Breathe Your Last: An addictive and nail-biting crime thriller (Detective Josie Quinn Book 10)

by Lisa Regan

  Relieved, Josie set Bronwyn down beside Dorothy, who immediately dropped to her knees and threw her arms around her sister. The two held each other and sobbed. Josie gathered them to her and shuffled them farther onto the shoulder of the driveway so they would be well out of the path of the emergency vehicles. Three trucks passed them and then an ambulance went past, lumbering up the driveway toward the house. A second ambulance pulled up, stopping on the other side of the driveway across from Josie and the girls. Two paramedics jumped out—Owen and Sawyer. Sawyer went directly to the two girls while Owen opened the back doors of the ambulance.

  Josie pointed to Bronwyn. “She was still inside when I got here.”

  He nodded his understanding. Josie was concerned about both girls’ lungs but especially Bronwyn’s, since she had been in the burning house longer. She watched as Sawyer and Owen got the two girls into the back of the vehicle, covered them with blankets, checked their vitals, and gently placed nasal cannulas on their faces to give them oxygen. Sawyer broke away momentarily when the radio in the front of the ambulance squawked. A tinny voice came over the line. They could all hear it. “We’ve got an adult male. Back of the house, near the woods. Badly burned. Looks like he got out and tried to put some distance between himself and the fire. Unresponsive, but we’ve got vitals. Taking him to Denton Memorial, but he might need to be life-flighted to Philadelphia. Somewhere with a burn unit.”

  Sawyer picked up the radio. “Copy that. Do you need assistance?”

  “Just clear the driveway.”

  “You got it.”

  Turning, he stopped when he saw Josie. “You hear that?”

  She nodded. Sawyer went back to the girls. Dorothy asked, “My grandpa got out? Is he alive?”

  Sawyer said, “Yes and yes.”

  Owen added, “They’ll get him to the hospital right away.”

  While Owen secured the back doors, Sawyer hopped into the cab and steered the ambulance a few more feet onto the shoulder of the driveway, just in time for the other ambulance to come roaring past, lights blazing, siren wailing. It turned toward town and disappeared into the night.

  As Owen threw the doors to the back of the ambulance open again, Josie heard Bronwyn’s small voice say, “Do you think Grandpa will live?”

  All of the adults froze. Josie noticed her lip quiver, saw Dorothy watching all of them, and said, “The doctors are going to do everything they possibly can to save him, and if they think they need more help, they’ll send him to a bigger hospital with even better doctors.”

  This seemed to placate both girls. Sawyer and Owen began asking them questions like their names and ages and telling them how brave they were. Josie hung back, listening for details in case she needed to report them to the fire chief later. Sawyer asked their mother’s name and phone number. Michelle Walsh. Bronwyn didn’t know her number, but Dorothy did. As she rattled it off, Josie punched it into her phone and made the call, a little piece of her heart breaking as she gave Michelle the news about the fire. But she felt a small swell of relief that she was able to tell the mother that both her daughters were safe and that her father was still hanging on.

  “I am only a few minutes away. Can you wait there for me? I’m on my way,” Michelle told Josie.

  “Sure,” said Josie.

  Twenty-Two

  Sawyer monitored the two girls’ oxygen saturation and kept them company inside the back of the ambulance while Josie stood just outside with Owen.

  “You know whose place this is, right?” he asked her.

  “No,” Josie said. “You do?”

  Owen nodded. “Clay Walsh.”

  The name sounded familiar to her, but she couldn’t place it.

  Owen said, “He’s a retired firefighter.”

  Josie felt as though someone had punched her in the stomach. She glanced inside the vehicle. Both girls rested on the gurney together, Bronwyn wrapped in Dorothy’s arms. Neither seemed to have overheard, but Sawyer stared at Josie with a penetrating look.

  “A firefighter almost dies in a fire,” Josie murmured.

  She climbed inside the vehicle. Sawyer adjusted the oxygen cannula on Dorothy’s nose and asked her, “Do you know how the fire started?”

  Both girls’ eyes widened. Bronwyn looked up at her sister, as if seeking guidance of some kind.

