Let it All Burn: A Paranormal Women's Fiction Novel (From the Ashes Book 1)

by Denise Grover Swank

  The waitress returned with my wine and my water, and while I was tempted to pick up the stemmed glass and take a generous sip to ease my nerves, I took a small sip to appease my cousin before chasing it with a big gulp of water.

  “Thirsty?” she asked.

  “I took a long shower before I came,” I said, then forced a laugh. “The kids are gone this weekend, so there wasn’t anyone outside my door asking me for anything.” I grimaced. “That’s why I was late. I lost track of time.”

  She leaned closer, earnestness on her face. “Darcie, I’m worried about you.”

  That made two of us. But would she really help me?

  Harriet seemed to trust her. If she hadn’t, she never would have invited her to dinner last night. I still hadn’t asked her about it, but it occurred to me that I could ask Ella. Maybe her answer would help me make up my mind.

  I picked up the wine glass and took another small sip. “How long have you been in contact with Harriet?”

  Her eyes widened slightly. “So she told you?”

  I smiled. “We’re close.”

  “Maybe not as close as you thought if you didn’t know about our conversations.”

  I couldn’t help my involuntary gasp.

  Horror filled Ella’s eyes. “Oh, Darcie! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean that! Too many years of investigative reporting has made me blunt and nosy.” She wrinkled her nose. “Which is why I’m going through my own divorce.”

  I was torn between walking away and offering my condolences, but her next words anchored my butt to the chair.

  “That’s why I reached out to Harriet. To find out how you were doing.”

  “Why on earth wouldn’t you call me, the source?”

  “Because,” she said emphatically, “we hadn’t talked in years. I wasn’t sure how receptive you’d be to a phone call.” Then she added, “And let me assure you that you’re not some hot news story, Darcie. This is just two cousins having a drink, so please don’t call yourself a source.”

  “So you contacted Harriet instead? Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?”

  “I had only meant to ask her about you, and that was it,” she said, her eyes pleading with me to understand. “But after we talked, I told her to call me anytime if she needed someone to talk to, and to my surprise, she texted a few weeks later, asking me if I had time for a call.”

  “When did you first reach out to her?” I asked, trying not to let my hurt feelings show.

  “Back in August. Soon after I heard Richard had moved out.”

  Five months ago. My daughter had had a secret relationship with my cousin for months. I couldn’t ignore the irony that my daughter had found the one relationship I’d craved as a child.

  “I was a sounding board, Darcie,” Ella said with a sigh. “An impartial grown-up to talk to. She could vent and ask advice, and I was more than happy to be that person for her. For you.”

  “For me?” I choked out, trying to sort through my emotions. I was hurt that Harriet had kept a months-long secret from me. It felt an awful lot like Richard’s secret affair. But I reminded myself that my relationship with Harriet was completely different and that I should be grateful that Harriet had found someone to talk to about what she was going through, yet my heart still bled. That person used to be me.

  My divorce was tainting everything in my life.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “She’s a lovely girl,” Ella gushed. “Warm, funny, thoughtful. She thinks the world of you and hates Richard for what he’s done to you and to your family.”

  I knew I should be pleased with her compliments about my daughter, but every word drove the dagger more deeply into my heart. How many conversations had they had?

  “She’s struggled…with everything,” I finally said.

  “She didn’t want to burden you,” Ella said, pleading with me. “She knows what a difficult time you’ve had. She’s heard you crying. She’s seen your pain.” Ella hesitated, then said, “I know you two are close, so I’m sorry this has taken you by surprise. I know it must hurt to hear we’ve been talking for months, but she wasn’t sure how to tell you, and you and I hadn’t seen each other since your father’s funeral.” She lifted her shoulders into a half-hearted shrug. “I’m sorry, Darcie. I’m the grown-up. I should have told you that Harriet and I were speaking.”

  “Yes, Ella. You should have.”

