Page 55 of Memory of Murder
“I didn’t see any vehicles parked along the street.” Jack reviewed the slow roll along Fairlawn they had just made. “The only two houses on the street that appear to be occupied have one vehicle each in the drives, but nothing Carin would be caught operating.”
Anne released her seat belt and turned around to try and scan the street, but with only one streetlamp at the end of the block there was little to see.
“Should we go in first?” She turned back to him.
Jack had an uneasy feeling about this. He reached across the console and opened the glove box. The feel of her breath on his neck had him turning to face her. “We could always go back to our motel and insist on doing this in the daylight.”
She smiled. He didn’t have to see—he felt it. “There are things I would much prefer to do tonight, but maybe this will give us the rest of what we need to finish this.”
“Okay.” He brushed his lips across hers. Then he took the handgun and flashlight from the glove box. He didn’t likecarrying a handgun when digging around in a cold case. It generally wasn’t necessary. But he never went on assignment without one. Tonight his instincts were on fire.
“I have the key.” She dug it from her bag and held it up for him to see.
“Okay.” He turned off the interior lights and reached for his door. “Stay put until I come around to your door.”
The air was hot and thick with humidity as he exited the car, closing the door softly. He scanned the street. Spotted no movement, although he couldn’t be certain as dark as it was. Keeping his steps as quiet as possible, he walked around to the passenger-side door and opened it. He kept watch while Anne climbed out.
They hurried across the narrow street and into the overgrown yard that fronted the abandoned house. It still struck him as odd that Mary’s and Neil’s things—at least some of them—remained in the house. From the looks of this part of the street there wasn’t that much going on in the way of gentrification. Still, nearly thirty years was a long time for a house to sit abandoned. Why had Preston Reed kept it all this time like some sort of shrine? Actually, that was probably the answer.
As with their last visit, they made their way onto the porch, thankfully without turning on the flashlight. Anne used the light from the screen of her cell, which was far dimmer than the flashlight app, to find the door key. If anyone was watching them, Jack would prefer that they stay as invisible as possible.
The door opened before the key was even in the lock. She stared up at him, and he leaned close and whispered, “Stay behind me.”
She nodded her understanding, her temple brushing against his jaw.
For several seconds he stood just beyond the doorway and listened for any sound and allowed his senses to sharpen in thedarkness. When he was satisfied, he moved forward. Anne stuck close behind him. He closed the door, gritting his teeth as the click echoed in the silence.
They moved through the house, checking room after room and finding nothing beyond what had been there the first time they walked through the house.
“What was the point of this?” Anne murmured.
“Maybe she was delayed,” Jack offered, keeping his voice low as well.
“Maybe.” Anne walked to the back door. She held her cell up to look at the door with the light from the screen. “I don’t remember the door being boarded shut.”
Jack turned on the flashlight and joined her at the back door. The glass area in the upper part of the door was now covered with boards. He reached for the knob, gave it a twist, and though it turned freely the door didn’t budge.
“Maybe someone saw us over here on Wednesday and Reed sent a caretaker over to secure the place.”
“But they left the front door unlocked?” Anne countered. “And if there’s a caretaker, why let the place grow up like this?”
Very good questions. “Let’s go,” he said sharply, a new kind of worry kicking him in the gut.
Before they were out of the kitchen the smell of gasoline reached his nostrils. The odor was immediately followed by a whoosh he recognized all too well.
The front door was engulfed in flames. He hurried to the nearest window. Anne rushed to yet another.
The sashes wouldn’t budge. Obviously they’d been screwed or nailed shut. Or years and layers of paint had sealed them shut.
“This way,” he called out.
They hurried from room to room, checked all the windows. All were secured in the closed position.
By the time they were back in the kitchen, flames were climbing up the side of the house, dancing over the windows. Smoke had started to fill the air.
Urgency fired in Jack’s gut. He grabbed Anne by the hand and rushed back to the bedroom Mary had used as an office. He grabbed the chair.
“Stand back and call 911.” As soon as she moved away, he crashed the window with the chair. He used the chair to shove the remaining jagged pieces of glass from the frame, then he tossed it aside and used his hands to finish busting out the wood parts. The flames were climbing that side of the house too. They only had moments before it would be too late. This old house was going up in flames like dry kindling.
