don't we retrieve Lady Jane and go over to your place? It's
a little farther away from the smoke."

  "That sounds good." After picking up the cat, who meowed ferociously in protest, they walked across the street. Their journey was interrupted by questions and concern from the neighbors, even a few grateful hugs. Eventually, they made it inside.

  As soon as Chelsea put Lady Jane down, she sprinted up the stairs.

  "I guess she'll be under my bed now. I never did feed her," Chelsea said.

  "She'll be fine. Right now, I need to hold you." He wrapped his arms around her. She was covered in dust and ash, her face red and sweaty, but he'd never thought she looked more beautiful. He pulled her up against his chest and lowered his face to hers. Closing his eyes, he kissed her with passion, relief and joy, a kaleidoscope of emotions running through him. He wanted to hold her forever, because he'd come too close to losing her.

  But forever was shortened drastically when the doorbell rang.

  She gave him a breathless look. "I should get that."

  "I know," he said tightly, pulling himself together as she opened the door. Lizzie grabbed her sister and squeezed her tight. Then she said, "Are you all right, Chelsea?"

  "Except for the fact that you're crushing me, I'm fine," Chelsea replied.

  "Sorry." Lizzie released her. "Adam called me. I couldn't believe what he said. You had a confrontation with the arsonist?"

  "Yes, but he didn't hurt me. He didn't even try. He just wanted to burn the house down."

  Lizzie's gaze moved to him. "And you're okay as well, Brodie?"

  "I am. I need to get back out there. Can you stay with Chelsea, Lizzie?"

  "Of course."

  "I don't need a babysitter," Chelsea protested.

  "I'll feel better if you're not alone. I can also run out and get some cat food and litter."

  "That would be helpful."

  He smiled and gave her another quick kiss. "I'll be back soon."

  "Wait, Brodie—what about Travis?" she asked. "He must be with his cousin or a babysitter. Do you think his cousin was in on it? She's a mail carrier, too. Can she be trusted to watch Travis?"

  "I'll make sure Travis is safe. I'm certain George acted alone, but I'll find out what he told Adam, and we'll go from there."