Lily knew Louella better than to interrupt-or to try arguing until Louella had finally run out of steam. Normally, Lily wouldn’t have wanted to impose on a stranger, but Louella had dialed the number before she could stop her, told the infamous Susannah Danwell that Lily would be ambling over there in just a bit, and that she was a peach and a half.
“There now, honey, that’s done. And you don’t need to worry about a thing. I’ll just call over there if there’s any messages. That way, you can hole up and nobody’ll know where you are, and you can just put your feet up with Susannah, bless her heart…”
Susannah, it turned out, lived in another of the city-styled antebellum homes. The veranda was long enough to bowl in, with a double screen door leading to a Scarlett O’Hara central staircase that gleamed with fresh polish. Her mother used to take in boarders, Susannah told her. She was dressed-as warned-with an I Love Vegas T-shirt and matching capris. Her neck, ears, wrists and arms glittered with rhinestones and bangles. “I do like a touch of elegance, honey, and oh, you have no idea how glad I am to meet you. The whole town’s talking about what a wicked, wicked girl you are, and here, all I see is a little darling. Why, you’re no bigger than a minute, are you? And you know what? I met your mama. And I was here when that fire happened, when the mill closed, all of it. Why, these caramel brownies are probably the best Louella ever baked. She dresses way too old for her years, bless her heart, but…”
Lily figured she’d never escape here until 2014-maybe-but as much as the older lady talked, she moved just as fast. Before much time passed, they were both sitting on a horsehair sofa, a lazy fan whirling overhead, and three high school year books opened on the crowded coffee table in front of them. Susannah had asked the year when her parents died, and picked that year and the two earlier ones to “peruse,” as she put it.
“I don’t exactly know what I’m looking for,” Lily admitted. “I’ve picked up all kinds of new information, but nothing that pulls it all together.”
“You want a ‘bottom line,’ as you young people like to say.” Susannah licked her thumb, started peeling through pages. “You want proof your father didn’t set the fire.”
“Yes.”
“And the proof would be if you found who did set that fire. You think someone in this age bracket set the other troublesome fires. The arson stories that were in the paper.”
“Exactly. The person was never found, but all the evidence points to someone of high school age. A girl.”
“Well, that only narrows it down by half,” Susannah said wryly. “I think we need a glass of sherry, don’t you?”
Personally, Lily was no fan of sweet wines, but she couldn’t turn down the older woman. Susannah was having a great time. She produced wineglasses “from a pawn shop in Reno.”
“Real Irish crystal. Not that I’m a snob about such things. Oh, my…”
Lily scanned face after face, feeling increasingly foolish. She didn’t know anyone, couldn’t make any connection. But Susannah could, on every page.
“Oh, my heavens. Margo-you’ve met her, haven’t you, the insurance agent? She had two nieces in high school, one after the other, both of them brighter than sunshine. The one made it all the way to her Ph.D., but sorry to say, the youngest got herself in the family way…never married, I hear…
“And there’s Larry Wilson. Oh, what a heartthrob he was to the girls, every father’s nightmare…Cashner Warden, I know you know him, the fire chief, he graduated a year ahead. He was another heartthrob back then, believe it or not. Quarterback of the football team. They lost every game. They were that bad. But he still looked good in that uniform, and there was always talk of the girls he was getting in trouble…oh my, oh my…”
Susannah clutched her chest with one hand-and reached over for the decanter of sherry with the other. Poured both of them another glass. “I’d forgotten. Our Herman Conner had five kids, you know, but there was one pair of twins, girls. He lost the one to a car accident when she was around fifteen. The whole family went to pieces, but especially her twin. Mary Belle ran around like a wild thing…you recognize her, don’t you?”
“I do.” The hairdresser with the wild, red hair.
“Well, the scandals about the girl near broke Herman’s heart, but you know how it is. Some have to make mistakes their own way. She’s turned into a good mama. Still hasn’t got a lick of sense for men. But I think she still misses her sister, that something’s always been missing for her…and oh, my, you know Debbie of Debbie’s Diner? Well, her older brother…”
Lily sat straight.
