Wrapped in Flame

by Caitlyn Willows

  “How did you ever manage to leave this morning?” she asked when she answered.

  “It was hard,” he replied.

  It wasn’t difficult figuring out that double entendre. “I’ll bet,” she said with a laugh. “So, you called?”

  “Yeah.” He paused overly long before he continued. “Sandy’s only now leaving. I’ll ask her to drop the key by your place. I want you to have it when you need it, and I might be out when you call.”

  “Sounds good.”

  She ended their call and went to get ready. Erica dreaded Sandy’s arrival. Courtesy required her to invite Sandy in for coffee. Chances were any conversation was going to veer toward what Keith had done. Erica wasn’t sure she could handle the guilt she was going to feel, even though it wasn’t her fault. Then again, Sandy had just come off a three-day shift. Erica perked up a bit. Her goal might be home, not visiting.

  She hauled on blue capris and a pink camp shirt and was running a brush through her hair when Sandy knocked. Erica pasted on a smile and hurried to the door…and found death warmed-over on the other side. Sandy looked like shit. Her pale features looked ashen, her eyes bloodshot. A light breeze ruffled through her short dark hair. She shivered in response, despite the gray hoodie and black sweatpants she wore.

  “Sandy? Are you are all right?”

  “Bathroom. Now.”

  Erica immediately stood to one side and pointed the way. Sandy dashed off, not even bothering to shut the bathroom door behind her. The sounds of retching were loud and clear.

  God. The last thing she needed was to get sick. But her heart wouldn’t let her desert someone in distress. She gave Sandy a little time to recover, then went to check on her. Sandy lay on the floor, arms wrapped around her stomach and her back pressed against the tub. Erica wet a washcloth and pressed it against her face.

  “I’m okay now,” she said but didn’t push away the help.

  “Come on. Let’s move you somewhere more comfortable and give your stomach a chance to recover.” She helped Sandy to her feet and guided her toward the couch.

  “Don’t worry. I’m not contagious.”

  “No, you’re pregnant.” Erica didn’t know how she suddenly knew. She simply did.

  Sandy nodded. Tears flooded in. “God, Erica, what do I do? How much more is Keith going to take from me? Now I’ll have a constant reminder of…”

  “For now, you’re going to rest. I’ll put a trash can by the couch just in case.”

  “At…at least he’s not around to know. I’m so glad that son of a bitch is dead.”

  Who wasn’t? “Rest. You need something, let me know. I’m just going to be putting things away.”

  “I dropped Mike’s key on the bathroom floor.”

  “I’ll find it.”

  Sandy grabbed Erica’s sleeve before she could move. “Don’t tell them.”

  Erica patted her hand. “I won’t, but I also won’t lie for you. They will find out eventually.”

  Her quivering chin came up. “I might decide there’s nothing to find out about.”

  “Okay, then.” Erica hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but who was she to judge? Sandy didn’t need a lecture right now. She needed support. Erica squeezed Sandy’s hand, then let go. “Get some rest.”

  Sandy toed off her sneakers, lay down on her side, then curled the throw pillow under her head while she stared at Erica through glazed eyes. “I met a great guy right before this happened. Good-looking, funny, smart. His kisses melt me, but then the thought of… I want him, but I freak out, because all I can think about is that knife at my throat.”

  Erica struggled for the right thing to say. No one mentioned Keith had used a knife. Maybe Sandy hadn’t told them. “If this man is someone you think you want in your life, then you need to be one hundred percent honest with him. You need to tell him you were raped. A good man will understand and help you through it.”

  “But…I’m pregnant. How do I… What do I do?” Tears fell to the pillow under her cheek. “It’s not the baby’s fault how it was conceived. It’s a little baby. But it’s his baby, and if it looks like him… To see that face every day of my life. I like to think I’m a good person, but I get sick inside at the thought. Poor little baby.” She lifted her head. “Do I tell this guy I’m pregnant too?”