  Josie said, “It’s okay. Whatever happened, you won’t be in trouble with us. We just need to know.”

  Dorothy swiped at a tear running down her cheek. “Grandpa… he…”

  She looked away from them and squeezed her eyes closed, her entire body quaking with a long sob.

  Sawyer looked at Dorothy’s vitals. Her heart rate jumped. He said, “It’s okay, girls. We don’t have to talk about it. Just rest now.”

  But Bronwyn extricated herself from her sister’s embrace and sat up straight.

  “Bron,” Dorothy cautioned, opening her eyes again.

  “Grandpa said it’s not tattling if you think someone’s gonna get hurt,” she announced.

  “That is true,” Josie said carefully.

  Through her tears, Dorothy glared at her sister. “Grandpa’s still alive, Bron.”

  Bronwyn gave a little pout. “Grandpa said we should always tell the truth.”

  “Not about this,” Dorothy croaked.

  Sawyer opened his mouth to speak, but Josie shook her head almost imperceptibly. To the girls, she said, “I think that Mr. Hayes is right. You two need to rest right now, okay?”

  Dorothy looked relieved and nodded. Bronwyn’s cheeks filled with air, almost as though she was bursting to tell what she knew. Sawyer followed Josie outside of the ambulance. Owen went inside to keep an eye on their vital signs. Josie led Sawyer several feet away before speaking. “We need to wait for their mother,” she told him. “They’re minors.”

  Sawyer looked back at the ambulance. “The little one is about to spill. Besides, this is a fire, not a homicide or something. Do those rules about having a parent present even apply here?”

  Josie raised a brow at him. “We’re waiting for their mother.”

  He held her gaze for a long moment. The sound of wheels over asphalt and then a door slamming tore Josie’s attention from him. From the road, Mettner jogged toward them. “Hey,” he said when he reached them. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

  “It was on the radio,” he said. “You called in the fire. Everyone was worried so I said I’d come out and see. Hey, you’ve got glass in your hair. What happened?”

  Josie wondered if everyone included Noah. She hadn’t checked her phone but wondered if he, too, had heard and tried to call her. Sawyer left them alone, climbing back into the ambulance with the girls. Josie shook her hair to try and rid it of some of the glass and checked her phone as she updated Mettner. No calls or texts from Noah. She concluded with, “Also, I think my car is totaled, so I’m going to need a ride back to the station—or home. Have you seen Noah?”

  “Uh, no,” Mettner said. “Your car is totaled? The one you bought only five months ago?”

  Josie pressed her lips into a thin line and nodded. This wasn’t her year for cars.

  “Girls?” a female voice cried. “Girls? Where are my girls?”

  From the road, a woman in her thirties, dressed in jeans, a fitted black shirt, and a long, cream-colored sweater ran toward Josie and Mettner. Long sandy hair flew behind her. Her hands tugged at the lapels of her sweater, stretching them until her fingers left distortions in the fabric.

  “Michelle?” Josie asked.

  She almost ran straight into Josie, gripping Josie’s upper arms to stop herself. “It’s me,” she said. “Where are my girls?”

  “The ambulance,” Josie said. “Come on.”

  Michelle ran ahead of her, jumping up inside the ambulance without warning, muscling Owen and Sawyer out of her way to get to her children. She gathered them tightly to her, leaning over the side of the stretcher and hol
ding their upper bodies against hers until one of them said, “Mo-oom.”

  Josie, Mettner, Sawyer, and Owen waited while Michelle fussed over her girls and took a few minutes to hold them before Josie climbed into the cab, seating herself on one of the benches along the side wall. Mettner, Owen, and Sawyer stood just outside, eyes and ears focused on Michelle and her kids.

  Michelle said, “Where’s my dad? Did they take him to the hospital?”

  “Yes,” Josie answered. “To Denton Memorial—although they did say he may have to be life-flighted to a hospital in Philadelphia if his burns are too severe.”

  Michelle pressed a fist against her mouth and nodded.

  “We started to talk to the girls about what happened,” Josie explained. “But I thought it was best for you to be present.”

