Chapter 18
Eighteen
The door to my bedroom bursts open and Valencia is there, telling me to come with her. I don’t think, just spring out of bed.
Marcus is already downstairs, phone in hand. He’s coughing as he runs to the front door. Easton is right behind him.
Valencia puts an arm around me and guides me down the stairs.
That’s when I smell it.
Sulfuric and eggy. Gas.
It’s not a burglar; it’s a gas leak.
We rush outside. Easton and Marcus are already there; Marcus is talking into his cell phone, most likely to the alarm monitoring
company, telling them to send the fire department.
Valencia corrals Easton and me toward the road, away from the house. She asks Marcus how far he thinks we should be, but Marcus
holds up his index finger.
“Should we move one of the cars out of the garage?” Easton asks.
“No,” says Valencia. “Stay here.”
“If the house blows up, it’s going to—”
“The house isn’t going to blow up,” Valencia says. But she sounds as if she might not be so sure.
Fire engine sirens sound in the distance as Marcus hangs up with the alarm company, but he immediately jumps back on to call the gas company to let them know there’s a leak.
The fire trucks arrive, and Easton and I stand out of the way while Valencia talks to the firefighters and Marcus handles
the gas company.
By now, lights have turned on in a few of the houses around us.
“What time is it?” I ask Easton.
He takes out his phone, which he must have been smart enough to grab when the alarm went off. “Two twenty-seven.”
I turn to look at Miles’s house and, sure enough, there’s a light on.
The firefighters go inside our house with gas masks on. The one leading the way has a small yellow box with a flexible metal
hose extending from the top of it that beeps when they reach the front door.
We all stand there, waiting in the flashing red lights. My stomach is in knots and my heart pounds as I picture the house
exploding into a fireball at any second. Miles and his parents emerge from their house and walk down the front sidewalk toward
us.
Marcus meets them and asks if they smell gas in their house, but they say no. Miles sidles up next to me.
“The LISTSERV is going to be abuzz,” he whispers.
I groan because he’s right. More people are standing outside their houses, wondering what’s going on. It doesn’t help that
an ambulance has turned up now, too. And right behind that, a cop car, followed by another brown sedan. Which, if I were of
legal betting age, I’d bet is the car that was watching us earlier. I turn to look down the road, and sure enough, the car
that was parked a few houses down when I was out here with Miles is gone.
The EMTs approach us, and Valencia tells Easton and me to go with them. Easton attempts to argue, but Valencia—with the help of one of the EMTs—tells him it’s to check his oxygen levels.
Easton and I head over to the ambulance, where they put pulse oximeters on our fingers while we sit on the back bumper. I
look over at the cop cars again and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
Agent Grant is there.
My mind goes to multiple places all at once. Miles said Grant lives nearby, but who called him? Or was that him in the sedan
tonight? Miles also said he was retired, so he doesn’t have the authority to investigate.
Unless the FBI thinks there’s something bigger going on and he’s been assigned to watch us. He’s here to check up on me. And
he’s been watching me and the Beaumonts.
Once the EMTs say we’re both fine, Marcus and Valencia each have their pulse ox read while I go back over to Miles, trying
my best to ignore Agent Grant.
“Weird week, huh?” he asks, wiping sleep from his eyes. He’s wearing a pair of green pajama pants and a black Orville Peck
concert tee.
“Yes,” I say with a sigh.
“Any chance you’ve thought any furth—”
“No,” I interrupt him. Though it’s not exactly true. I thought about it plenty before falling asleep a little over an hour
ago. I just haven’t made up my mind yet.
“No, you don’t want to, or no, you haven’t thought about it?” I glare at him and his hands go up. “Okay. Your decision, your
timeline.”
My eyes drift over to Agent Grant again. He’s staring right at me. “How long did that imposter get away with it?” I ask.
Miles thinks for a second. “Five months, I think?”
Way too long. I’ll be lucky to last five days if I keep drawing attention like this with an FBI agent in town.
The firefighters emerge from the house and take off their masks.
They approach Marcus and Valencia—Agent Grant stands behind them, close enough to listen. I don’t hear what they say over
the sound of the fire truck’s engine. Easton is close to them, though, and turns to me with his eyes wide.
“Seriously, Nate?” he says.
Agent Grant locks eyes with me.
“Uh-oh,” Miles mumbles. “Girl, you might not have five months.”
I ignore him and walk over to the Beaumonts. Valencia is giving me a sad look, while Marcus and Easton have matching scowls.
“You left the gas on after you made your tea,” Easton says.
I did? No, I definitely remember turning it off when I poured the water. I shake my head. “No, no, I turned it off.”
“When did you make tea?” Valencia asks.
“He was in the kitchen when I got home,” Easton says.
“It was only slightly on,” the fireman says. “You probably thought you turned it all the way off, but while it was enough
for the flame to go out, the gas valve in the stove was still a little open. It was a slow leak, which would explain why it
only now set off the alarms. Good job on getting those, by the way. Most people stop at carbon monoxide detectors.”
“Can’t be too careful,” Valencia says. She was probably the one who insisted on the combination carbon monoxide and explosive gas monitors.
The fireman tells us to let the house air out for a bit but then we can go back inside. They drive away as Valencia and Marcus
talk to the neighbors and tell them everything is fine. I last saw Agent Grant talking to one of the township officers, but
when I look back, he and his car are gone.
Eventually we all go back inside. The four of us go around the first floor shutting and locking the windows before Valencia
turns the alarm system back on.
I double-check that the window over the kitchen sink is locked and turn my attention to the stove. The kettle is still there.
I turn on the same burner I was using to make my tea and turn it right back off.
The gas stops immediately.
I know I turned it off.
Didn’t I? I was a little preoccupied thinking over my evening with Miles.
I try it again and this time the knob does stick before it’s off all the way. There are footsteps heading to the kitchen.
I shut off the knob all the way and take two large strides toward the door, almost running into Marcus.
He looks around the kitchen—his eyes going to the stove.
“Don’t worry, I double-checked,” I say. “They’re all off.”
“And I’m sure going forward you’re going to triple-check them.”
“Correct.” I’m a little embarrassed. “Sorry. I really thought I turned it all the way off, but it must have stuck a little
bit.”
“No worries. We’re all fine.” He motions for me to leave the kitchen and shuts off the light behind me.
I say good night to everyone, apologizing again. But once I’m back in bed, I can’t sleep. I can’t believe I was so distracted
by Miles, I forgot to turn off the stove all the way. Or maybe it was something Easton said to me.
I get up in the dark and walk over to the window that faces the front yard. I glance down the street.
The sedan is back. It’s not the same one Grant was in, so maybe someone else has taken over. But it’s there. Which means they’re
suspicious of me. If Agent Grant is out to prove I’m not Nate, they must have an idea of what really happened to him.
Miles wants me to help him get something he can turn into a podcast, then he’ll help me escape. But what if Marcus or Valencia
is responsible for Nate’s death? If I can find some kind of evidence and present it to Agent Grant, he might let me go. He might
even agree to give me a head start so he doesn’t have to send me to my parents. Miles could use the same information to jump-start
his podcast, and I escape into the night. Everyone is happy.
Except for Easton, who is left to find out his parents are murderers.
The idea keeps me up well into the early morning.