Seventeen
I pulled my gloves off with my teeth, rammed the truck into gear and tromped on the accelerator. The tires chirped and I eased off.
Don’t speed. Whatever you do, you can’t risk a ticket, can’t be caught anywhere near the old gristmill.
I checked my watch and swallowed hard. Any second now, I thought, adrenaline shooting through my veins. I wanted to drive by the mill, to check and see if Angie had arrived or if only her lover would die tonight.
Don’t do it. You’ll ruin everything you’ve worked for!
I caught my reflection in the rearview mirror and saw the flush of excitement on my features. What a rush!
My hands sweated over the wheel and my heartbeat thundered in my head. I eased into the traffic heading out of town and checked my mirrors for any signs of the police or people I knew…so far nothing. All I had to do was drive to an out-of-the-way spot by the river, change my clothes and…
Boom!
An explosion shook the ground.
I glanced in the mirror again, saw nothing for a second and then a spray of fire that lit up the night sky like a torch.
Yes!
A thrill swept through me…the man who’d shown up at the mill deserved to die. What a fool! And Angie, if she didn’t get it tonight…it would only be a matter of time.
I heard the sound of a siren…and then another…all heading away from me.
Just as I’d planned.
Blinking against the rain, Rex laid a single white rose on Lucretia’s grave. Tears stung his eyes and he realized belatedly that he’d had too much to drink. He’d have to be careful. There were always problems when he drank too much.
Staring at the headstone, he bit his trembling lower lip. I love you, he thought, though he didn’t say the words. I’ve always loved you. But he hadn’t been faithful to her; not even when she was still alive, and he knew deep in the darkest recesses of his heart that she killed herself because of his infidelities. Lucretia had a code of honor, and though she hadn’t wanted him in her bed, she had hated it when he’d turned to other women, most of whom didn’t mean anything to him.
Except one.
And now this…this torment of seeing Angie every day, watching her blossom into a woman so like her mother physically that it was uncanny. Sometimes when she walked into the room, his breath got lost in his throat and he was certain he was seeing his wife, or the ghost of his dead wife in their daughter. It was those painful times when the years rolled backward and he forgot that she was his own flesh-and-blood, when truth and fantasy blurred, and he wanted—damn it he wanted—her to be his beloved wife.
“Forgive me,” he whispered, as he always did when he laid the rose on Lucretia’s grave. “I did you a great dishonor and I swear I’ll never let it happen again.”
Clearing his throat, he headed back to his car. He’d left Dena at the party, though she thought he’d only gone out to walk and to smoke one of his cigars. No doubt she’d lose track of time. He checked his watch, climbed into the Lincoln and eased through the open gates of the cemetery.
Bang!
An explosion rocked the earth. Sunny felt it beneath her bare feet and fear caused her insides to congeal. Rain pooled in the driveway, stirring the dust when she saw the first sparks. In the dark cloud-covered sky over Prosperity, embers shot like missiles into the night, bright fingers of light clawing ever upward, reaching to the heavens.
Rain and flames. Fire and water. She collapsed against the side of the trailer. Brig. Chase. Buddy. They were all going to die…she knew it. Her heart pounded and she began to shake. Oh, God, no! Quivering, she knew without a doubt that the horrifying visions that had disturbed her sleep for the past few months had arrived. The end of her world was upon her.
She didn’t bother with slippers or a coat, just ran through the rain to her car and climbed inside. Maybe it wasn’t too late! Maybe she could save at least one of her boys.
“Help me,” she prayed, slamming the old Cadillac into reverse. “Help me, God.”
But she knew he wouldn’t hear. He’d turned a deaf ear to her pleas all her life. As she backed the car from its lean-to the beams of her headlights cut through a curtain of rain and washed the old trailer in stark illumination. She saw the sign over the door swinging in the wind, mocking her with its faded letters: PALM READING. TAROT CARDS. FORTUNE TELLING. Deep in her mind, she heard laughter and screams and wished that she could give up her own life to save her boys.
“Take me,” she prayed desperately as she turned the ancient Caddy around. “Take me or someone else, but please, God, spare my sons!”
Boom!
Cassidy was on her way to the stable when she heard the distant explosion, loud enough to cause her heart to kick, but she couldn’t worry about it now; not when she had to find Brig. She’d given Dena a twenty-minutes head start and was almost to the stable when she heard the first distant wail of emergency vehicles. Far away, the sirens screamed mournfully, alarms shrieking and bleating through the night.
Cassidy’s heart stood still.
Brig!
Derrick had caught up with him!
Even now, Brig could be lying, bleeding, dying because of her brother. Because she hadn’t made him listen to her, because she hadn’t saved him. “Please, God, no,” she whispered, yanking on Remmington’s bridle and leading him from his stall. The sirens were still shrieking when she entered the paddock, and the colt, already pulling on the reins, sidestepped.