  “Thank you,” Michelle said. She looked down at the girls. “But I don’t see the harm in you talking to them about this. I want to know what happened as well.”

  Dorothy reached up and tugged on her mother’s sweater. “Mom, I don’t think we should talk about this. I think it should be private.”

  Michelle’s head reared back. “What? Dorothy, Grandpa’s house burned down.” Her lower lip quivered as she tried to maintain her composure. “Grandpa—” she broke off and sucked in several deep breaths before continuing, “Girls, this is not something we can keep private. Do you understand? This is a tragedy. A terrible, terrible tragedy. I need to know what happened. The firefighters who came today? They probably know Grandpa. Some of them might have worked with him. They need to know what happened.”

  The sadness in Dorothy’s voice when she spoke next was a spike through Josie’s heart. “But you always said Grandpa was a hero.”

  Michelle tucked a lock of Dorothy’s hair behind her ear, fiddling with the cannula tube. “He is a hero, honey. He always will be.”

  Bronwyn said, “Not anymore, Mama.”

  All eyes focused on the five-year-old. Michelle’s voice trembled when she said, “What do you mean, Bron?”

  Dorothy grabbed Bronwyn’s hand and squeezed it, snapping her eyes shut at the same time, as if she were waiting for someone to do something painful to her. It reminded Josie of Harris when he had to get his shots.

  In a voice so low, all the adults leaned in to hear it, Bronwyn said, “Grandpa set the fire.”

  A beat of silence passed. Then Michelle said, “I’m sorry. What?”

  Bronwyn said, “We were all playing out back. Grandpa went inside. He didn’t come back out, and we were getting hungry, so we went inside. He wasn’t in the kitchen, so we went into the living room and he was in there. He had a towel all rolled up and he was catching it on fire with a lighter.”

  Michelle nudged Dorothy’s shoulder. “Dorothy, look at me.”

  Dorothy didn’t move.

  Michelle shook her shoulder. “Dorothy. Open your eyes and look at me. Is this true?”

  Dorothy’s eyes opened. From under her lids she looked up at her mother, jaw clenched with fright. “Y-yes. Grandpa started the fire.”

  Michelle drew her hand back and crossed her arms under her ample breasts. “This is not funny, girls. Grandpa would never intentionally set a fire. You know that. If you two did something and it got out of hand, you need to just tell me right now. Don’t lie. You’ll be in more trouble if you lie, especially when Grandpa wakes up and tells me what really happened.”

  Bronwyn wiggled on the stretcher. “We are telling the truth, Mommy. Grandpa caught the towel on fire and then he started putting the fire all over the place. On the curtains and the furniture.”

  “Bron!” Michelle shrieked. “Stop! I mean it.”

  Dorothy talked over her mother. “It’s true, Mom. We’re not lying. I thought Grandpa was, like, sick or something. I asked him what he was doing, and he said ‘time to be a match.’”

  The words gave Josie a jolt, but she kept silent.

  “A match?” Michelle asked. “What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know,” Dorothy said. “He just kept saying it over and over again.” She mimicked a low, monotone voice. “‘Time to be a match. Time to be a match.’ I told him to stop and he did, but by that time the whole downstairs was on fire. He looked at me and told me to take Bron and get out. So I did. Except Bron wasn’t behind me. I thought she was, but she wasn’t. I tried to go back in, but the porch fell down.”

  Bronwyn said, “I went back for Grandpa. He was in the kitchen. I told him to come with us and he said he would, but we got to the front of the house and the floor was gone. I asked Grandpa what we should do, and he just looked at me all funny like he didn’t know what I was saying. The fire was getting worse. I didn’t know what to do. Then there was a noise, a bad noise, and Grandpa picked me up and threw me. I landed at the bottom of the stairs. I looked back and more of the floor was gone—like the whole floor from the living room to the kitchen. I didn’t see Grandpa at all. I didn’t know what to do, so I went upstairs.”

  Tears streaked Michelle’s face. “This doesn’t make sense. None of it makes any sense.” She turned toward Josie and Mettner. “My dad wouldn’t do something like that. He was with the fire department for thirty years. He saved lives. He’s the best man I know.”

