by Teagan Kade
“First, answer my question. Why were you at Beth’s house?”
Jesus H. He stops looking around the office and takes a seat in the chair across from me, dropping that damn folder on the desk between us like the cop cliché he is.
“The Chief sent me.” I sit up straighter while I concoct the perfect alibi. “I’m up for lieutenant and he wanted to see how I would do if I accepted the position.”
Brady’s eyes narrow. He grabs the folder, shuffling the papers around aimlessly. It appears to be a common tactic of his, acting like he’s thinking over what the suspect said, even if he doesn’t care at all.
He cups his chin with his pointer finger and thumb, tracing his lips while he scrolls over the documents.
“Interesting,” he finally mutters. “So, being lieutenant requires snooping around a taped-off investigation site, does it?”
“One that’s not accidental, yes. And one I was on-duty for, yes,” I push back.
I can tell he doesn’t believe me, but what does this guy take me for? Even if it is a lie, it’s not like this is my first day on the job.
He’s not buying it. “I’m not familiar with that protocol, sorry. You might have to enlighten me.”
I lean back, folding my hands together in front of my chest. I open my mouth, about to make up some imaginary protocol that’s believable, but he interrupts me.
Thank God.
“But that’s not why I’m here.” He drops the folder on the table again, but this time, he opens it up so the documents face me.
I lean forward and squint, trying to make out the grainy pictures and read the few documents I can see. I reach for one of the photos that looks vaguely familiar, but I get distracted when somebody knocks.
The Chief opens the door a moment later without any permission to do so. It is his office, after all. His eyes dart between Brady and me.
“Am I interrupting something?” he asks as we make eye contact, tilting his head to the side with suspicion.
“Yes. I have more information on Elisabeth Montgomery’s fire. I think Derek might be privy to it,” Brady says, pulling the Chief’s attention away from me before shooting me a menacing look himself.
I shrug my shoulders, giving them my best ‘I have no fucking clue’ expression.
“Make it fast. I have paperwork to complete.” McAllister’s expression grows wary, but only for a second before it’s back in its Chief demeanor—stoic and rugged.
He shuts the door and I return my attention back to the picture. I pick it up, bringing it closer.
It’s Beth’s house. Those are her curtains. The same acetone-soaked curtains I found.
“I’m building a case against Beth. I have reason, and evidence, to believe she attempted to commit insurance fraud.”
Shit.
“What?”
The weight of my body sinks. It’s like an A-bomb’s just been dropped on my head.
Insurance fraud? Beth? No, no. She couldn’t have done that.
I’m frozen. I sit staring at the picture, unable to form words in response.
But when I finally regain my mobility, all I can do is look up at him. His expression, all smug and confident, ignites a type of anger in me I’ve only felt once in my life—when I was at Beth’s house.
My need to protect her grows tenfold. I sit up straighter, claiming my position as her protector.
“Due to the strange circumstance of the fire and the fragments of evidence we’ve uncovered in our investigation, all signs lead to insurance fraud,” he explains, albeit vaguely.
“Insurance fraud? Really? What about arson? She could be in danger, and all you can think of is fucking insurance fraud? She is the victim in all of this,” I shoot back almost immediately, anger igniting my words.
The fact he isn’t even considering she’s in danger blows my mind. Isn’t it supposed to be innocent until proven guilty?
I fight my need to punch him, to release some tension, but mainly to knock some common sense into him. But I know that’d only cause more damage and drama in this situation.
“You were there. You saw the evidence. It didn’t seem odd to you?” he asks. “The curtains were soaked in acetone, and the initial flame looked to be a considerable distance away from them. It was an amateur job that someone would only do if they were desperate… desperate for money.”
The accusation floats in the air like a grenade on the verge of eruption. It’s heavy and it elicits a vile taste in my mouth.
“Why would she be desperate for money?” I argue, pounding my fist on the desk. It makes a louder sound than I intend, but I don’t care.
This whole fucking thing is so frustrating. It doesn’t make an ounce of sense. I don’t know if she is or isn’t in need of money, but regardless, Beth is not capable of doing such a thing. That I’m sure of.
“You never know, Derek. People do crazy things for crazy reasons,” Brady says too nonchalantly. His cavalier attitude towards these accusations makes me want to hurl my chair at him.
But I don’t.
I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms. “Fuck,” I whisper.
“Fuck, indeed,” he motions for me to return the photo and closes the folder. “And, if she’s found guilty, she will be facing a minimum of ten years in prison.”
“Worst-case scenario,” I spit out. “I know the law.”
“Okay, sure, but I have enough evidence here to put her away for years,” he warns me. He stands up, tucking his folder between his arm and chest.
He continues, “And if anyone is helping Beth, they’re an accessory to the crime. The repercussions of which are also punishable by law. Be careful, Derek.”
I glare at him, sending daggers straight into his fucking face.
“Good day.” He nods and walks out of the office.
He leaves me, stewing in an intoxicating mixture of anger and frustration. My breathing becomes rapid, each inhalation burning my lungs. I feel faint, sick, and overwhelmingly weak.