  “Honestly, I’d recommend full disclosure. You can’t build a future with someone on half-truths and secrets. If you can’t be completely open with him, then he’s not the man for you. I’m not saying it will go smoothly, but you do have to be honest, especially if you think you want something with him.”

  “I’m scared.”

  “I would be too.” Erica let out a small laugh. “Hell, I am scared.”

  Sandy pushed upright. “Mike’s not Keith.”

  Jeez, did everyone know? “Neither is your great guy. Give him a chance.”

  “I will.” She reached for her shoes. “I will right now.” Sandy had them on and was at the door in less than thirty seconds. “Thank you so much. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

  “Anytime. It’s what friends are for.”

  “Yeah, and I’m glad you’re one of mine.” She started out the door, then stepped back inside. “Chief Stanton just pulled up. He looks worse off than me.”

  Erica came up behind her and peered over her shoulder. Craig exited his car, smoothed his white uniform shirt, took a deep breath, then headed their way.

  Thanks to the breeze drifting their way, the stench of alcohol pouring from his skin, coupled with whatever cologne he’d used to try to cover it, hit Erica from ten feet away. Sandy slapped her hand over her mouth and dashed for the bathroom. Erica backed up a bit the closer he came and found herself wishing there was a second bathroom, just in case.

  “Looks like someone else had a rough night.” He motioned toward Sandy. “I can definitely sympathize.” He looked at her. “I wanted to apologize for my demeanor last night. I clearly wasn’t myself and am deeply regretful for any awkwardness or inconvenience I may have caused.”

  He could have done that over the phone. Erica tried her best to keep her hands from covering her nose.

  “I also wanted to give you this.” He pulled a key from his pocket and sighed. “You’re right. I need information. I can’t make myself cross that line, so I’m asking you to look through her things. I trust you to tell me what you’ve found. No matter what it is. I’ll be at the station.”

  “If you’re sure.” She took the key from his outstretched fingers.

  “I am.” He nodded, then did an about-face and left.

  She waited until his car disappeared down the street, then called Mike.

  He answered with a, “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Heads-up. Craig’s headed to the station. He reeks of a distillery.”

  “Thanks for the warning. I’ll convince him to go back home.”

  “I doubt he’ll listen.” She briefed him on her task.

  “Okay. Call me first. If it’s really bad news, I’d prefer to know beforehand.”

  “I will.” Whatever she found—answers or not—Craig would need support.

  Sandy stumbled from the bathroom looking even whiter than before. “I’m so sorry.”

  “No need to apologize. I need to run out and take care of a few things. You’re welcome to stay here to recuperate if you’d like.”

  Hand on her stomach, Sandy eyeballed the couch. “Bless you.”

  Poor thing. Sweat dotted her pale face. Erica’s stomach unleashed a hunger growl, but Sandy’s pained expression begged her not to cook. “Don’t worry. I’m headed to Mike’s first to use his Internet. I’ll grab something to eat on the way there.”

  Sandy muttered her thanks, then curled back up on the couch, a pillow clutched beneath her head. By the time Erica was ready to leave, she was sound asleep. It was probably the best thing for her right now. Maybe she’d even wake up with the answers she needed. Whoever this great guy was, Erica hoped he’d stand by her—the way Mike had her.


  At McDonald’s, breakfast sandwich and coffee in hand, Erica planned her day. She was halfway through her meal, lost in thought, when someone slid into the booth across from her. Her stomach churned.

  “Good morning, Detective Posner. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

  “Great minds,” he said. “And my good fortune. I was stopping in for a bite myself when I spotted you.”

  Yet he had no food.

  “I have a few questions.” Out came his notepad.

  “You have my phone number.” Her food lay like a rock in her stomach. Erica wrapped up what remained of her breakfast and reached for her coffee.

  “Why call when you’re right here?”

  “Very well. Go on.” She sipped her coffee. Even that soured her stomach.

  “I’ve been talking with your neighbors. Several of them overheard Mr. Randall tell you he’d moved on to someone else long ago. Any idea who that might have been?”