  “Maybe he was sick,” Dorothy offered. “Like he had one of those things in his brain. What are they called?”

  “Storks,” Bronwyn said. “Like my camp teacher had over the summer.”

  “Strokes,” Michelle corrected. She pressed a hand to her forehead. “I don’t know. Maybe. I can’t—this doesn’t—Dad just wouldn’t… something had to be very, very wrong.”

  Every fine hair on Josie’s body stood to attention. She leaned forward and met Dorothy’s eyes. “Was your grandpa acting strangely at all today?”

  “No. I mean, except for when we came in from outside, and he was lighting the fire.”

  “How long were you outside with him?”

  Dorothy shrugged. “Since we got home from school. I don’t know.”

  Josie tried to calculate. Most local schools ended their day between two thirty and three. She’d been at Tiny Tykes with Harris and Cindy until four thirty. Although Pre-K ended significantly earlier in the day, Misty had enrolled Harris in their aftercare program. It had been approximately four forty when she came upon Dorothy on the side of the road.

  “What school do you girls go to?” Josie asked.

  Bronwyn said, “I go to Tiny Tykes ’cause I’m not six yet, and you have to be six to go to kindergarten.”

  “I know it,” Josie said. She didn’t remember seeing Bronwyn or Michelle there the day before, but there had been dozens of students and parents, and Josie’s full focus had been on Harris. “Do you know what time your grandpa picked you up from there?”

  “Same time as every day,” Bronwyn said simply. “Then we came to his house and watched TV until it was time to get Dorothy.”

  Michelle said, “He picks Bron up at one o’clock. We chose it because it’s close to Dad’s house so it’s easy for him to get her. He doesn’t mind helping out with the cost since he doesn’t have to go very far to get her. She went to summer camp there, too.”

  “What about you, Dorothy?” Josie asked.

  “I go to Wolfson Elementary.”

  The school was about twenty minutes from Clay’s house.

  “Did you girls and your grandpa stop anywhere after school?”

  Both girls shook their heads.

  By Josie’s calculations, they would have gotten back to Clay’s house after picking up Dorothy by three thirty. Given the state of the fire when Josie arrived and the time it would have taken Dorothy to get down to the road to flag Josie down, Clay must have set the fire sometime between four and four twenty, although it was possible he had started it closer to four fifteen.

  Josie said, “Was he outside with you for very long?”

  Dorothy shrugged. “No, I guess not.”

  Bronwyn added, “He only had time to blow bubbles twice and
he had to go back inside.”

  “Why did he go inside?” Josie asked.

  “He thought he heard a car in the driveway,” Dorothy answered.

  “Did he?”

  Bronwyn said, “I don’t know. That’s just what he said. We were playing out back.”

  “Did either of you hear a car?”

  Dorothy said, “I thought I did but I couldn’t be sure either. Grandpa said he would go check and he did.”

  “You didn’t go after him?” Josie asked. “To see for yourself?”

  “No,” Dorothy answered.

  Bronwyn said, “He said to stay where we were and he told Dorothy to blow the bubbles, but she’s not as good at it as Grandpa. She doesn’t make the big bubbles like he does.”

  Michelle let out a little gasp and clamped her hand over her mouth, fighting a sob.

  “Bron,” Dorothy choked.

  “What?” Bronwyn said. “It’s true.”

  “How long was your grandpa in the house?” Josie asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Dorothy said. “But I used up almost all the bubbles while he was gone.”

  “A long time,” Bronwyn added.

  Josie asked, “Did you hear anyone else? See anyone? Hear him talking to another person?”

  Both girls shook their heads.

  Michelle tore her eyes from Josie to look at her girls. “But you went back inside because you were hungry. Dad always has dinner on the table at four fifteen.”

  “He didn’t make dinner,” Dorothy said.

  “Yeah,” Bronwyn added. “No dinner but he made brownies. I really wanted some, but then we saw he was catching the fire.”

  “Brownies,” Josie said. “He made brownies? Are you sure?”

  “They were on the table when we went inside,” Bronwyn said.

  Josie looked at Dorothy. “Is that true?”

  Dorothy said, “I don’t remember.”