Page 56 of Memory of Murder
“Help is on the way,” she said as he pulled her toward him.
“We can’t wait.”
As if on cue she started to cough.
They had to get out now.
“I’m going to pick you up and set your feet on the windowsill, and then you need to jump as far forward as possible.” The idea that they had no idea what was in all that overgrown grass and shrubs outside—benches, flowerpots, yard ornaments—twisted his gut. Part of him wanted to go first and check out the situation. But the smoke filling his lungs warned there was no time. He had to get Anne out of here.
She hesitated. “You’ll be right behind me?”
“I’ll be right behind you.”
“Okay.”
He put his hands on her waist and lifted her upward. She planted her feet on the windowsill and leaned forward.
“Go!” he shouted as he released her.
She jumped, landing in the dense shrubs beyond the flames.
Jack went next. He grabbed onto the sides of the window frame, the heat scorching his fingers, and lunged into the air.
He plowed into the thick brush and shrubs. His knee contacted something hard.
He clenched his jaw against the pain and scrambled to his feet. He grabbed Anne by the arm and started through the junglelike landscape. Pain roared up his leg and his knee refused to work properly, but he managed to hobble quickly forward.
He checked the rental car, then they climbed inside. His body shuddered with the effort of working through the pain.
Anne stared out the car window at the house that was now fully engulfed. Thankfully there were no inhabited properties on either side of it.
They would need to make a statement when the police arrived.
Anne turned to him. “I want to go to her house.”
Jack wasn’t sure that was a good idea. “We should wait for the police.”
“No,” she argued. “I want to see Carin Wallace’s face and find out why the hell she did this if she wasn’t the one to kill my father. If we wait she could be long gone.”
Jack started the car and pulled onto the street. By the time they arrived at the intersection at the end of the block, firetrucks were roaring toward them, lights and sirens blaring.
Knowing that help was on-site made leaving more palatable. They drove the few miles to Barrington and the extravagant residence of Carin Carter Wallace. She likely wouldn’t answer and surely wouldn’t open the gate.
To Jack’s surprise, the gate was open.
He rolled forward, going slowly. He scanned the landscape as best he could, following the path of the headlights as they drew closer to the house.
“Her car is here.” Anne pointed to the red vehicle.
There was an SUV also. Range Rover. White. Didn’t look familiar.
Jack parked. “We should approach the house with caution. We can’t be sure who’s in there with her and what’s happened.”
Anne nodded. “Got it. I’ll follow your lead.”
They emerged from the rental and walked toward the front door. Lights were on inside, suggesting someone was there. Only two steps separated the stone parking area from the double door entry. One of the doors was ajar.
Jack hesitated. He drew his weapon. “You should call 911 again and give them this address. Whatever has happened here, it isn’t likely to be good.”