She smelled it first. Just the barest whiff of smoke.
Followed by the distant scream of a fire truck engine.
“Oh my. Oh my.” Susannah grabbed a chair arm and pushed to her feet. “I’m afraid that’s close.”
So was Lily. She shot out the door, leaving her purse, her papers, everything. Before she could fly down the steps of the veranda, the only sound in her head was a fierce, angry no.
She knew it was Louella’s.
The bed and breakfast was the only other place in town where Lily had been that hadn’t been targeted. But she thought, no one would do that to darling Louella. To that beautiful old house. Why? Why?
A car honked-she crossed the street without looking, running like a gazelle, seeing neighbors step outside, crossing arms, worried about what was happening, kids being called to come in from playing. Lily just kept charging ahead.
It wasn’t the whole house. It was just one window where clouds of thick, blustery smoke was starting to rumble out. Her window. The room she stayed in. Another measure she was to blame for this somehow, involved in this somehow, but if Louella was hurt, she’d never forgive herself.
She could hear the fire truck siren joined by police sirens, but neither rescue vehicle was in sight yet. A new boarder was standing on the front lawn when Lily leaped up the porch steps and slammed inside, calling Louella’s name, not seeing her anywhere downstairs.
She took the stairs up two at a time, feeling the buildup of heat, her lungs whining at the choke of smoke. She found Louella in the hall, holding a handkerchief to her nose with one hand, trying to maneuver a heavy, unwieldy fire extinguisher with the other.
“Go!” Lily yelled at her.
Louella shook her head. “I’m not leaving my house!”
“I’ll do it, Louella!” She grabbed the extinguisher, hefted it, pulled the pin and aimed the nozzle full bore. “If you have another extinguisher, get it. Or see if the neighbors have some.”
“I-”
“I won’t leave your fire until the firemen get here, I promise, Louella. But you go. Outside. Don’t breathe this-” It was way too much talking. Both of them were starting to cough heavily, Louella bent over as she aimed for the stairs.
Lily turned back toward the bedroom, her eyes tearing in the rage of smoke-but she’d found the source. The wastebasket in her room was heaped with rags, reeked of gasoline. Fire danced up the lace curtains, shooting out the windows in scraps of seared lace and fabric. The white bedspread had caught a hem of fire now.
The extinguisher spewed foam, a white mousse that was almost as stinky as the fire. Lily kept aiming and shooting, her arms aching, screaming from holding the weight of the extinguisher.
“Lily!” Behind her, Louella had brought up another extinguisher. Lily took the fresh one, pulled the pin, let it rip.
“Go! Get out of the building!” she ordered the older woman.
“I am, I am. But the fire trucks. They just got here. So you can leave, too.”
“I will! I will!” Yet she couldn’t seem to desert the ship. She hadn’t caused this, but she still felt responsible. The things burning up in front of her eyes-her yellow shorts, her cosmetic bag, her white sandals with the cork heels-they were already smoked and soaked and destroyed. But it hurt, sharp as a wound, that it was her stuff, her room that had been targeted.
The heat built. The smell and smoke increasingly choked h
er. She couldn’t seem to get ahead of it. The bed pillow poofed, puffed, then came alive with fire, turning into a shower of sparks. The fire jumped, kept jumping. She put out curtains; then the lace scarf on the bureau sparked fresh. The old wallpaper on the far wall turned wet, shiny, started peeling.
The air seemed alive with moving, burning bits of debris. Clouds and wings of burning ash drifted in the air. Something tiny and sharp fell in her hair.
The burn was sharp and sudden. Instinctively, she dropped the extinguisher, batted at the pain in her head. Fear caught her like the sting of a whip. All these years she’d thought of fire as loss, as grief. Not as…personal. Not as something alive and lashing out. She spun, confused, choking, her palms stinging, her eyes blinded…
“Lily!”