  “Not a clue.” But heaven help the poor fool.

  “For a man so intensely disliked, I find it rather odd he would have a lover.”

  One would think.

  “Odder still that your neighbors never saw any strange vehicles or visitors at your house. In fact, no one was ever seen at your house when your husband was there.”

  At least that was some saving grace, that he hadn’t screwed anyone at their home while she was at work. He’d been cautious, but then he would have to be, since he’d depended on Erica’s limited funds to bail him out. Not even Keith had been stupid enough to bring a lover into their house. Unless doing so served his own twisted purposes, and this woman had killed him. She pondered that for a moment. Even so, the ever-diligent neighbors would have seen a vehicle.

  “Keith could be very charming and personable to a fault when he wanted something. He had a talent for spotting a person’s weakness and taking advantage of it for his own gain.” She knew that firsthand. “After he got what he wanted, a person was nothing more than a check-in-the-box to him.”

  “And is that what happened to you?”

  Embarrassment burned through her. Was there really any shame in admitting the truth? “Yes.”

  “Then it must have been quite the blow to find your bags packed and waiting for you when you got home from work.”

  “I had told him I wanted a divorce. He agreed without reservation. So, yes, his actions were off-putting. I’m sure the neighbors gave you a full description of events.”

  Posner snickered. “They did. Most wondered why you didn’t deck him. They said he looked like he was spoiling for a fight. Most women would have dug in and fought back. You walked away.”

  She shrugged. No sense stating the obvious, since others had already done so.

  “What woman walks away from her things?”

  Erica covered her irritation with another sip of coffee. It didn’t go down any easier than before. “I refused to engage in a battle of wits with a defenseless person. I’d planned to return for my things the next morning after he’d gone to work. I’d made arrangements for my friends to help. Any of them can verify that.”

  She held her breath, waiting for him to make a snide comment or innuendo. Instead, he tapped his pen against the pad upon which he’d yet to write a word.

  “As you can imagine, Mrs. Randall, the coroner’s going to have trouble identifying the body. It’d be helpful if you could provide the name of your husband’s dentist to compare dental X-rays.”

  “To the best of my knowledge, he was seeing Dr. Smith.” Those bills had been atrocious. Four crowns Keith had charged to the credit card he never bothered to pay. Erica didn’t know who pissed her off more—the dentist for what was only cosmetic work or Keith. “Anything else? I have things I need to get done.”

  That he wrote down.

  “You’ll be comforted to know he didn’t suffer. He was dead prior to the fire.”

  She resisted the urge to say “too bad.” Keith deserved to suffer. “I presumed as much from the huge hole in his head.”

  “And you know that how?” He shot a glance from under the ridge of his brow line.

  “I was standing there when Captain Barnard passed that information along?” Idiot.

  “Any thought as to who would have wanted your husband dead?”

  “Not a clue.” The list was too long, and that was only those people she knew. “Maybe his little something on the side could be of more help.”

  Another scribble on his pad, accompanied by his grunt. “Have you notified your husband’s family yet? Can you give me any information on them?”

  “Not yet.”

  He scowled at her. “What’s the delay?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know who they are. I lost all records in the fire.” Only the ones important to her were in her safe-deposit box. “I wasn’t in contact with any of them. I never met them. All I have is the name Karen for his sister. I’m presuming they live somewhere around San Francisco, since he claimed to be from that area. Keith wasn’t forthcoming with the family details.”

  “Seems you didn’t know much about your husband. Had to be one hell of a marriage.”

  Hell was a good description when one was married to devil spawn. “Which would be why we were divorcing, Detective. Now if you’ll excuse me”—she gathered her trash and stood—“I need to help Chief Stanton figure out why his wife’s missing, since the sheriff’s department doesn’t seem inclined to do so.”

  Confusion twisted his reddening face. Good, she’d caught him unaware. It gave her untold pleasure to walk away from his gape-mouthed stare. At least he had the good sense not to follow. She checked her rearview mirror to be sure. Clear, all the way to the Stanton driveway.

