Where There's Smoke

by Sandra Brown

  He said nothing until they were outside. “Your car or mine?”

  “Mine. You can spot that yellow submarine of yours a mile away. Besides, if my car’s seen at the motel, nobody thinks twice about it.”

  As soon as they were seated in the El Dorado, she leaned across the console and brushed a light kiss across his lips. It was an appetizer, a teaser for good things yet to come. “You’ve missed me. I know you have.”

  He remained slumped in his seat, staring balefully through the windshield.

  Darcy smiled with feline complacency. He was sulking, but she’d have him revved up in no time. If it was the last thing she did, she’d prove that Lara Mallory was forgettable.

  The Cadillac sped in the direction of The Green Pine Motel.

  Jody knew Janellen well. The girl wasn’t nearly as clever as she thought she was. Ordinarily, any alteration in her routine sent Janellen into a tailspin. She would cajole her to eat, beg her not to smoke, insist that she go to bed, implore her to get up. She hovered like a mother hen.

  But tonight when she declined supper, Janellen’s nagging had lacked its customary fretfulness. Even before tonight, Jody had detected remarkable changes in Janellen. She fussed over her appearance like never before. She’d begun wearing makeup and had had her hair screwed into that curly, bobbed hairdo. She dressed differently. Her skirts were shorter and the colors brighter.

  She laughed more. In fact her disposition was cheerful to the point of giddiness. She went out of her way to be friendly to people she had shied away from before.

  Her eyes twinkled with something akin to mischief, which disconcertingly reminded Jody of Key. And of her late husband. Janellen was keeping a secret from her mother for the first time in her life.

  Jody guessed it was a man.

  She’d overheard Janellen tell Maydale that cock-and-bull story about a seminar in Longview, when it was obvious she was keeping a rendezvous with her fellow, probably at the same motel where her father had entertained some of his tarts. The sordidness of it left a bad taste in Jody’s mouth. Hadn’t the girl learned anything she’d tried to teach her? Before some fortune-hunting Casanova ruined Janellen’s life, she’d have to attend to it.

  All the important family issues were her responsibility and had been since she said “I do” to Clark Junior. Where would the Tacketts be today if she hadn’t helped maneuver their destiny? Never content to let events evolve on their own capricious course, she handled all the crises herself.

  Like the one she was scheduled to take care of tonight.

  Of course, first she had to sneak past Maydale.

  Fergus Winston’s mind was pleasantly drifting.

  The school board treasurer was a soprano soloist in the Baptist church choir. She so enjoyed the sound of her own voice that she detailed each entry on the budget report instead of distributing copies and letting the other board members read it.

  As she itemized the entries in her wavering falsetto, Fergus hid a private smile, reflecting on his own healthy financial report. Thanks to a relatively temperate summer that had attracted fishermen and campers to the lakes and forests of East Texas, the motel had enjoyed its best season yet.

  He was seriously considering Darcy’s suggestion of using some of the profits to build a recreation room with workout equipment and video games. Darcy hadn’t steered him wrong yet, not since he’d hired her to coordinate his coffeeshop. She had a knack for money-making ideas.

  She also had a knack for spending every cent he made. Like most folks, she didn’t think he was too astute. Because he loved her, he let her live under the illusion that he didn’t know about her extramarital affairs. It hurt that she sought the company of other men, but it wasn’t as painful as living without her would be.

  He’d heard a radio psychologist spouting off about deep-seated psychological reasons for aberrant human behavior that had roots in childhood. No doubt Darcy was such a case. It made him sad for her, made him love her even more. As long as she continued to come home to him, he would continue to turn a blind eye to her infidelities and a deaf ear to the ridicule of his friends and associates.

  She thought he didn’t know about the lavish amounts of money she spent on herself and Heather, but he did. His wife had a creative mind, but he was a bean counter. He knew down to the penny what the motel was worth. Over the years he had learned where to hide profits from the IRS, where to be extravagant, where to cut corners.