Maybe she heard the fast thump of firemen’s boots, the noise of voices. But the only thing she spun around for was the sound of Griff, calling her name. She stumbled.
He caught her with a strong, sure grip. And with all the finesse of a tender lover, tossed a cold, soaking wet towel over her head.
The next stretch of time passed in a blur. Griff got her downstairs, set her up with a blanket in the front yard-and a medic. The medic was cute as a button, but it really, really hurt to have her palms cleaned, even though he talked to her nonstop. Jason hung tight to the periphery of her blanket like a scrawny, stubborn watchdog. Neighbors-some faces familiar, some not-clogged up the sidewalks and the yard.
Someone brought lemonade. Someone brought sweet tea. The party atmosphere built, completely at odds with the fire truck and official cars blocking the street. Louella, though, was holding court. Lily caught snatches of her conversation as the older lady poured lemonade and passed out spice cookies.
“See now? What did I tell you? She saved my house, she did. And Susannah’d be the first to tell you that she was at her house when this all happened. It’s primarily Lily’s things that were hurt. The child doesn’t even have a change of clothes to wear. She’s one of ours, has always been one of ours, and look at her now, bless her heart.”
The medic, the one who had gorgeous blue eyes and looked about nine years old, finished putting salve and bandages on her palms and various other places, and then examined the side of her head. Shook his head.
“Not a pretty picture?” she asked.
“It’s a gorgeous picture.” Griff seemed to show up from nowhere-for the second time-and looked as covered in soot and dirt as she did. “Hair grows, besides.”
“Uh-oh.” When he came closer, she said quickly, “Don’t come near me.”
“Why?”
“I think I smell worse than anything I’ve smelled in my entire life.”
He grinned. “Beneath all that fire and smoke, it’s still you, sugar.”
She remembered that. Remembered how his smooth soft lips had felt against hers. Remembered the sudden quiet of neighbors watching. Smiling. Griff…so not smiling.
Later, after talking to Cashner Warden and Herman Conner and Louella and Susannah-who had her purse and papers, thank heavens-Griff took her home. She seemed to need to cough her lungs out several times. Jason was there. He had ideas-like ice cream. Lots of cool, soothing ice cream. He thought she needed to watch a nice, soothing movie, an old one, like Batman, or The Fantastic Four.
But Jason wasn’t there when Griff lowered her into a bathtub. He’d started by sealing up her hands in bags with rubber bands, so the water wouldn’t touch the burns on her palms. Kneeling behind her, he washed her hair, washed her face, washed her toes, washed everything, slowly, carefully, tenderly. Silently.
“You know what I figured out?” she asked him.
“What?”
“That it’s about anger. Setting these fires. It’s not about destruction. Even those fires years ago didn’t actually destroy that much property. Or specifically aim to hurt a human being. It’s all about anger. Someone with a rage that’s just out of their control.”
When Griff said nothing-he was spraying water to rinse her hair at the time-she waited until she could open her eyes to look at him. Really look at him.
“I think I’m a little in shock,” she admitted.
“I know you are.”
“I’m afraid I’ll have to go shopping tomorrow. I’m down to today’s clothes. Which aren’t exactly fit for man or beast.” When she couldn’t win a smile from him, she said, “In the background, I thought I heard Louella saying that insurance would cover the damage. Completely.”
“There was an insurance agent right there. Won’t be a problem.”
“I’ll need to borrow a toothbrush until tomorrow.”
“No sweat.”
“And from the way people have been looking at me, I’m afraid I’m definitely going to have to work in a haircut tomorrow, too.”
Again, that same expression in his eyes. What few words he said were short and curt, even as his hands, his magic hands, lingered as he soaped and rinsed, and finally, let her stand up so he could fold a towel around her.
“Griff.”
He looked up.
“What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” he echoed, his tone tight as a snap. But then he went back to his lazy, laid-back tone. “You’re going to take a nap, sugar. Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s going to be one hundred percent fine.”
