Even In Darkness--An American Murder Mystery Thriller

by Lynn Hightower

  I know him. But my mind is not working properly.

  ‘Joy, it’s me. Hal Reinhardt.’

  ‘Hal. Of course, I’m sorry, I’m just so – I didn’t recognize you without your dog.’

  ‘Cindy Lou? She’s in the truck. You know I never go anywhere without her.’

  I smile and tear up. Something about a friendly face at a time like this.

  Hal Reinhardt is a captain in the fire department, but he also trains dogs for K-9 and search and rescue – he is the one who gave me Leo. My ministry has donated to his non profit for years.

  He takes my elbow gently and turns me away. ‘Is that Leo I hear barking in your Jeep?’

  ‘Yes, that’s Leo.’

  ‘So you’re both safe.’ He puts an arm around my shoulders. ‘I’m so glad. Even though you and I both know that Leo is a thoroughly bad animal.’

  ‘He’s not and you know it. And you can’t have him back.’ I look back at the house. ‘I need to go in, just for a minute, I have to—’

  ‘No, no, Joy, you can’t. It’s not safe in there, honey.’ He looks over his shoulder, craning his neck. ‘Looks to me like that second floor could go any minute, and I don’t want you or my crew getting hurt.’

  I am now officially under the wing of Captain Hal Reinhardt. He is solidly built, with a deeply scarred right cheek, and though he is fit he carries enough excess weight to make him cuddly. His calm self assurance is soothing. He settles me high up in the front seat of the fire engine, a blanket around my shoulders, hot coffee in hand. His dog, Cindy Lou, puts her head in my lap. She is an odd-looking dog – part blue heeler, part corgi, the color of buckskin. A departure from the German shepherds and Labs Hal usually trains.

  I stroke Cindy Lou’s scoop ears and tell Reinhardt my story – how I’ve just come home after two days out of town. How I heard the news on the radio, the announcer broadcasting my demise.

  ‘Joy, was there anyone in your house when you left? Does someone live with you? Did you have someone house sitting, or picking up your mail, or staying there for a visit?’

  ‘It’s just me and Leo.’ It occurs to me that there is a reason for these questions. ‘Did you find – was there somebody in the house?’

  My hands start shaking and I drop my cup of coffee. The Styrofoam splits, the plastic lid falls off. Brown liquid splashes the toe of Reinhardt’s boots and the cuff of his soot-stained trousers.

  Reinhardt looks over his shoulder. The police officer is headed our way, holding my license out like it is radioactive. Reinhardt puts himself between us. ‘Give us a minute, will you please, Jordy?’

  Reinhardt puts a hand on my shoulder. ‘We did pull someone out. A woman – we assumed it was you. She was packed into the ambulance before I got a look so—’

  ‘That’s why – how bad was she hurt? She wasn’t dead?’

  ‘She was alive when we got her out, but she was in pretty bad shape. We radioed the hospital a few minutes ago about the mistaken ID. The word is they’ve moved her from the ER into ICU. Which means they’ve got her stabilized, so that’s something. Do you have any idea who the woman might be?’

  ‘My first guess would be my assistant, Marsha Dewberry, except she wasn’t supposed to be working.’ I knew better than to say she was fired. ‘And I don’t see her car. How did it start? Was it wiring or – I don’t smoke, and I know I didn’t leave the oven on. I don’t even own an iron. On the radio, they said something about arson.’

  Reinhardt nods his head. ‘It’s not official, understand, until we file the reports and confirm the details, but it burned hot and fast, and there were obvious signs of accelerant. I had Cindy Lou out earlier and she picked up the scent.’

  ‘Accelerant?’

  ‘Something to make the fire burn. Something like gasoline.’

  ‘Someone did this.’ I shiver, and Reinhardt pulls the blanket up around my shoulders.

  ‘What kind of car does your assistant drive?’

  ‘Dark grey. A Ford Taurus.’

  Reinhardt touches my forearm. ‘I had to send the crew in through the attic, right over the garage – it was the safest approach. We had to tow a car out of the driveway. It was blocking the trucks and equipment.’

  ‘Was it a grey Taurus?’

  He nods.