“I don’t have time for this,” she warned, running to the fence where she could climb onto his bare back. Rain ran down her face as she yanked on the reins and threw herself astride his broad back. He bucked, tossing her off as easily as a limp rag. The bare earth rushed up at her. She shoved out her arms to break her fall. Snap! Pain exploded up her arm. Her head and shoulder slammed against the hard ground.
With a groan, she tried to move, to clear her head, but the fire in her wrist made her immobile for a second. Sucking in her breath, she forced herself to a sitting position.
Remmington galloped to the far end of the paddock, snorting and kicking and whinnying nervously. That’s when she smelled it, just a little hint at first, but a scent so strong and deadly it caused her to panic. The acrid odor of smoke tinged the fresh scent of rain. She closed her eyes for a second. No one was smoking, it was the middle of the night and—
Fire!
Head throbbing, she wrenched her neck to stare at the house, but no one was home, no one would have started a fire in the grate in these last hot days of summer. But the smoke lingered in the air, like mirthless laughter. Staggering to her feet, she checked each of the outbuildings, searching for any hint of sparks or smoke or flames. None.
Pain shot up the back of her hand as she leaned against the fence. Her breath whistled through her teeth and the taste of charred wood touched her tongue.
Somewhere—somewhere nearby—something was burning. Fear began to coil in her gut. She couldn’t climb on Remmington without first binding her wrist, so she made her way out of the paddock and, holding the pained arm carefully, trudged up the hill. The house had never seemed so far from the stable. But she couldn’t give up. Somewhere Brig was out there and he had to be warned…
At the porch she stopped, turning back to survey the vast acres owned by her father. From her vantage point on the hill, she looked over the tops of fir trees to the orange glow of the town. Her heart kicked as she saw flames, a great wall of flames spewing sparks high into the air.
Brig! No. Oh, please, God, no!
Though her mind screamed to deny it, she knew that he was in danger—more danger than she’d first imagined. Maybe hurt. There could have been an accident near a gas station, or a blast from Derrick’s shotgun might have hit something flammable—like Brig’s motorcycle or a parked car or…oh God, oh God, oh God!
Without realizing what she was doing, she ran back to the paddock. The pain in her arm seemed to disappear as fear—horrible, gut-jelling fear—numbed her mind and body. Racing to the stable, she tried to erase all images of Brig from her mind. She wouldn’t think of him lying injured, unconscious, flames crackling near his face…oh, Lord. She sent up prayer after prayer as she dashed, stumbling, crying, always moving toward the stable.
Run! Run! Run!
Inside, horses snorted and stamped nervously. She scooped up a handful of oats with her good hand and ran outside, blinking against the rain, forcing the gate open and shutting it with her rump. “I don’t have time for any of your crap,” she said, stalking the colt who seemed determined to escape her.
“Not now,” she warned him. “For God’s sake, Remmington, not now!” She held out her treat—oats slipping through her fingers washed by the rain. “Come on, Remmington. For God’s sake, just calm down. I won’t hurt you. I need you!” The wayward horse, after a worried flick of his ears, stepped timidly forward. Cassidy was ready. The colt reached for the oats, his soft lips brushing her palm, and she didn’t wait. As fast as lightning striking, she grabbed the reins, kicked open the gate, climbed onto his rain-slickened back and wound her fingers in his mane.
“Let’s go!” she shouted, giving him his head. He tore off down the lane, slinging mud, splashing through puddles and racing as if the very devil himself were on his tail.
“Stand back! Jesus Christ, what do you think you’re doing here? People, stand the hell back!”
The fire chief was way beyond irritated. He yelled loudly, over the crackle of hideous flames, over the rush of gallons of water being pumped through huge hoses to arc over the blackened shell of the old gristmill. Black smoke rose in huge, billowing clouds and heat seared through the crowd.
Cassidy stared at the terrible conflagration in disbelief. She prayed no one was inside because no one would survive.
People coughed, men yelled, news reporters pushed closer and the fire raged despite efforts of the volunteer fire department. Choking smoke clogged the air, and flames rose hellishly from the charred beams and crumpled tin roof. Like the mouth of hell, the fire grew before the wind finally turned. Only then did the wall of water being pumped from huge hoses overcome the flaming beast that roared and crackled.
Standing next to people she didn’t know, Cassidy watched in impotent horror as the firemen relentlessly sent the fire into its hissing death throes.
Brig! Please do not let Brig be trapped inside!
She’d tied Remmington to a post that supported the upper balcony of an apartment building owned by her father, then had run through the throng of people pushing toward the terrifying inferno. Her heart thumped wildly, fear constricting her chest. But it was only the old gristmill—it wasn’t Brig’s motorcycle or her mother’s car, or Derrick’s gun or anyone she knew. Just an empty shell of an old mill. Yes, her father owned the historic building that had been scheduled for renovation, yet Cassidy was relieved that it was a vacant structure that had burned. She stood in a crowd of onlookers—townspeople who, in hastily donned jeans or bathrobes, had come from their houses to help or just watch the incredible inferno.