  She didn’t answer, but she didn’t look away. It wasn’t a challenge, more of an acceptance of guilt, as if she refused to shy away from the brunt of my pain.

  “But I should have known,” I said. “I should have been paying attention. What if you’d been a pedophile, grooming her?” My panic rose.

  “No, Darcie, she’s smarter than that,” Ella insisted. “She only trusted me because we’re cousins.”

  But Harriet barely knew Ella—I barely knew her either—so I wasn’t sure that made me feel any better.

  “She’s a good kid, Darce. You’ve done a really great job raising her.”

  “Thanks,” I said, grabbing the base of my wine glass and rubbing my finger up and down the stem.

  There was an awkward silence for several seconds before she said quietly, “My marriage is ending because Nolan gave me an ultimatum. He’s always hated my job. It’s not a traditional nine-to-five gig, you know? So last week he told me I had to choose—him or my job. He gave me a week to think it over, but I didn’t even need a minute. I chose the job.” A wry grin twisted her mouth. “I keep thinking I should feel guilty. He’s my husband, for heaven’s sake. I’m supposed to choose him, for better and for worse and all that bullcrap. But that’s what it is, isn’t it? Bullcrap.”

  My heart softened. “I’m sorry, Ella.”

  She shrugged again. “Yeah, me too. Dexter is away at college studying forensic science, so he’ll be spared most of the drama that Harriet and your kids have had to endure. In fact, Harriet is the one who gave me the courage to tell him my answer so quickly.”

  “Harriet?”

  “Oh!” she said, lifting up a hand. “I see what you’re thinking. Don’t worry, I didn’t share my own tale of woe with her. It’s been a pretty one-way street with the emotional sharing. ”

  While I was relieved Ella hadn’t shared her marriage woes with my sixteen-year-old daughter, it made me uneasy that Ella was apparently privy to my daughter’s private thoughts. I was glad Harriet was opening up to someone, since she’d hated going to see a therapist, but my cousin wasn’t bound to any confidentiality rules. She was also a reporter. Although that last concern was silly. Why would she report about my divorce and its aftermath and what my kids were enduring?

  “I know this all sounds really bad,” Ella said with a sheepish grimace. “I meant to tell you months ago, but Harriet asked me not to.”

  Another knife in my heart. But I told myself this wasn’t about me. This was about my daughter. She’d found someone who would listen to her problems and treat her with respect. I needed to be grateful. Any feelings of jealousy were purely selfish.

  “Thank you,” I finally said. “Thank you for being there for her when I wasn’t.”

  “It’s not that you weren’t there,” Ella said. “If anything, you should be proud that Harriet could see outside her own bubble and recognize you were in pain too. She was trying to spare you.” She paused. “I’m only sorry it took us so long to come clean.”

  “So you knew about our family dinner all along.”

  She nodded. “But I wasn’t planning on going. Harriet texted and told me things were getting tense, so I ‘dropped in’ for dessert. I figured you and I could talk later.”

  It all sounded reasonable, so why was I so suspicious?

  “Harriet told me about the fire at your boss’s house.” She glanced at my hair. “And the blond streak. I can see you have two more now.”

  I shifted in my seat and waited for her to continue.

  “She said the sofa caught on fire. While you were sitting on it.” She paus
ed a beat. “Did you start that fire too, Darcie?”

  We’d reached the moment of truth. Harriet trusted her, and I decided to take a chance.

  “This is off the record.”

  “Of course.”

  “I’m not positive, but it’s highly likely.”

  “What on earth happened?” she asked, looking unfazed by my admission.

  “I had a hot flash.”

  “No, seriously, Darcie.”

  “I’m as serious as a heart attack. I had a hot flash, and the next thing I knew, we all smelled smoke. After I jumped to my feet, the sofa burst into flames.”

  “That must have been terrifying.”

  “Ella, I need to know what you plan to do with this information.”

  She looked taken aback. “I can’t believe you asked me that.”