  ‘Oh, God.’ I take a breath. ‘It’s got to be Marsha then. It was her in the house. Look, I have to go now. Go to the hospital, go call the family.’ I am so high up in the truck I have to turn around backward to climb back down.

  Reinhardt takes my waist as I make the leap from the bottom step. He leans close and lowers his voice. ‘Joy, listen to me. There were two FBI agents here earlier. A man and a woman, and they had a lot of questions. They seemed to know you, from the things they said.’

  ‘They know me.’

  ‘Look, if—’

  The grind of the police officer’s shoes on grit and loose gravel interrupts whatever Reinhardt was going to say.

  ‘Mrs Miller?’ the officer says. ‘I just got off the phone with Special Agent Russell Woods of the FBI. He said you would know who he is?’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘He asked me to drive you down to his office, so they can get this identity thing sorted. He wants me to take you right now.’

  Reinhardt frowns. ‘The identity is already sorted. Can’t this wait till tomorrow?’

  ‘It’s OK, Hal,’ I say thickly. ‘Give me a minute to see if my neighbor will look after the dogs. I’ll follow you in my—’

  ‘I’ll take the dogs,’ Hal says. ‘Jordy, you drive her down there. Joy, you don’t need to be driving right now.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘It’s OK,’ Reinhardt says. He squeezes my hand. Sees me to the patrol car and tucks me into the passenger’s seat up front. I am relieved not to be riding in the back, like a prisoner.

  I know that Jordy talked to me on the way down. Told me how sorry he was about my house. I didn’t answer. My mind was full of images, the smell of gasoline, a vision of Marsha surrounded by fire. And the realization that I had been punished, just like the Dark Man promised. He warned me not to go to the FBI.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Agent Russell Woods motions me through the doorway. I am swamped by a wave of dread, finding myself, once again, in an interrogation room with the FBI.

  It’s me and Woods, one on one. He doesn’t bother to read me my rights and I’m not asking for a lawyer. He motions me to a chair but I don’t sit down.

  ‘No good deed goes unpunished, does it, Mr Woods? He warned me. He told me not to bring you guys in. Now he’s mad as hell, he’s burned down my house, and God only knows what’s happening to Caroline and Andee. And you still don’t know anything, do you? Who he is? Where he is?’

  ‘I was hoping maybe you could tell me.’ Woods straddles a chair and rubs his thumbs together – one of his many odd habits.

  ‘What is that supposed to mean?’

  ‘It means that it seems awfully convenient that you are out of range and on the road when your house gets burned down.’

  Now I do sit down. I look down at the table. ‘I am dealing with lunatics. You people are just as crazy as the kidnapper.’

  Woods opens a file and I slap it shut.

  ‘And you know where I was. I was in Arkansas cooperating with your office. I was on the computer with Andee and Caroline, while your CATs were trying to find out where they’re being held. Are you people getting anywhere? Do you have anything?’

  Woods hesitates. ‘So far we’ve tracked it to a bounce in Nicaragua. Obviously, we’re going from there.’

  Every bit of energy and hope drains out of me. ‘So that’s it, then? The best you can do?’

  ‘The kidnapper did a good job of covering his tracks, but we’re on it and we will find them, it’ll just take a little more time.’

  ‘And meanwhile, your experts have tripped all over his software alarms. Well, he warned me. I can only hope that burning down my house satisfies him so he doesn’t k
ill Caro and Andee in revenge.’

  ‘That’s your theory? The kidnapper burned down your house to punish you for bringing in the FBI?’

  I settle back in the chair. ‘You read the note. Don’t bring in the FBI or there will be repercussions. You have a better theory?’

  ‘I’m just wondering here, you know? Why it is that Marsha gets victimized in your house, right after you supposedly find out she had an affair, back in the day, with your husband?’

  ‘Oh, please. That was years ago. And I already knew he was having an affair, I just didn’t know who with.’

  ‘You seemed pretty upset when we confronted you with it the other day.’

  ‘My granddaughter has been kidnapped. How do you expect me to react? You are a complete moron. I have bent over backward to work with you, and to cooperate with that idiot Harris in Arkansas, and my house gets burned down in the process? And there you sit, like a lump on a log, still making accusations?’

  ‘I think it’s a leap, that this guy burns down your house twelve hours after you come to us. We were very careful to cover our tracks.’