Reporters and television crews shouldered their way to the front of the barricade, braving the downpour while blue, red and white lights of emergency vehicles strobed in the night.
“Chief Lents—what do you think started the fire?” a reporter yelled above the noise of the firemen and crowd.
“Too early to tell.” His face was smudged and dirty, his yellow rubber coat slick from the rain.
“Arson?” another reporter asked.
“I just told you it’s too early to tell. Now back off.” He turned, yelling at one of his men. “Garrison, move that pickup out of the way. Get the number four truck closer—”
“Anyone in the building?” A female reporter asked.
“Not that we know. We couldn’t get in before. Hell, that old tinderbox went up like a book of matches. But we’re checking now.”
“What caused the explosion?”
The chief’s attention wasn’t on the reporter. “I said move that damned pickup!” he barked. “Holy Christ, this ain’t a picnic!”
Another fireman talked to the owner of the truck blocking an alley, and slowly the pickup backed up through the crowd.
“Does Rex Buchanan know that his building went up in flames?”
“We’ve gotten word to him.”
Someone near Cassidy snorted an envious little laugh. “I bet they found him three sheets to the wind at Judge Caldwell’s place.”
Cassidy took a step backward, so that the two men couldn’t see her face.
“One building more or less isn’t going to matter to him,” a shorter man said.
“What does he care anyway? He owns half the town already, and this old building is probably worth more in insurance money.”
Someone near the first man, a woman in a faded chenille bathrobe with curlers lodged in her hair, nodded sagely. “If there’s a way to turn a buck on this, Rex Buchanan will find it.”
Cassidy inched her way from the gossips, shouldering her way between people, but she continued to stare at the building, now reduced to smoldering rubble that steamed angrily in the rain.
Three monstrous hoses still sprayed the black remains and ashes.
One reporter pushed forward, nearly tripping over Cassidy. “Say, Chief, you mind if we get a little closer—”
“Listen, if you’d just back up, I’ll have a full statement for you in a couple of hours. But now, just let us get our job done here, okay?”
Two firefighters kicked in the charred door and stepped into what was left of the blackened interior.
“God, what a mess,” the chief said, tossing his cigarette into a puddle. “We’re lucky it started raining and the wind turned.”
A reporter scribbled and said something into his tape recorder. Onlookers shifted, but didn’t leave, still talking to neighbors and fascinated by the now-dead inferno.
“Hey!” One of the firemen was yelling from inside the blackened building. His voice was harsh. Studded with disbelief. “Hey—we’re gonna need some help in here!”
“Oh, hell—” The chief headed toward the door. “Blackman and Peters, you two go find out what’s going on—”
“Christ, did I ask for some help? Pronto! Get the EMTs and an ambulance!”
No!
All eyes turned to him, and Cassidy nearly screamed as the fireman appeared carrying a blackened body. Her stomach turned over and she had to fight the bile that rose in her throat.
“Holy shit—” someone whispered. “Get the paramedics. Now!”
Cassidy trembled all over. An ambulance and all the paramedics in the world wouldn’t help. “No!” she cried, a cacophony of noise roaring in her ears. “God, no!” The woman was dead, unrecognizable, her skin burned to the color of coal, and yet Cassidy knew, without a second’s doubt, that she was staring into the sightless, dead eyes of her half sister. Angie! Oh, no!
“Hey, we got another one!”
Cassidy’s knees buckled and she turned away, refusing to look.
“It’s a man!”
Her throat swollen, tears burning her eyes, she ran, faster and faster, her feet slipping on the wet pavement, her vision blurred. Choking sobs burned her throat and people stopped to stare at her, but she didn’t care, couldn’t think, wouldn’t believe that she’d not only lost her sister, but Brig as well.
“Please, God, no! Don’t let him be dead, too. And Angie…Oh, Angie!” She wanted to fling herself down on the wet street and pound her fist on the ground and rail at God for this horror. She wanted to roll into a ball and cry and cry until she had no more tears. She wanted to scream and rant, to hit anything and everything, and still she ran, rounding the corner to spy Remmington, still tied to the post, his eyes wide with fear as he tossed his head and snorted, pawing at the street and pulling back against his tether. “Shhh…it’s okay,” she said, then heard her own lies. “Oh…no…no…” she whispered, untying the reins, her fingers fumbling, her mind whirling in painful circles—memories of growing up with Angie, how she’d looked up to her sister and been jealous of her.
And Brig…she could still feel his skin against hers, the taste of his mouth on her lips, the way he’d felt as he’d come to her.
And then he’d been with Angie. She was sobbing now, throwing herself upon Remmington’s powerful back, letting the rain wash the tears down her face. She had to get away. From the town. From the fire. From the truth.
In furious agony, tears running from her eyes, she dug her heels into the colt’s sweaty sides, held on for all she was worth and sent the horse racing blindly through the night.