  “We live in the same town, but other than Dad’s funeral, I haven’t seen you in years. How can I not be suspicious?”

  “I know how it looks. Trust me, I do. But everything that’s happened lately has convinced me family is important. We’re family, Darcie. You and me.”

  “Blood isn’t always thicker than water, Ella.” It felt cold to say so, but my mother had convinced me of that years ago.

  “Trust me, I know,” she said. “But you wanted to have a relationship with me when we were kids.” She grinned and gave me a lazy shrug. “So I’m thirty or so years late.” Her expression turned serious again. “You have to be scared out of your mind. Let me help you.”

  I really, really wanted that.

  “I am scared, and I have basically no idea what’s going on.”

  She reached across the table and grabbed my hand. “We can figure this out. I have resources you likely don’t.”

  “You can’t tell anyone, Ella!” I said, jerking my hand away.

  “That’s not what I meant,” she said, looking unoffended. “But I’m good at hunting down information without giving any away. Now, tell me everything. Start from the very beginning.”

  So I did. I started at the Super Sort and Seal party, moving on to my date with Parker and how it had ended (with Special Agent Stone tackling me), my encounter with Heath the following morning, and my third hot flash in my mother’s kitchen. I even told her about Vee, and how she’d disappeared. She took copious notes through it all, stopping me from time to time to ask questions. I finished by telling her about my visit to the library and the possible link between my grandmother’s hand mirror and the statue of Persephone.

  When I finished, she asked to see the marking on my back, and we went into the bathroom, where I pulled my shirt up so she could examine it.

  “And this just appeared?” she said in awe. “Out of nowhere?”

  “Yeah.”

  I felt her fingertips on my back as she touched the markings.

  “It’s not smooth,” she said. “It’s raised.” She pushed my shirt up higher to get a better look, but it was bunching up uncomfortably, so I tugged it over my head and tossed it onto the counter. Putting my back to the mirror, I reached my arm over my shoulder and tried to touch one of the markings.

  “Oww,” I said as a muscle in my shoulder began to spasm. “I can’t reach as far as I used to.”

  Ella started rubbing my arm, trying to soothe the uncomfortable sensation, when the door to the restroom opened and a woman walked in. She froze in place, her eyes wide.

  I could only imagine what she thought—I was in my bra and Ella was rubbing my arm and shoulder.

  “I’ll just go to the gas station next door…” she said as she took a step backward.

  “It’s okay,” I said, turning around to face her. “We’re just…”

  She held up her hands and waved them in front of her face. “No. No explanation needed.”

  Except she immediately turned around and ran out of the bathroom.

  “Why do I think she’s about to turn us in to the management?” I asked.

  Ella grabbed my shirt off the counter and tossed it to me. “Because you’re smart.”

  I started to put the shirt back on, cringing when I realized the front of it was wet, making me look like I’d been in a wet T-shirt contest.

  Great.

  Ella walked over to the door and held it open, making a sweeping gesture.

  I rushed out the door and hurried to our table, sliding into my seat and trying to look nonchalant as an employee rushed toward the bathroom.

  Ella perched in her chair, twisting to look over her shoulder as the employee walked into the restroom. We both nursed our drinks, and Ella pretended to make small talk until the employee exited the restroom and headed back to the front of the restaurant.

  Once she was out of sight, Ella said, “I think we should make an appointment for you to see a doctor.”

  “I can’t see a doctor, Ella! They’ll commit me.”

  “You’re not going to tell them what’s going on. They have tests to see if you’re really in perimenopause. You just tell the doctor you’re having severe hot flashes—not a lie—and see if they’ll prescribe you medication to control them.”

  My mouth dropped open. “There’s medication to stop hot flashes?”

  Could it really be that easy?

  “I don’t know if they’ll stop completely, but if they’re hormone-induced, then it might make them more manageable.”

  “You mean I’ll melt things instead of setting them on fire?”