  ‘So, what, you’re telling me it’s unrelated? Because I think it’s a leap to think he didn’t. And the smoke coming out of my house says to me you guys didn’t cover your tracks. Face it, your computer people klutzed it up, and the kidnapper knows you’ve tracked his location. He may move the girls by the time you figure it out, and then we’ll have a big fat nothing. No location, and a totally pissed off sociopath. Stop rubbing your thumbs.’

  It was out of my mouth before I knew I was going to say it. Woods sighed and laid his hands flat on the table.

  ‘We will get that address, have a little faith. In the meantime, let’s clear the air. Take a lie detector test. Then we won’t have to keep having these painful conversations.’

  ‘That’s what this is about? You bring me in here right out of the damn fire truck to pressure me? Because I’m vulnerable?’

  ‘Some of the people on the team think there’s a connection between you and this kidnapper. They think you’re withholding critical information, which, by the way, is a Class D Felony offense. Now if that’s not the case, then let me rule it out. Of course, if there is some connection, then by all means don’t take it.’

  I stand up and speak softly and slowly. ‘I have been up since four a.m. this morning. I have driven twelve hours straight. I have heard my own death announced on the radio and I’ve come home to find my house burned down. I’ve lost everything that I own. My cousin Marsha is in the hospital, and instead of going there, which is where I need to be, I came straight here under police escort because you supposedly need my help.’ I take a breath. ‘And what I get from you is harassment, insults and ludicrous accusations. Now, Agent Russell Woods, you will listen to me.’

  I open my wallet and take out four snapshots of Andee. I lay them across the table.

  ‘See this picture, right here? It was taken in the pool behind the house in Arkansas. Look, isn’t Andee cute? I said look at it. She’s wearing a little shark hat that makes it look like there’s a fin in the pool. Amazing, isn’t it, the stuff they make for kids these days? When Andee was three years old, and one night I was cooking dinner, she came in the kitchen and hugged my leg and said “I smell hungry”. That’s funny, don’t you think? Look at this one, it’s my favorite, this is Andee with her pet chicken. She was four then. That’s the kind of mother Caroline is, the kind who lets her little girl have her own pet chicken. It belonged to a friend of theirs who had a farm and it was little and being picked on, so Andee took it home and took care of it – it lived three years. They buried it under the biggest pine tree in their backyard.’

  I push another picture across the table. ‘Look at this one. This is Andee in my kitchen with her dog Ruby who, as you can see, is wearing a t-shirt. Andee loves to play dress up and Ruby just goes along.’

  Woods holds up a hand. ‘You don’t need to do this.’

  ‘Why not, Agent Woods? You show me pictures. You show me pictures to evoke emotions and confessions, so I’ll do the same for you. I want to evoke you to stop wasting your time on me and find my granddaughter. She’s a real little girl, different from every other little girl in the world. So, here are some things you might like to know. Andee won’t eat cheese or yogurt. She’s very quiet around people she doesn’t know. She has chapped lips a lot – if you look hard here in this last school picture you can see a ring of pink around her mouth. She sleeps on top of her blanket and sheets, but under the bedspread. She used to color everything pink and yellow, even though I bought her the biggest box of crayons they make. When she was in first grade she had trouble learning how to skip, and she still doesn’t know how to whistle, but she works on it all the time. When she stays with me, I cook her a Moon Over Miami for breakfast. Do you even know what that is?’

  ‘You take a piece of bread, tear a hole out of the middle, put it in a frying pan with melted butter and put the egg in the hole.’

  ‘You amaze me, Agent Woods. Is it possible you might be human?’

  ‘Look—’

  ‘Andee’s afraid of basements. She’s afraid of worms. She’s afraid to sleep without a nightlight. Wherever she is now – what if she doesn’t have a nightlight? It’s been four days. What do your statistics tell you about her odds after four days? My only child is dead, and Andee is all that I have left of him. She is the only connection I’ve got, the only person who makes the pain go away. You find her and you leave me alone.’ I take a step backward, pull my purse strap over my shoulder. ‘I’m leaving now to see my cousin Marsha in the hospital.’

  ‘We’re not done here.’

