Hell Fire

The deputy’s hand shook, slopping water on the cement floor. “That’s enough out of you, miss.” But his voice was none too steady, either, and he didn’t meet my eyes as he hurried away.

Butch yapped, and I picked him up. “You got that right, buddy. There’s something rotten in the state of Georgia, and it stinks like hell fire.”

One by one, Robinson questioned us, and nobody contradicted my version of events. I found it odd that Shannon’s parents never showed up to see if she was all right. Maybe her mother had washed her hands of Shannon . . . but that didn’t track. Women like Sandra Cheney didn’t quietly concede.

The sheriff spent longer interrogating Chance. I was deathly afraid they’d charge him with manslaughter, even though he’d clearly been defending my former foster mother’s life and property. In the end, Miss Minnie came down to the station and insisted he let us go.

She chastised Robinson roundly. “I wouldn’t be standing here, if not for these children and that sweet little dog. Curtis Farrell must’ve been on drugs. I know he wouldn’t have tried to steal from me if he’d been in his right mind.”

The sheriff complied grudgingly, but he let us know as he walked us to the Forester that he’d be watching us. As he put it, “People didn’t die nearly so often before you lot came around.”

I paused outside the SUV, unable to resist the reply. “That’s not true,” I said softly. “You just don’t go looking for the bodies anymore.”

We left Robinson looking sick in the reflected red glow of our taillights.

By the time we got back to the house, it was well after midnight, and most of us needed medical attention to varying degrees. I set to cleaning wounds, and Shannon saw to mine.

It wasn’t until morning we realized we’d missed our appointment with Dale Graham—and by then, it was too late.

Fire and Blood

“Any chance this could be a coincidence?” Shannon wanted to know.

“None,” I said flatly.

We’d managed to save one person last night, but we hadn’t been there for Dale Graham. If the wicked twelve wanted to make me feel guilty, they’d succeeded. But I knew this wasn’t our fault. Bad things had been happening in Kilmer since before I was born. I was just determined to get to the bottom of it.

I stood looking at the smoking ruin of his house on Rabbit Road and wanted to throw up. Nobody suggested I try to read it to find out what happened here. Too much heat remained trapped in the burnt timbers to make it feasible, even if I felt like trying that particular trick again so soon. I didn’t.

Volunteer firemen poked through the wreckage, looking for human remains. They seemed inappropriately cheerful, as if they did this all the time. Then again, in Kilmer, they probably did.

“Look at the grass and trees around the house,” Jesse murmured.

I shifted focus, along with the other two. It hit us all at the same time, but Chance articulated it. “A third of the trees on his property caught fire, and all the green grass burnt up.” “So Miss Minnie was right?” Shannon asked.

I felt a headache coming on. “Sort of. Just not on a global scale.”

“That means we need to take her seriously,” Jesse said. “However crazy that sounds.”

“An earthquake might not be literal.” Chance seemed distant but thoughtful.

Most of me felt glad he had eased off—that he was focused more on solving our problems. I wasn’t ready for reconciliation, not when his power was on temporary hiatus and our long-term problems hadn’t been resolved. When we left Kilmer for good, his luck would return—and I would become a victim of the need for cosmic balance again. I didn’t look forward to it.

“But what causes tremors?” Shannon fidgeted, obviously not sure why we were hanging around the fire scene. I guessed she wanted to be away from here before Sheriff Robinson showed up and decided to hold us indefinitely for being troublemaking pains in his sizable ass.

I thought about that, remembering the crappy places I’d lived over the years, and said at the same time as Jesse, “A train.”

Chance nodded, excitement sparking like gold flecks in his eyes. “Shannon, are there any houses built close to the train tracks in town? Close enough that they’d shake when the train goes by?”

“Yep,” she said. “There used to be a station, a long time ago, but it closed down in—lemme think . . .” She broke off, pondering for a full minute. “In 1911. Now there’s just a cargo line that goes by twice a week.”

“Do you know the way?” Jesse asked.

She nodded. “I used to hang out with a kid who lived out there, but my mom made me stop because he wasn’t a desirable acquaintance.” I could tell from her tone that she was quoting her mother verbatim. “It’s the worst part of Kilmer.”

Saldana tossed her the keys. “Here you go.” At her stunned expression, he asked, “You do know how to drive?”

She was speechless, staring at him for a long minute before she managed to say, “Well, yeah. My dad taught me. I have a license too, but I don’t have a car, and the last few months, I’ve been grounded for one reason or another.”

He smiled at her. “Then you need the practice, and it’ll be easier if you just take us there. That okay with you?”

Her smile could’ve blinded the lot of us. “Sure. Get in.” Jesse Saldana would make a great dad, I decided, as I headed toward the workers raking the wreckage. He wasn’t quite old enough to be parenting Shannon, but he had the older-brother role polished to a fine sheen.

“I’ll be right back,” I said over my shoulder.

I picked my way toward the wreckage of Dale’s house. Ash sifted from the broken beams, and smoke still curled from the foundation. There were five men raking the place down; none of them looked pleased at my approach.

“What do you think happened?” I asked the lead volunteer.

Sooty-faced and weary, he shrugged. “My guess? He fell asleep with a lit cigarette. It would’ve spread faster if he was drinking.”

That was the official story they spread about my mama, too. Miz Ruth had said as much a few days back. That seemed an unlikely coincidence.

“Have you recovered his body?” Maybe it was macabre, but I had to know.

The volunteer shook his head. “Not yet. We’ll keep looking.”

First happy news I’d had all day. “Thanks. Good luck.”

Maybe Dale Graham hadn’t been home when they torched his house. I could hope, right? And maybe he had his journal with him, wherever he was. Playing dead might be the smartest thing he could do.

I pulled Butch out of my handbag and put him down. “Remember the hippie we ate pie with at the diner?”

He yapped once.

“Sniff around and see if you can find him.”

It was probably a long shot. The acrid smoke would likely overwhelm any subtler smells, but Butch appeared keen to try. He put his nose to the ground and sniffed all around the wreckage in a large perimeter, and then trotted toward the road. He barked and then lifted a leg on the mailbox.

I didn’t know what to make of that. “He got his mail yesterday?”

Butch gave the affirmative yap. I wasn’t sure how that helped us, but I bent to scratch behind his ears and told him, “Good dog.”

Then I scooped him up, sprinted for the Forester, and climbed in back, where I found Jesse. With his bad arm, he might’ve wanted help with the driving and was too much of a man to say so. The idea made me smile.

“What?” Jesse asked.

“How’s the injury?”