  He smothered a chuckle behind a cough. Thanks to Jody Tackett, he saved thousands of dollars each year. He’d always hoped he would live to see his old enemy die. Before her health got any worse and she became insentient, he must decide whether to let her in on his little secret.

  Timing would be critical. After all, he would be confessing a crime. He wanted her lucid enough to grasp the full impact of his admission, but incapable of doing anything about it.

  Maybe he should put it in the form of a thank-you note. Dear Jody, Before you take up residence in eternal Hell, I want to thank you. Remember how you screwed me out of the oil lease? Well, I’m pleased to inform you that—

  “Fergus? What do you think?”

  The soprano roused Fergus from his woolgathering. “I think you’ve been comprehensive. If there are no corrections or questions, I suggest we move on.”

  As the vice president introduced the first item of business on that evening’s agenda, Fergus returned to his satisfying fantasies of vengeance.

  “Your treachery killed my daughter.” Lara’s voice remained as steady as her extended hands cupping the Magnum .357. “You bastard. You killed my baby. Now I’m going to kill you.”

  Having the gun leveled at him gave Randall pause, but only momentarily. He recovered admirably. “You tried this dramatic posturing in Motesangre and it didn’t play. Emilio saw through it just as I do. You’re a healer, Lara, not a killer. You value human life too highly to ever take one.

  “However, not everyone shares your elevated regard for his fellow man. Such lofty ideals prohibit you from seizing what you want. The final step is the only one that really counts, Lara. Whether or not you take it determines success or failure. One must be willing to take the final step or he might as well not put forth the effort. In this particular scenario, pulling the trigger is the final step, and you’ll never do it.”

  “I’m going to kill you.”

  His composure slipped a fraction, but he continued with equanimity. “With what? An empty revolver? The bullets were removed, remember?”

  “Yes, I remember. But they were replaced. Key had hidden extra ammunition in a secret pouch of the camera bag. The soldiers missed it during their search. He reloaded the gun before we left the hotel to catch the plane to Colombia.” She pulled back the hammer. “I’m going to kill you.”

  “You’re bluffing.”

  “That’s the last judgment call you’ll ever make, Randall. And it’s wrong.”

  The racket was deafening. The darkness was splintered by a brilliant orange light as Lara was flung backward against the wall. The heavy revolver fell from her hand.

  He inserted the latchkey into the lock. Unseen, they entered the honeymoon suite and closed the door behind them. He reached for the light switch, but when he flipped it up, nothing happened.

  “Bulb must be burned out,” he said.

  “There’s a lamp on the end table.”

  She crossed the sitting room, feeling her way in the darkness. His curiosity about mechanical things compelled him to try the light switch once again.

  The light bulb wasn’t at fault, but rather an electrical short in the switch. When he flipped it up again, it sparked.

  The room exploded.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Lara had the breath knocked out of her when she hit the wall. Collecting herself, she stumbled to the window. It seemed the whole north side of Eden Pass was ablaze.

  Grabbing her medical bag, she raced from the house and ignored traffic laws in her haste to reach the roiling c
olumn of black smoke. She quickly determined that the site of the explosion was The Green Pine Motel.

  She arrived within seconds of the fire truck and the sheriff’s patrol car. One wing of the building was engulfed in flames. Periodic explosions within the conflagration sent plumes of fire into the night sky. Damage to the property would be extensive. The casualty rate would depend on the number of rooms occupied. Lara mentally prepared herself for the worst.

  “Any signs of survivors?”

  Sheriff Baxter had to strain to hear her over the roar of the flames. “Not yet. Jesus Christ. What a mess.”

  For all their valiant efforts, Lara knew that Eden Pass’s fire department, which depended largely on community volunteers, didn’t have a prayer of bringing this blaze under control. The fire chief was smart enough to realize that. He didn’t send his willing but ill-equipped men into the fire, but gave them orders to try to keep it from spreading. He put in calls for assistance to the larger fire departments within driving distance.

