Page 31 of Fear of Flames
“We need to cover our tracks.”
She felt a cold chill scatter over her flesh. “What does that mean?”
“Your house. It holds too many clues. I’m going to incinerate it.”
“Burn my house.” Tears prickled her eyes. “No more flames.”
“Fire is the ultimate eraser.”
Suddenly, Michelle remembered that she did have something of importance—her mother’s necklace. She’d borrowed it for a dance at Purdue. That was the only reason the keepsake had survived when her mother hadn’t. “Just a second. I remembered something.” She dashed off to her bedroom, pulled open the top drawer of her dresser, and began digging through boxes. A rush of relief filled her lungs when she opened the tattered hinged box. Inside sat the necklace—an outdated yellow gold locket. Prizing open the latch, she saw the two miniature pictures. One was of her parents. The other was of Michelle, taken the day she graduated high school.
Quickly, she clasped the necklace around her neck and stuffed it beneath her sweater. When she returned to the kitchen, her bags were gone. “Is everything in your car?”
Soberly, Fletch nodded. “Last chance. Is there anything else you want to take?”
Inhaling, she turned a complete circle. “I want it all.” She shook her head. “I want to help you.”
“Burn the house?”
“No,” she replied quickly. “Find who killed not only Dad but my life.”
He tilted his head toward the garage. “Go get in the car.”
“Are you going…” She couldn’t finish the sentence.
“I have a few things to retrieve, then I’ll set the incendiary device. It will give us time to be far away when the fire starts.”
Chapter
Fifteen
Heading northwest and away from streetlights, a star-studded black velvet sky with a nearly full moon shone over the long stretch of highway. Indianapolis disappeared from their rearview mirror before the sound of sirens filled Michelle’s neighborhood. Deep in thoughts she could barely navigate, she stared out the window. Under the silver illumination, harvested cornfields appeared dark and damp with patches of snow and ice.
Fletch had taken back roads out of the city, avoiding the interstate until outside Indianapolis limits. They traveled through a warehouse district on the west side of Indianapolis near the airport. The city was often referred to as the crossroads of America. Those roads brought large trucks delivering and transporting everything from pharmaceuticals to automobile parts. Their small white Toyota Camry intertwined itself with those of shift workers arriving to and leaving their jobs.
Driving through the inky darkness of an early January morning, a large semi-truck drove past them, causing their car to shudder. Michelle watched the dirty tailgate as it moved westward and out of reach of their headlights. “Fletch.” she reached for his arm. “I trust you. I don’t know who else to trust. Tell me where we’re going.”
From the light of the dashboard, she watched his Adam’s apple bob.
When he didn’t respond, Michelle retrieved her hand and turned toward the window. Staring into the dawn, she wondered if there was anyone she could call. No one. Her only phone was the burner Fletch gave her. The new phone wasn’t supposed to arrive until later today.
She was now being driven across the country to a place unknown by a man she barely knew. “This is crazy.”
Fletch turned to her. “Crazy beats dead.”
Michelle mulled that over for a moment. He was right. But she wasn’t a spy or whatever it was that Fletch was. When it came to survival skills, she hadn’t thought far enough ahead to grab shoes when leaving her father’s burning house in the middle of a snowstorm. Her days were spent creating stories. While those characters came to life within her head and on the pages of her books, they weren’t real. Fletch had said the same thing about himself.
Reality struck.
No one was real.
She turned back to him, studying his profile in the green illumination of the dashboard. Silence prevailed as Fletch battled a war Michelle couldn’t see or comprehend. She noticed how every now and then, Fletch would peer up into the rearview mirror and check the side mirrors. As they approached the Indiana-Illinois border, traffic was minimal.
Finally, he sighed and turned toward her. His voice was deeper and softer than usual. “You said this was crazy and you’re right. But I know that you can do what you need to do. You have it in your genes.”
“My genes?”
“You’re smart, Shelly. And the gun. You were prepared.”
