Page 148 of What She Saw
Silence mingled with the wind.
The flames lit up the night sky, illuminating the forest. I caught a flicker of movement. Footsteps thundered. But this time they were moving not toward the cabin but away from it.
A car’s wheels crunched in the driveway, and I raised the gun’s barrel. I came around the side, in time to see Grant rise out of his car. The light of the flames danced across his tense features as he stared at the cabin in horror. He moved toward the front porch now crackling from the heat.
“Grant!” I shouted.
He turned. Relief eased deep lines around his mouth. He raced toward me and hugged me close.
I relaxed into him. It felt good to press against solid muscle and feel the tight band of his arms around me. A sigh released over my lips.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Someone tossed a Molotov cocktail in the cabin.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. I saw someone running through the woods away from the house but didn’t see who it was.” I pulled free of his embrace and looked back. Flames were now burrowing through the roof. It wasa total loss. I’d saved my backpack, which contained my laptop and wallet. I could keep going.
“We need to get down the mountain so I can call the police and fire department.”
“It’ll take them at least a half hour from Dawson. I need to move my car away from the flames. There’s a spare key under the mat.”
“I’ll do it. Get in my car with Cody.”
I slid into the front seat of his car while he ran to mine. Cody pushed through the seats and nudged me. “It’s fine, Cody. Just a little fire.” The flames licked high in the trees. Fat raindrops fell.
Grant started my Jeep and moved it to the turnaround, well out of the fire’s path. When he jogged back, the center beam of the cabin cracked. Flames hissed. It took seconds before the cabin’s center fell in on itself, sending sparks in the air as thunder rumbled.
More fat rain droplets fell as he returned to his car. He opened the front door and slid behind the wheel. I was amazed at how shaken I was. The skies opened, sending rain showers down the hillside. The fire roared and sizzled as rain hit it. It was a beast in agony, drawing in its last breath.
“At least the woods won’t burn,” I said.
“The rain will also slow down whoever did this,” he said. “This mountain will get slick when the dirt turns to mud.”
Fire hissed and bellowed as rain fell and steam rose. “It is a good thing.” He backed up his truck and nosed the vehicle down the mountain road now turning into a soupy, muddy mess.
He reached the hard service road and was two miles down it when cell reception returned. He called the local police and fire.
“Whoever did this is worried,” I said. “I’ve struck a nerve.”
“A Molotov cocktail doesn’t require anything high-tech.”
“That’s what makes it so effective.”
“And you didn’t set the fire?”
I glanced at my soot-covered jeans.
“I remember a storage unit being set on fire,” he prompted.
“I had nothing to do with this fire.”
“Okay.”
“You believe me?”
He nodded. “I do.”
