Page 9 of Fear of Flames
“Do you know more about my mom’s death?” It was a question she hadn’t broached with anyone since she was determined not guilty—not guilty, not innocent. Yes, she remembered the state prosecutor making that distinction.
“The less you know, the better.”
The small hairs on Michelle’s arms stood to attention. “Less I know about what?”
“Why were you at Denny’s house last night?”
“He’s my dad.”
Fletch nodded. “Why last night?”
“It was a surprise visit. I wasn’t planning on staying. Dad is always…” She took a deep breath, deciding to make a less emotional declaration. “…was always concerned about the roads around here, especially when the weather got bad. I’d been in Boston over the weekend for an event. With a pause between projects, I decided to visit him on my way home. I hadn’t seen him since he visited me a few months ago.”
“Did he know you were coming?”
Michelle shrugged. “No. Like I said, it was a surprise.”
Fletch inhaled and leaned back against the chair. “Did he act in any way unusual?”
She pushed through her memories. “He wanted me to leave—which wasn’t unusual—but finally relented, allowing me to stay when the snow got worse.” Her eyes opened wide. “Do you think he knew what was going to happen—that there was danger?”
“What do you think?”
Michelle didn’t know what to think. Her gaze met Fletch’s. “Do you seriously think Sheriff Perkins would have hurt me if he found me?”
“I think that there would be two casualties of the fire, not one. Dead men tell no tales.”
Michelle smiled. “You know Disney didn’t come up with that quote.”
“Are you telling me,” he asked with a hint of a grin, “that you’re not a Pirates of the Caribbean fan?”
“I am. Remember, my mom was a librarian. She was all about research, not taking things at face value. The phrase is originally credited to a man” —Michelle tried to recall— “a religious man, I believe. Thomas Becon who lived in the sixteenth century.”
Fletch tilted his face. “You sound like you take after your mom.”
She wasn’t sure, but that felt like a compliment.
“What else did your mom research?”
“Everything.” Before Michelle could answer further, Fletch’s phone buzzed, and he read a text message. When his dark eyes met hers, the spark that had been present a moment earlier was gone, leaving them a deeper black—a void.
“We can’t wait for nightfall. We need to get out of here now.”
“You can’t be serious. It’s daytime and we’re in the middle of Iron Reservoir. We’re sitting ducks.”
“I’ve gotten out of worse.”
Chapter
Four
Tension rippled through the sheriff’s cramped office as beyond the windows, the blizzard continued in the brightening morning sky. “Where the fuck could she have gone?” Ralph Perkins growled.
Deputy Skiles shook his head. “Sheriff, I didn’t see a woman run from the house. Are you sure you saw her?”
“The car in the garage had an Indiana license plate. It was Denny’s daughter’s. I’m sure of that.”
Tom Skiles wiped the perspiration from his forehead, leaving an ash mark much like the ones seen around town on Ash Wednesday. Tom’s forehead didn’t bear a cross, more of a giant smudge. His winter coat was covered with soot and reeked of smoke.