“You know this how?”
“Because tomorrow-we’re getting to the bottom of this. Whatever sabers we have to rattle. Whatever it takes. You’re not going to be hurt again. There aren’t going to be any more fires. You can take it to the bank, we’re solving this once and for all.”
Lily heard the anger in his voice, and loved it-not that he was worried about her, but that he finally felt free with her, to let out that unsettling anger that so troubled him.
Yet her heart suddenly twisted in a totally unexpected knot. She, too, had had it with fires. She had had it with exhaustion and fear and worry. She thought she’d come to this town of her childhood to find answers.
Yet the irony hurt worse than any burn. If, by any chance, she and Griff did find the answers, her reasons for being in Pecan Valley disappeared.
She had no more reason to be with Griff.
No reason to stay.
Chapter 12
Lily woke up in a first-class grump, starting with the note on her pillow. Griff unwillingly had to return Jason to his mother, at least temporarily, and then he was headed for the sheriff’s.
He wanted her to rest and sit tight.
Right.
One look in the mirror sent her jogging for a phone. Her singed hair looked like something out of a horror movie. No matter what she wanted to do with her day, she was stuck getting a few chores out of the way first. As often as she’d ranted about getting a haircut since she got here, now she had no choice but to call Mary Belle. The sheriff’s daughter promised her she’d clear the schedule for ll:30-leaving Lily enough time to run through a few stores on Main Street.
Temporarily, she had nothing to wear but a shirt and shorts from Griff, which no amount of makeshift belting was going to pass for acceptable clothes. She had her purse, so at least she had a brush and lip gloss-and her phone. She’d barely headed out the door before getting the first barrage of calls from her sisters.
“I’ll send you money. Get all the clothes you need,” Cate started with. “And buy a first-class ticket to me. I don’t care what it costs. You either get out of that town, or I’m flying there to get you myself.”
Sophie’s call was more of the same, just in a softer tone.
The truth was, Lily hungered to see both her sisters. And she could hardly stay in Pecan Valley much longer. Once, her answers had seemed terribly important to her-but not as important as a whole town burning up because of her. Leaving needed to be her priority. It was just…leaving town also meant leaving Griff.
How a woman could fall so fast, so hard, so irrevocably, she couldn’t fathom. For her whole life, it had been so, so easy to stay untangled. She’d
never risked loss-at least the kind of loss where the hurt might never really heal.
Damn it. How was she supposed to forget Griff?
Most stores on Main Street opened at ten. It took almost that long to pull herself together, between her bandaged hands and edgy mood. Clouds were bunching and punching overhead, threatening rain, adding humidity to an already gasping temperature. She hit the drugstore first, picked up the obvious toiletries, like deodorant and toothpaste and cosmetics, then stashed those in her car.
There were several clothing stores and boutiques on Main Street. She didn’t have a clue what they offered. She just wanted to pick up enough basics to wear for a few days. So she started with the first one-Jane’s Boutique, the sign said. Opening the door set off a tinkling bell, and almost immediately she panicked.
It wasn’t a day to be fussy, but the manikins were decked out in bows and prints and polka dots. She almost headed straight back out, but the thirtyish brunette behind the cash register spotted her and immediately approached with a smile. “You have to be Lily Campbell. I see those hurt hands, you poor thing. The whole town’s buzzing with how you helped saved Louella’s house and Louella…come in, come in. I’ll help you. I can see you can’t do much with those hands. I’ll bet they hurt like the devil?”
They did. Everything seemed to hurt like the devil-but it did help, coming in town today, being greeted everywhere, so far, with smiles instead of suspicion. Jane didn’t do much talking, but behind her pretty eyes was a shrewd saleswoman. Packages on the counter added up. No bows, no doodads. A white lace bra, a navy satin one. Matching underwear. A sundress in pale blues. A breezy skirt and cami that could go to dinner, or just about anywhere else. A coral top, cream shorts-those she decided to wear, with Jane’s help.
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