The realization I’m powerless to stop him hits me like a fucking freight train. There’s nothing I can do to stop Brady from going forward with this case. Even if I tried to warn Beth, I might be caught in the crossfire.
“Beth couldn’t have done this… There’s no way,” I mumble under my breath.
I look at my phone and again, nothing.
I call her, not giving a fuck anymore. Like every other time, I’m greeted by the same damn message.
“Beth… Fuck,” I hang up and slam my phone on the desk. It’d be really fucking great right now if she called me back, or hell, said anything to me.
Panic overwhelms me. I’m defeated, unable to stop the world from crumbling around me.
I lean against the desk, my head falling into my hands, and sigh in exasperation. I hear the door to the office creak open, but I refrain from looking up, afraid my emotions will get the better of me.
“You all right?” McAllister’s gruff voice appears in my apocalyptic fantasy—no, reality.
“No, everything’s a fucking mess, and I’ve not a single hope in hell how to fix it.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
ELISABETH
I’m pacing around what’s left of my living room, panicking and frantically dialing my mom’s phone number after reading her letter.
It was nice to hear she finally realized maybe I wasn’t the one to blame for our issues, but it came just a little too late. The fact Travis may be on his way here sort of makes her apology null and void, though the heads-up was certainly appreciated.
Heat and frustration well up in my chest. I pinch the bridge of my nose, a quiet sigh escaping my lips as I take a breath to steady myself. Overreacting isn’t going to help me, so I need to focus and try to come up with a plan.
Try as I may, my mind still keeps circling back to the fact that now, because of her lies, her scumbag boyfriend could very well be on his way to me.
I’ve never met the guy, but he’s obviously not an upstanding citizen.
Good people don’t force their partners to trick their kids into breaking the law for money.
How could she do this to me? And, after all that’s happened, how could she not have the gall to stand up to that deadbeat Travis?
That’s beside the point. Even after three calls, my mom still isn’t picking up her phone. On the one hand that could be a good thing. It could mean that she doesn’t want to answer because Travis is there, meaning he isn’t on his way here.
On the other hand, however, something could have happened, or she’s not answering because Travis left and told her not to answer the phone until he gets back. She could think he’s testing her.
I sigh and shake my head, looking at my phone. That sounds crazy. I need to calm down. Coming up with what-ifs and worst-case scenarios in my head isn’t going to help me calm down or plan anything.
I should get out of there.
You know he’ll still find you, right?
I reach up to pull at my hair.
Get a grip, Beth.
I remember I grabbed one of the wine bottles from the mini fridge in my hotel room and stuck it in my handbag
That’s it. I’ll grab a drink, calm my nerves, and come up with a plan. Simple.
I hunt through my bag and pull out the tiniest bottle of wine I’ve ever seen in my life, opening it. The thing’s so small it’s probably only got a glass in it, maybe two, but it’ll do the trick.
Deciding to forgo a glass since the bottle is so tiny anyway, I take a sip, closing my eyes and allowing myself a moment of peace to enjoy the rich merlot as it dances across my tongue. It’s times like this when you can really learn to appreciate the finer things in life. I make a mental note to buy myself a nice bottle of wine after this all blows over.
If I don’t end up in prison, that is.
I start to pace again after a moment, my mind somewhat calmed. I still need to come up with a plan, though.
So far, I know Travis is aware I’m not going through with this and that he’s angry. He may or may not be on his way up here, and as I make my way over to the window, I glance outside, my heart starting to thud heavy in my chest.
There, just across the street, is a car parked I don’t recognize, someone sitting in the driver’s seat. With the engine off. Now, normally this wouldn’t be such a big deal, but considering the ordeal I’ve been through the last few days? I think it’s cause for concern.
I take a moment to actually look at the driver, gasping when our eyes meet.
He’s very clearly watching my house. I have no way of knowing for sure, but I’m sure it’s Travis. I can feel it.
I can’t get a good look at the guy, obviously It’s no longer bright out, plus he’s across the street, and he’s got a hoodie on covering his face.
Maybe I’m overreacting, maybe I’m not, but I’m not going to take any chances on this one.
Quickly, I back away from the window and dig my phone out of my pocket and start to dial the number Officer Brady gave me. Then I stop, realizing how bad of an idea this is.
What good is calling the police going to do for me right now? I can see exactly how this conversation would go down:
Hello, officer? I need help. Someone is watching my house and following me.
Why would they do that?
Well, I set my own house on fire in an attempt to get insurance money for my mother’s medical costs, but then found out she’s not really sick. Now I’m afraid he’s going to try and blackmail me into continuing with the fraud I planned. I promise I’m not going to, though, pinkie swear.
Yeah, I’m sure that would go over really well with the police. They’d be more than happy to help me.
Not.
Obviously, I need to find another solution to this, and fast. I don’t really want to be alone right now, and I don’t feel comfortable calling the police.
I take another glance out of my window. The car is still there, the creep still sitting in the driver’s seat looking this way.
Shit.
Derek.
I’ll call Derek.