  No neighbors challenged her as she walked up to the front door. She took a deep breath and unlocked it. The enormity of what she was about to do hit her when she stepped inside. This was a full-on invasion of privacy against a woman who guarded it zealously, even from her husband. Betty was never going to forgive her, even if it was justified.

  The darkened room unnerved her, reminded her too much of a tomb. She was used to seeing the house bright and sparkling, the drapes open to sunshine. Despite Craig’s absence, the stench of alcohol still lingered in the air. Considering his hangover, she would have left the drapes closed too. Or was this how Betty had chosen to live? Shut off from the world, locked inside of grief?

  Erica set her purse on the nearest table. The temptation to flood the room with light nagged at her. Doing so might reveal more than she wanted to see, evidence that things weren’t as bright and sparkling as she recalled but dusty and neglected, as depressed as Betty truly had to have been. Why hadn’t she reached out to them? Or they to her, when she became more reclusive? For the same reasons Erica kept her problems secret? Because it was her problem?

  She shrugged off the comparison and charged toward the bedrooms. The doors to all three were closed. She’d never seen them otherwise, never thought much about it either. Not a big deal. Some people didn’t like others seeing their bedrooms. Every time she’d been here for parties—granted, that hadn’t been for a while—these doors had been closed. Now all she could see was the invisible Keep Out sign.

  The first room looked like nothing more than a guest room. Winter coats in the closet. Dresser drawers empty. The bed made up with a rather bland brown duvet and mounds of beige pillows. Pictures on the walls were nonexistent. All in all, rather utilitarian and sparse. Odd for a woman who’d done the rest of the house up to magazine perfection. Keep Out. One face for the public, another for private. One no one was allowed to see, not even her husband. One not borne of grief but of something deeper that Erica couldn’t begin to fathom.

  She closed the door behind her, flexed her shoulders, and stepped across the hall. Reality slammed her in the gut when she opened the door. The bed was rumpled, men’s toiletries were scattered over the dresser, the closet was open, revealing… A mirror into her own marriage. This was Craig’s room. Why? When?


  Erica stepped back out into the hall and shut the door. She was here to find a clue to Betty’s whereabouts. Anything else wasn’t her business.

  She took a deep breath and went to the final room. Erica hesitated, then opened the door. All was pitch-dark within. She flicked on the overhead light and dared a step inside. The room was awash in black-and-cream decor. Stark and simple, no pattern whatsoever. Drawers and closet were closed. Everything was in its place.

  Where did she start, and what would she look for? Or would she even know when she found it?

  Erica turned to the dresser first. There, hidden in a drawer under some very neatly folded lingerie, was a list of passwords, user names, and the websites associated with them. Even the one to Betty’s computer, which sat on a corner desk in the room. It was as good a place as any to start.

  She fired up it and logged on. E-mail proved fruitless. Little was there. Although she could have deleted it. Erica did some further looking. Betty hadn’t posted on any of the social networks she belonged to since her mother’s death six months before.

  Erica closed the window and logged on to the bank account on the list. She blinked twice when the statement came up, her heart plummeting.

  “Oh, Betty, what have you done?” The better question was… Why?

  Chapter Eleven

  “Once more…the Valley View Fire Department will make no official comment regarding last night’s fire until a full investigation is complete.” How many times did he have to repeat that? Still, reporters asked the same question over and over. Rephrasing that question wasn’t going to change his answer.

  “But you do confirm one of your own is dead?” the woman asked.

  Mike held the phone away and stared at it. Too bad she couldn’t see that he thought she was an idiot. Good God, wasn’t there any other news to chase on a Sunday? He brought the phone back to his ear. “The coroner has yet to make positive identification of the body found in the home. You are already aware it was a home occupied by one of our firefighters.”

  “Was there any evidence of—”

  “The Valley View Fire Department will make no official comment until a full investigation is complete. Now, you must excuse me, but I have a fire station to run. We’ll let you know when there’s more to report.”