  “And call somebody at Tackett Oil,” Sheriff Baxter shouted. “That well is too damn close for comfort.” The deputy, Gus, got on his police radio.

  “Sheriff, can I use the cellular phone in your car to call the county hospital?” The sheriff bobbed his head.

  She slid into the driver’s seat of the patrol car and placed her call. Luckily she was put through to an efficient emergency room nurse. She explained the situation.

  “Dispatch your ambulances at once. Send extra emergency supplies, painkillers and syringes, bandages, portable oxygen canisters.” They only had two ambulances, so she suggested that reinforcements be called from surrounding counties. “Also, alert Medical Center and Mother Frances Hospital in Tyler. We’ll probably need their helicopters to take the most seriously injured to their trauma centers.

  “Tell them to put their disaster teams on standby. Notify all regional blood banks that extra units of blood might be needed, and get an inventory of what types are immediately available. They’ll also need extra staff. It’s going to be a messy night.”

  “Over there!” Sheriff Baxter was wildly gesturing to the firemen when she rejoined him.

  Shouts could be heard coming from the wing of the motel that hadn’t been demolished by the original blast. Lara watched fearfully as a group of volunteer firemen entered the burning building. At any second, another explosion might take their lives.

  After several tormenting moments, they began leading out survivors. Two of the firemen were carrying victims on their shoulders. Others were walking under their own power, but Lara could see that they were dazed, burned, and choking from smoke inhalation.

  She instructed the firemen to line them up on the ground, then she moved among them, assessing their injuries, mentally noting the ones who were the most critically injured, dispensing the only medicine she had at the moment—encouragement.

  The wail of sirens had never been so welcome. The first of the ambulances arrived and disgorged three paramedics. Working quickly with them, she started IVs, began giving oxygen, and indicated which of the injured should be taken immediately to the hospital. Paramedics unloaded several boxes of emergency supplies for her use, then sped away with their injured passengers.

  The others looked at her through pain-glazed eyes. She hoped they understood how difficult it was to play God, to decide who would go and who would stay.

  The firemen made other forays into the blaze. The number of survivors increased, but that made it more difficult for Lara to deal with everyone. Two were in shock. Several were crying, one was screaming in agony. Some were unconscious. She did what she could to administer essential first aid.

  She was kneeling beside a man, applying a tourniquet to a compound fracture of his ulna, when car tires screeched dangerously close. She turned her head, hoping to see another ambulance.

  Darcy Winston stumbled from the driver’s side of her El Dorado. “Heather!” she screamed. “Oh my God! Heather! Has anybody seen my daughter?”

  She charged toward the building and would have rushed headlong into the inferno if one of the firemen hadn’t caught her and pulled her back. She fought him. “My daughter’s in there!”

  “Oh, no,” Lara groaned. “No.” Had the girl with whom she’d developed an instant rapport been a casualty? She looked for Heather Winston among the rescued, but she wasn’t there.

  “Sweet Jesus.”

  At the sound of Key’s voice, Lara turned and realized with lightning clarity that he had arrived with Darcy. Shoving personal considerations aside, she said, “Help me, Key. I can’t handle this alone.”

  “I’ll get a chopper. On the way I’ll call my sister and get her over here to help you.” He glanced in the distance. “Christ, that well—”

  “They’ve already notified someone at Tackett Oil.”

  “That’s number seven. It’s on Bowie’s route, I believe. He should be along shortly. Once he caps off the well, he’ll pitch in and help, too.”

  He had remained in motion since alighting, rounding the hood of Darcy’s car and moving toward the driver’s side. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine. Just please help me get these people to the hospital.”

  “Be right back.” He jumped behind the wheel and sped away even before closing the car door. Moments following his departure, three more ambulances arrived.

  The volunteer firemen carried five more victims from the building, replacing the ones Lara had dispatched to the hospital. An elderly woman succumbed to smoke inhalation a few minutes after her rescue. Her daughter held her lifeless hand and sobbed.