  She grinned. “At least you still have your sense of humor.”

  I snorted. “That’s about all I’ve got. But there’s something else. When I was a kid, my uncle used to tell me stories about his grandmother spontaneously combusting.”

  Her eyes lit up. “Oh, that’s an exciting tidbit.”

  “I wouldn’t exactly call it exciting,” I said. “What if I ultimately spontaneously combust?”

  “That wouldn’t make sense,” she said. “You’ve not been burned once through all of this. Let’s say she had the same…condition you do. Perhaps she spontaneously combusted because she didn’t learn to control it. It was too much power for her to control. You just need to learn how to handle it properly.”

  “I felt like I controlled the last one,” I said. “I focused the power into the glass.”

  “That’s great, Darcie!” she said enthusiastically.

  “It doesn’t mean the same thing won’t happen to me.”

  “We don’t even know what really happened to her…or if it’s the same thing. We need to do some research.”

  Ella closed her notebook and tossed some cash next to her half-empty glass. “I’m going to get started on this. I’ll keep you updated every step of the way.”

  I grabbed my coat and started to slip my arms into the sleeves. “Thank you, Ella.”

  Given the way she approached life, like a bulldog with a locked jaw, I knew she’d shake out some answers if there were any to find. I already felt better.

  “I’m glad to help, and I have a skill set you don’t. We’ll get to the bottom of this. I promise.”

  Chapter Twenty

  The next morning, I nursed a cup of coffee and studied the hand mirror. I’d been right—it was a near-perfect match to the object in the photo. Using my phone, I did some quick research on the Greek goddess Persephone, but I didn’t make it through more than the first couple of results before I started doubting myself. The image on the antique mirror didn’t really look Grecian—if anything, it reminded me of paintings I’d seen of Eve in the garden of Eden. Except…Persephone was the goddess of vegetation, so perhaps she fit the bill as Eve. But what did any of it have to do with the fires?

  This was getting me nowhere, so I did some more searches for other women who’d spontaneously generated fires. None of the results looked remotely plausible, so it came as a relief when Ella called.

  “Do you have something already?” I asked, setting my purse on the kitchen table.

  “It’s not much, but it’s a start.”

  “Go on.”

&nbs
p; “I found a few more newspaper articles about the fires your great-grandmother started.”

  My heart leapt and lodged in my throat. We were on the right track, but that didn’t give me any sense of relief given that same “track” had led to my great-grandmother spontaneously combusting.

  “Darcie? You still there?”

  “Yeah. Sorry. It’s just…there are so many similarities…”

  “I agree it’s unlikely to be a coincidence. My source was the Emporia Chronicle, and it seems like they were a bit more thorough in their reporting. Sounds like a rack of dresses went up in the first fire at the clothing store. The second incident was at a neighbor’s house—the drapes—which would explain what she was doing in someone’s house. She was likely paying her a visit.”

  I cringed. That could have been me in the paper, arrested for Nikki’s house fire. I supposed it still might be since the investigation was ongoing and no one had interviewed me yet. I sucked at lying.

  “And the third…” Ella continued, “well, no surprises there.”

  “Did the article say anything about the rumors that she spontaneously combusted?”

  “No,” she said, “but the Emporia Chronicle has always been a reputable newspaper—more so than the Perry’s Fall Gazette—and spontaneously combusting isn’t typically an accepted scientific theory. So even if they’d heard that from a witness, I doubt they would have reported it. Even as hearsay.”

  “Right.”

  “I’m going to send you an email with links to the articles, but I’ll warn you now that they’re microfiche images. I’m still digging, so I’ll let you know as soon as I find something else.”

  “Thanks, Ella.”

  “I’ve got your back, cuz.” Then she hung up.

  I grabbed my laptop and sat at the kitchen island to read the articles. As Ella had suggested, they were a lot more detailed—the first article even included the name of Great-Grandma Sylvia’s friend, Dorothy Merrick.