A blast of heat rushed across me as the house disgorged a ball of fire. Beautiful and grotesque. A red-orange orb, laced with roiling black clouds. I hadn’t heard glass breaking, although I could see jagged pieces littering the ground like dirty ice. The windows were gaping holes, eerie open mouths, screaming in shock. The entire front of the house had blown outward. Pieces of lumber scattered the yard like a giant’s game of pickup sticks. Chunks of plaster smoked, and tufts of insulation fell.
I grinned. “Thar she blows, matey.”
Flames licked the walls with hungry red tongues.
The roof? Poof.
This house was completely uninhabitable.
No guilt or pride surfaced as I ejected the spent shell casing and shoved it in my pocket. Time to retreat, not gloat. I ran low to the ground, to the break in the fence. I ducked through the barbed wire and heard the sputtering engine of the ATV beneath the cacophony of crackling wood. After breaking my rifle down and fitting the pieces back in the case, I checked my watch.
Mission accomplished in under thirty-four minutes.
Now the real race began.
TWELVE
Nervous sweat plastered my hair to my face, my neck, and coated my scalp. In my room I shoved the gun case back in the closet. I ditched the ninja clothes at the bottom of the laundry basket and slipped back into my pajamas. I brought the covers under my chin, too wired to sleep.
I was half surprised I’d made it back to the house before the phone rang. Best-case scenario? No one reported the fire until it’d burned the house to the ground. The neighboring property belonged to the LifeLite religious group, and they hadn’t volunteered to help when we’d had a fire on our ranch last summer, so I expected they’d turn a blind eye now.
My main concern was the volunteer firemen called to the scene to risk life and limb to save the structure I’d torched.
Ten minutes passed. Fifteen. Twenty. Just when I believed the fire would burn unattended, a knock sounded on my bedroom door.
Talk about jumping like a scalded cat. I didn’t answer, just waited for the next knock.
“Mercy?” Jake said, a little louder. “Phone.”
I opened the door. “Who is it?”
“Wouldn’t say.”
Snatching the cordless from his hand, I entered the living room. “This is Mercy Gunderson. Who’s calling me at three o’clock in the goddamn morning?”
“Clayton Black with the Eagle River Volunteer Fire Department. There’s been an explosion at the old Newsome house.”
“An explosion?” I repeated.
“Where? What’s going on?” Hope demanded behind me.
“Something at the Newsome house,” I said, turning my back on her. “What happened?”
“We’re not sure. Looks like a gas leak. We wanted to let you know we’re doing all we can to save the house-”
“Forget about saving the house. There’s nothing in it. Keep the firefighters safe.”
“But the structure-”
“Might as well collapse, if it’s as bad as you say.” I looked at Hope; her face was as pasty white as her frilly nightgown. “Can you hold off on doing anything for the next ten minutes until my sister and I get there?”
“I guess.”
I hung up and said to Hope, “Go throw on some clothes, and I’ll meet you out front.”
“But I can’t leave Joy-”
“With her father? Come on. You’ll have your cell if Jake needs something.” I put my hand on the wall. “I might need you to drive since I’ve been sick.”
“Then Jake can drive you. I’ll stay here.”
“Jake is a manager, not an owner. You will be a full participant in whatever decision we make, Hope. So get changed and meet me by my truck.”
She raced upstairs, Jake behind her. I threw on sweatpants, slipped my feet into a pair of flip-flops, and grabbed my keys.
We reached the truck at the same time, and Hope climbed in the passenger’s side. “What do you think happened?”
“They said some kind of gas explosion.”
She was quiet, not the good kind of quiet. I felt her studying me, but I kept my eyes firmly on the road.
“Don’t you think it’s… convenient that after I tell you I want to move into the Newsome place, something like this happens?”
I looked at her. Hard. “Don’t you think it’s a goddamn good thing something convenient like this happened before you moved in with Joy and Jake?”
A comprehending look of horror crossed her face, and she shut up.
We saw the flames from a half mile away. They’d died down since the initial blast. I dodged parked vehicles lining the drive and rolled down my window upon reaching the Eagle River County Sheriff’s Department blazer blocking access.
Shit. I hoped it wasn’t Dawson. I so did not want to deal with him right now.
Deputy Jazinski leaned in the window. “Gonna have to leave it parked here, Miz Gunderson. Clayton’s waiting for you around the left side of the pumper truck.”
“Thanks.” I was sorry I’d worn flip-flops as Hope and I picked our way through smoking piles of debris.
Once we had a clear view of the burned-out shell, Hope reached for my hand and gasped. “Oh my God.”
From far away, I’d experienced the detachment I’d honed after taking out a target. Aim. Fire. Verify. Move on. Even now, faced with the destruction I’d set in motion and my sister’s emotional reaction to it, I didn’t feel a single ounce of remorse.
But I did have to fake it. “It’s just… gone.” The catch in my voice was a nice touch.
A man in a full firefighting suit approached and removed his headpiece. “Mercy. Clayton Black. We’ve never officially met, but I responded to the fire at your place last summer, and I was on scene at Clementine’s.”
“I imagine the next time you hear my name you’ll head the other direction.”
He smiled, making him look far younger than he’d sounded on the phone. “No. I’ve always been the type to run headlong into danger rather than away from it.” He turned toward the house. “As you can see, there ain’t much left.” He pointed to the roof, which had broken into three pieces upon impact with the ground. “At this point we’re treating this as a propone explosion. None of the outbuildings were affected. And we’ve had enough moisture that the flames scorched the ground in places but didn’t start a full-blown fire.”
“That’s something, I guess.”
“Since we spoke, we’ve been keeping an eye on it, and I gotta say, it’s… unnatural for a bunch of firefighters to stand around and watch something burn.”
“I imagine it is. But I’d rather see them safe on the sidelines than risk their lives on a building that ain’t worth saving.”
“And that’s the question of the night, isn’t it?”
The reddish glow from the flames backlit the man, emphasizing the fact that he wore street clothes, not a fireproof suit. His face was shadowed, but I knew who he was.
His gaze flicked between us. “Mercy. Hope. Thanks for getting here so quickly.”
“No problem, Chief.” Dave Klapperich had headed up the volunteer fire department for as long as my dad had been sheriff. During the week Dave ran a successful trucking company and was a shrewd businessman, so I wasn’t surprised by the suspicion in his eyes. He suspected arson. I’m sure everyone did. But there was one glitch in their theory.
Klapperich cut to the chase. “So I’m curious as to why you told Clayton to let it burn.”
The moment of truth. “Because it’s not insured.”
A collective pause.
Klapperich leaned forward. “Did you say this place wasn’t insured?”
I shook my head. “When we learned of the first-right-of-refusal option in the Newsome will, we felt… obligated to buy it. Money was tight. Took all our extra cash just to put a down payment on the land. Then medical bills starting coming in, and we had to choose what took priority. Adding liability insurance on this structure wasn’t on the list. I’d planned to do it next month.”