I drove home, my hands white on the steering wheel, grateful that I’d chosen to meet Peter at the restaurant so I could call Dayna immediately rather than have to wait to be dropped off at home.
“Hey Pretty Lady,” Dayna answered in her teasing voice. “How’d the date with the hot accountant go? Did he kiss you goodbye?”
“Kiss?” Shit. I’d rushed out of the restaurant so fast that I hardly waited for him to say goodbye. How rude had I been in my desperate need to call Dayna? I reviewed my exit in my mind—my hastily given thanks and goodbye, his surprised expression as he called for the check. Yeah, I’d been extremely rude.
No matter. We had a murderer to catch.
“Dayna, listen! Peter told me Arthur Gransby wanted to hire him to look into Beatrice’s income. For a divorce.”
“And?”
She wasn’t getting it. But why would she? Palm Hills PD had two suspects in custody they were sure were involved in Angie’s murder, both of whom had essentially confessed to her attempted murder in front of an entire crowd of people. But what if Cynthia and Felyne were just bumbling fools, trying to keep Angie from finding out their own little secrets with an awkwardly planned and enacted poisoning scheme, while Beatrice had barely even been investigated?
I thought back to Beatrice’s ugly frown at the coffee shop, when Angie and I had run into her. She had been so angry. I remembered the saying, “if looks could kill,” and that certainly applied to Beatrice.
“Don’t you see? This means Beatrice was more than likely involved with the kickbacks. Shoot, no wonder my HOA dues are so high, I’ve been supporting the HOA plus Felyne and Beatrice’s lifestyles.”
“That’s quite a leap, don’t you think? Arthur could have been looking for something completely different. We don’t know why he wanted to hire your forensic accountant. And even if she was in on it, it doesn’t mean she killed Angie.”
“Just look into it, will you?”
Dayna sighed. “Javier will have my head if I start a whole new line of investigation into this, especially if it doesn’t pan out.”
“Maybe you could bring Beatrice back into the station. Question her again. That wouldn’t take up much time or resources.” I was begging now, and I didn’t like it, but I couldn’t ignore the voice in my head that said that Cynthia and Felyne weren’t murderers.
“Hang on.” Dayna abruptly put me on hold. What the hell? I looked down at my speedometer and realized I was speeding. I took several deep breaths and deliberately slowed down. No sense in getting a speeding ticket, and, besides, it was not like I was going to solve anything by getting home fast. I’d just end up waiting by the phone again anyway.
“Kate!” Dayna’s voice came back sharp, urgent. “There’s a fire in your neighborhood. It’s Angie’s house!”
My foot hit the accelerator.
It was like deja vu all over again, with firetrucks, police cars, and a huge crowd, except that now it was nighttime, and flames soared, flashing orange tongues into the dark sky, consuming my best friend’s one-story house. The inferno painted the night sky with an ominous hue, casting flickering shadows against the backdrop of billowing smoke. The fire danced fiercely, casting a sinister glow on the neighboring homes that were at risk as well.
I ran over, scanning the crowd that had formed across the street from the fire, looking for the Smiths, who lived next to Angie, and the Durkens who lived on the other side, my heels sinking in the grass. I snatched my shoes off my feet; it was easier to go barefoot.
Javier had arrived before me and was pushing the crowd back, his face reflecting the orange light, sweat dripping from his forehead. “Javi! Is everybody evacuated?”
“I’ve got officers going door to door,” he said, practically shouting to be heard over the crackle of the fire.
I thought about the particularly dry spring and the water restrictions in place. Even our neighborhood’s manicured lawns might be dry. “We should have somebody go around and turn on the sprinklers for all the nearby homes.”
He stopped and looked at me, his face still, and it was clear he was thinking a million things at once. “That’s a great idea.”
Angie’s home now stood distorted by the fire’s wrath, glowing with an intense heat that pushed us all back without any urging from the police. The crackling of timbers echoed through the air, accompanied by the frantic wails of sirens as even more fire trucks arrived.
The firefighters moved with purposeful urgency, unraveling hoses with practiced precision as they strategized their attack on the flames. Streams of water arced through the night air.
Neighbors from further up the street emerged from their own homes, some in their pajamas, their faces etched with a mixture of awe, fear, and disbelief. They huddled in groups on the street, united in a common vulnerability, unaccustomed to disaster. In our neighborhood, safety and serenity were seen as a given, not a privilege, and once again that safety was under attack by forces beyond their control.
Mr. Jenkins, a retired banker known for his impeccable lawn, whispered urgently into his phone, providing a live account to his son who lived states away. Next to him, the young Martins, a couple who had moved into the neighborhood just a year prior, stood silently, holding each other close.
I found Millicent Smith, Angie’s next door neighbor, and stood next to her. “Do you think they can stop it?” she asked.
“Of course they will.” I put my arm around her frail shoulders. I wasn’t actually sure, but it would do no good to say that out loud.
“We had no warning! One minute we were going to bed, and the next it seemed like the whole sky was on fire!”
I felt powerless standing there. I was used to giving orders in an emergency, organizing people, providing direction, but that work was being done by others, and I was just one of the many in a crowd who could just stand there, gaping at the destruction.
Sprinklers began to turn on in the yards of the homes surrounding Angie’s, one at a time, each one a small beacon of hope. A hotspot at the top of Angie’s home flared, flinging glowing embers into the air, and the crowd gasped, collectively taking a step or two backwards. We watched as the embers fell harmlessly onto the now wet lawn next door.
“Kate!” I heard the plaintive yell and turned to see Harmony rushing towards me. She practically fell into my arms, tears streaking her makeup. “What happened?”
“I don’t know, Hon.” I pulled her into a hug. It was too much. Nobody should have to endure the death of their mom and the loss of their childhood home in just a few days.
The firefighters advanced, slowly gaining on the blazing inferno. The flames began to wane, beaten back by the relentless onslaught of water and foam.
“Do you think the person who murdered my mom did this, too?”
“I don’t know.” Cynthia and Felyne were both in jail, so no way were either of them responsible for the fire. Maybe it was a coincidence, but I didn’t think so. “Don’t you worry, Sweetie. I’m going to find whoever did this. And they’re going to pay.”
Finally, the fire was contained. The ranch home still stood but was a charred shell of its former self. Thankfully, the fire had not spread to the houses next door.
The firefighters, their faces streaked with soot and sweat, began the process of winding down while the neighbors dispersed, weary and sad, silently grateful their own homes had been spared.
I took Harmony back to my home, thankful she was okay, but I was still worried. Somebody here had a secret they were seemingly willing to do anything to keep.