  But we are done. I hear him in the hallway, Hal Reinhardt, asking for me. I hear objections and Hal apologizing and all kinds of noise and the door to the room bursts open. Leo comes running in, followed by Cindy Lou, Ruby and a sheepish-looking Hal Reinhardt. I bury my head in Leo’s neck and he pants and licks me and knocks over the trash can with the wag of his tail.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Hal says to Woods, then looks over at me. ‘The hospital is trying to reach you. Marsha is conscious and she’s been asking for you.’

  Woods waves a hand at us. ‘Go. And take those dogs.’

  ‘It’s OK, sir,’ Hal says. ‘They’re specially trained service dogs.’

  Ruby puts her paws up on the table and noses an old cup of coffee. The Styrofoam cup tips and spills. She takes a tentative lick, loses interest and heads my way.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ Hal says.

  Woods slumps in his chair, shrugs. ‘It’s bad coffee. I don’t drink it myself.’

  TWENTY-THREE

  The hospital ICU has its own waiting room, cozier than the one off the main lobby downstairs. The floor has aqua carpet. There are six recliners, two couches and eight chairs. Also two televisions, a coffee pot and a phone with an outside line. A third of the chairs and couches are full and I see Marsha’s parents, Aunt Cee and Uncle Don. Marsha’s Aunt Chloris is probably on her way in from Detroit.

  I am plotting, planning, coping. Marsha will take whatever time off she needs to heal, and once she is well I will give her the job back if she wants it. She’s going to need careful nursing once the worst is over, and my mind jumps between home care nurses, skin grafts and rehabilitation. Our insurance coverage at Miller Ministries is no better than average, but the board has been known to make special dispensations for times like these. If I have to, I’ll put her down as one of our charities, and funnel a reasonable portion of funds her way. I have the final say, though I rarely exercise it.

  ‘Joy?’ Aunt Cee has spotted me from one of the recliners in the waiting room. A stranger would see an aging woman, grossly overweight, with heavy glasses and coarse red hair trimmed unattractively close to her head. I see the woman who came to my dorm room the night my parents died. In my mind’s eye I hold the image of the stunning beauty with the radiant smile who graduated with a degree in elementary education from EKU.

 
; I go straight to her and she stands up and gives me a hug. She is crying and so am I.

  Uncle Don nods at me and pats Cee’s back. Over and over. Pat pat pat. He always reminds me fondly of a giant penguin, the way he hunches over us, the way he moves. His face sags like the jowls of a bloodhound. His signature eyebrows are thinning, and his hair is a mix of brown and grey.

  Cee holds a crumpled tissue in her fist. ‘You need to go in there, honey. She’s been asking for you.’

  I try not to think about my last conversation with Marsha. I wonder if Cee knows I fired her daughter the last time we talked.

  Uncle Don looks at Hal. ‘Are you one of the firemen who pulled my daughter out?’

  ‘Hal Reinhardt, sir.’ He shakes hands with my uncle. ‘Why don’t you head on in, Joy? I’ll sit with your aunt and uncle and answer any questions they might have. I’ll be here to drive you home.’

  ‘Oh, honey.’ Aunt Cee breaks into ready tears. ‘I just can’t take it in. Your house burning down like that. But you come and stay with us. We’re your family. We’re your home.’

  ‘I’ll keep it in mind, Aunt Cee, thank you.’

  ‘Why don’t I make a fresh pot of coffee?’ Hal says.

  ‘Sounds like a fine idea.’ Uncle Don is still patting my aunt’s back.

  I push through the swing doors that lead into ICU, ignoring the posted set of rules and warnings. A muscular man in scrubs sits behind a horseshoe desk making notations in a stack of charts, and he frowns and flushes red when he sees me.

  ‘Excuse me, but you—’

  ‘I know. I’m sorry. My name is Joy Miller, and I’m here for Marsha Dewberry, the burn victim brought in late this afternoon.’

  ‘Joy Miller? Good. She’s been asking for you. We were afraid you weren’t going to make it in.’

  I close my eyes, thinking of the time I have wasted with the FBI.

  ‘Is this her?’

  The voice is female and I see the nurse nodding at someone behind me. I turn to see a trim woman, looking fresh and focused in her scrubs.

  ‘Joy Miller?’

  ‘That’s right.’