  A toddler, who appeared unharmed, was crying for his mother. Lara didn’t know to whom he belonged, or if his mother had even been rescued.

  “I’ll take care of him.”

  The offer came from Marion Leonard. Lara’s lips parted in surprise, but she didn’t waste time on questions. “That would be very helpful. Thank you.” She passed the crying child to Marion, who carried him away, speaking soothingly.

  Jack Leonard was there too. “Tell me what to do, Dr. Mallory.”

  “I’m sure the firemen could use some help dispensing oxygen.” He nodded and went to do as she suggested.

  Fergus Winston had arrived, Lara noticed. He was holding his wife in his arms. Darcy was gripping the lapels of his coat and crying copiously. “You’re sure, Fergus? You swear to God?”

  “I swear. Heather called to tell me that they were having an extra cheerleading practice tonight. I gave her permission to leave her shift early.”

  “Oh, Jesus, thank you. Thank you.” Darcy collapsed against him.

  He held her close, smoothing back her hair, stroking her tear-ravaged cheeks, assuring her that their daughter was safe. But his long, sad face and woebegone eyes reflected the light from the fire that was rapidly consuming his business.

  When the clap and clatter of helicopter blades reached her ears, Lara looked skyward. A Flight for Life helicopter had arrived. Minutes later it lifted off with two patients aboard. Shortly after that, Key landed the private helicopter he’d borrowed before to transport Letty Leonard. Lara directed two women who had sustained severe cuts and bruises from a blown-out window to the chopper.

  “Have you seen Janellen?” he shouted over the racket. Lara shook her head. “Our housekeeper said she went to Longview.” He shrugged. “No one at Tackett Oil can locate Bowie either.”

  “If she shows up, I’ll tell her you’re looking for her.”

  He gave her a thumbs-up sign. “I’ll be back when I can.” The chopper lifted off.

  Lara returned to her task, which she worked at unceasingly until time had no relevance. She measured it only by the number of survivors she could keep alive or make more comfortable until they could be transferred to a hospital. She tried not to think about those whom she could not save.

  She wasn’t without volunteer help. Jimmy Bradley and his wife of two weeks, Helen Berry, arrived and offered her their assistance. So did Ollie Hoskins. Her form
er nurse, Nancy Baker, was a most welcome sight. She was able, quick, and experienced enough to handle even the most gruesome injuries. Other townsfolk who had previously shunned her volunteered their services. She didn’t refuse anyone’s help.

  That night the motel had been staffed by six employees. The total number of guests occupying rooms was eighty-nine—and two that no one knew about.

  Bowie Cato carried his bride over the threshold of the honeymoon suite in the downtown Shreveport hotel.

  “Oh, Bowie, it’s beautiful.” Janellen admired the skyline view as he set her down in the center of the room.

  “I shopped around. When I heard about this place, I had to get written permission from my parole officer to come over here on account of it being in Louisiana.”

  “You went to a lot of trouble.”

  “It was worth it if you like it.”

  “I love it.”

  “For what it’s costing, we might not eat for the first month of our married life.”

  She laughed and placed her arms around his waist. “If you ask your boss nicely, I bet you’ll get a raise.”

  “There’s not going to be any favoritism to me just ’cause I’m the boss lady’s husband,” he said sternly. “I’m no gold digger. I made that plain the night I talked myself right out of an affair and into an elopement.” He shook his head in bafflement. “Still can’t quite figure how that happened.”

  “You refused to let me be gossiped about like I was trash. And I said the solution to that was for us to get married.”

  He worriedly gnawed the inside of his cheek. “Your mama might have it annulled.”

  “She can’t. I’m a grown-up.”

  “Key might shoot me.”

  “I’ll shoot him back.”

  “Don’t joke about it. I hate like hell to come between you and your family.”

  “I love them, but nothing is as important to me as you are, Bowie. For better or worse, you’re my husband now.” She coyly ducked her head. “Or you will be as soon as you stop talking and take me to bed.”