Page 59 of Fear of Flames
“Sad.” He pressed his lips together and shook his head for effect. While he would love to give these girls the scoop on Shelly, his lips were sealed by the feds. Instead, he went the original route. “Denny was a good ole boy. He moved up here about ten years ago, I think.” He feigned a smile. “Don’t quote me on that. Anyhoo, he was a quiet man. Kept to himself. Damn shame. He lost his wife before moving here and just never got over it. We’re still investigating, but it’s looking like he let loneliness and depression take over. You know, it gets mighty cold up here, and isolation can take a toll on some folks.”
“You’re saying it was suicide?” Kenzi asked. “But I read a statement from the Indianapolis police that you wanted to speak to Dennis’s daughter?—”
“Michelle,” Ali injected.
“Right, Michelle.” Kenzi referred to her notes. “You asked the IMPD to have Ms. Holdcraft contact you regarding” —she met the sheriff’s gaze— “possible involvement in her father’s death. Do you think Mr. Holdcraft was murdered?”
Sheriff Perkins crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against his chair. It would be fun to play up that angle. However, it will be more dramatic to have it come out at tonight’s press conference. “Listen, girls. It’s real cute what you’re doing, playing detective and all, but Iron Falls doesn’t have murders. We have the occasional vagabond who breaks into hunting cabins. The other day, a patron tried to leave Gloria’s Diner without paying.” He uncrossed his arms. “Unfortunately, Denny’s death was tragic. And then, on top of that, a tragedy struck in Indianapolis involving Shelly’s house. We don’t know her status.” He shrugged. “I sure would like to be more helpful to you.”
“Did you know,” Ali asked, “that Michelle Holdcraft is an author of bestselling fiction?”
Ralph paused to think. “Britney told me. I do recall Denny saying something about it.”
“Was Ms. Holdcraft in Iron Falls recently?” Kenzi asked.
“There’s some debate about that. Some folks around here said they saw her. Britney found on Shelly’s website that she’d been in Boston last weekend for some author thing. Truth is, we’re investigating all possibilities. The fire at the scene made gathering evidence difficult. Again, this is an ongoing investigation, and I’m unable to share anything else.”
“Deputy McBride,” Ali began, “mentioned a shed found on Mr. Holdcraft’s property.”
Heat rose beneath Ralph’s skin. “I know you’re not from around here. Nothing unusual about a shed.”
Ali and Kenzi looked at one another; Kenzi spoke. “She said you said it was filled with computers and such, ‘a real big setup,’ but when she and a few other deputies went back with you, it was empty.”
Sheriff Perkins stood. That information wouldn’t fit with the narrative. “I believe Britney was mistaken. Thank you for your visit. I’ll be happy to see you out.”
“Did Mr. Holdcraft have any other family besides his daughter?” Ali asked.
“I’d figure you girls would know the answer to that.”
Kenzi stood. “The answer is no. IMPD confirmed Michelle’s presence in Indianapolis late Monday or early Tuesday. If his only family member was a thousand miles away, who would have cleaned out his shed and why?”
When the sheriff didn’t respond, Ali asked, “Why did Mr. Holdcraft have all the computers? Was he working for someone?”
Ralph opened the door. “Denny was retired.”
The ladies gathered their things. It was Kenzi who smiled at the sheriff as they passed him holding the door. “Sheriff, Mr. Holdcraft had a net value of over two million dollars. I hope your pension is as good as IMPD.”
The fuck?
Ralph didn’t know that Denny had that kind of money. What was he up to with that shed?
“Tune in on Monday,” Ali said. “You might learn something.”
After the podcasters exited the station, Ralph pounded his fist on Britney’s desk. “Come to my office.”
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
Sunlight streamed through the mostly closed blinds as Michelle’s eyelids fluttered awake. For a millisecond upon waking, Michelle thought she was in her home—in her bed. The reality sped through her consciousness. She wasn’t home, not in her home. This also wasn’t a cheap motel. This was Fletch’s apartment. Sighing, she lifted her head and saw the bed beside her where Fletch slept was now empty.
Before the worries of the day and Fletch’s meeting could bombard her thoughts, Michelle rolled to Fletch’s pillow. The soft sheets caressed her skin—all her skin. She’d fallen asleep without her night clothes. Though the pillowcase was cool, his familiar scent filled her senses. Memories from a few hours ago returned.
When she’d first encountered Fletch outside her father’s home, he seemed gruff, giant, and dangerous. His brute strength was evident in the way he was able to carry her. The man with her last night was still tall and strong, but that wasn’t all there was to Fletch. There was a gentleness in his touch and passion in his kisses. Simply the memory tightened her core. Despite or perhaps because of Fletch’s knowledge of Michelle’s insecurities, his compliments continued as his deep baritone timbre whispered praises.
She’d thought of their one night in the cabin as the eye of the hurricane. Maybe the storm had passed, leaving danger and death in its wake. Could it be that sunnier days were ahead? Despite the looming realities, those wishes brought a smile to her face.
The stillness of the apartment was refreshing, no hum of a motel heater or sound of water through thin walls. Suddenly, Michelle wondered what time it was.