As soon as the thought enters my mind, a sense of calm begins to sweep over me. Just the thought of Derek being here with me makes the situation almost seem bearable. Almost. At least if he were here, he could distract me and keep my mind off of things, even if it’s only for a little while.
Plus, I doubt Travis would even think about coming to my door if he knew I wasn’t alone. Not to mention the fact Derek simply being here would make me feel ten times better than sitting here by myself.
I don’t know why Derek is the only person I trust enough to call, or why he makes me feel so safe. All I do know is that I really hope he gets here soon… before Travis decides he’s had enough waiting in the car.
He’s obviously desperate for the money. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have guilted my mom into doing this in the first place. I don’t want to see how far he’s willing to go to get it.
So, once again I pull my phone out of my pocket, but this time, I dial Derek’s number, my heart racing in my chest as it rings. Finally, after a few rings, he picks up. I breathe a sigh of relief when I hear his voice.
“Hey, Derek? Can you come over? I’m back at my house and… I just really want you to come over. I don’t feel safe right now.”
“They let you back there?”
“Yes.”
He’s straight into Action Man mode. “You don’t feel safe? What’s going on?”
I can hear him shuffling and moving around on the other line, the jangling of keys and thudding of boots sending a wave of comfort over me. He’s coming. I just need to wait a few minutes.
“I’ll explain everything when you get here. Just, please, come over as soon as you can.”
“Alright, Beth, I’m on my way. Sit tight.”
“Thank you.”
We hang up, and I sigh, my head in my hands as I try to come up with a plan. I’m going to have to tell Derek what happened. None of this is going to make sense otherwise. How else do I explain my paranoia of some strange guy outside in his car watching me and why I can’t just call the police?
No, I’m going to have to tell him everything, including the fact I set the fire myself.
After that… I have no idea. It could go any which way.
How did I let myself get into this mess? Why did I think this was a good idea in the first place?
I sit, trying to wrap my head around how the situation has gotten almost as out of control as the fire did—and nearly just as quickly.
But sitting here worrying and wishing I’d done something different isn’t going to help me. It’s too late for that. For now, I’m going to have to settle for the fact Derek is on his way and hope he understands. If not, then… well, I don’t know, but I don’t see any other option right now. At least none that have a happy ending.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
DEREK
I fly through the door and into a mess.
I can tell Beth has been crying when I find her in the bedroom at the back corner of the house. Her face is bright red, shiny. She looks a lot like a Gala apple, her cheeks a ruddy, almost bruised pink.
Her hair, already mussed, is gathering around her neck in a matted pile. Her nose is running. I can barely make out the words she’s trying to say to me as she alternately coughs and hiccups.
“Can I know what’s going on, baby?” I ask gently. “What could possibly have you this upset?”
She continues to cough and splutters before she finally squeaks out, “I can’t tell you. You’ll hate me.”
I hug her tightly, taking care to inhale her soft, floral scent as I do so.
“Baby, nothing you could say or do could make me hate you,” I say, even more gently than before. “Come on, what is it? You can tell me.”
She sighs and steadies her breathing. She rubs the tears, violently, from her cheeks before she looks up at me with a lost-little-girl look on her face and in her eyes.
“The fire,” she says, slowly but s
teadily. “I did it.”
I take a minute to absorb everything she’s said. I’m not sure if I heard her correctly.
After all, how many fires have I extinguished over the years where the victim blamed themselves? It isn’t an uncommon sentiment. Survivor’s guilt, they call it.
Or maybe it’s just that people are crazy.
When I finally process everything, I look at her gently and say, “Don’t be ridiculous. It was an accident.”
She shakes her head violently. “No,” she says. “No, Derek, no.” She repeats “no” a few more times before looking into my eyes and repeating it a final time.
My heart starts racing in my chest, pumping harder.
What the fuck is she trying to tell me? I think to myself.
But I don’t want to upset her—God forbid I read the situation wrong, I could have a total disaster on my hands, so I search, internally, for a few minutes before I formulate the most carefully worded sentence I’ve ever formulated in my life.
“Beth,” I begin. “I’m not sure I understand you correctly. Can you elaborate?”
There we go, I think. Short, sweet, and to the point, with no room for misinterpretation…
And with that sentence, the proverbial floodgates open, and Beth is back to her hysterical crying. In between gasps, she explains everything.
“I did it,” she says. “I set the fire myself.”
That gets my attention. I immediately recoil from her, nearly propelling myself across the room as I do so.
“What?” I ask, my voice getting louder. “Why the fuck would you do that?”
Beth takes a deep, raggedy breath and begins the story.
“You need to understand,” she says, her voice calming. “If my mother wasn’t involved, I wouldn’t have even entertained this stupid idea. It was for the money, Derek. That’s all!”
“Well, that makes it so much better,” I spit, my protective instincts fast turning to anger.
“Please, Derek,” she pleads. “Just listen. She’s not really sick.”
“Not physically, at least,” I retort sarcastically. “But definitely in the fuckin’ head, if you’re saying this was all her idea.”
She starts crying again. This time I am unmoved.
