Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Wednesday before sunrise
“Are they talking about me?” Michelle asked as she sat forward. She’d been right about the name of the show. Crime Daily Podcast was on the screen.
Fletch didn’t answer, nodding toward the display.
They both continued to listen as Ali explained. “D. Valentine—the same.”
“Oh, I didn’t know that wasn’t her real name. I love her books.”
“The Wishing Well is still my favorite.”
“Have you read Broken Promises?” Kenzi asked.
“It’s on my Tbr.”
“It’s terrifying and good. Wait, no, don’t tell me something happened to D. Valentine.”
Ali laughed. “Well, this isn’t a BookTok podcast, so yeah, I brought her up for another reason.”
“What happened?”
“Honestly, they don’t know what or if anything happened to her.”
“Is she missing?”
Ali replied. “This morning, I saw an all-points bulletin stating IMPD—the Indianapolis Metropolitan Police Department—issued a missing person’s report for Michelle Holdcraft.”
“An APB. Why?”
“Well, the police confirmed she’d been home last night and early this morning her house exploded.”
Michelle gasped.
“Exploded?” Kenzi questioned. “How?”
“Methane gas, possibly. If you ask me, for something as severe as an explosion, the local police aren’t being very forthcoming with answers.”
“Oh, this is interesting,” Kenzi said. “You said D. Valentine’s real name is Michelle Holdcraft.”
“Yes. I confirmed that off the record with a source at Broadway Publishing.”
“Ali, there was a Dennis Holdcraft found dead in a house fire in Iron Falls, Massachusetts, only a few days ago.”
“No way. They can’t be related, can they?”
“The fires or the people?”
“Both,” Ali answered. “Stay tuned. We will dive into this new unsolved mystery.”
“Come back tomorrow, and we’ll tell you what we learn.”
Fletch turned down the volume as a legal statement was read. “I guess that answers our question about the APB.”
“You blew up my house,” Michelle said incredulously. “My pen name wasn’t supposed to be revealed. They know that at the publishing house. They wouldn’t give out that information.” Her mind was running in circles. “I should sue.”
“Can’t sue if you’re missing—or dead.”
“I can’t help but wonder if you’re threatening me.”
Fletch tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “Not threatening you. Reminding you about what’s at stake.”
“Nothing. I have nothing left.” Her volume rose. “You blew up my house. Not just a fire, but a full-out explosion. Oh, that’s subtle.”
“It wasn’t meant to be subtle. It was meant to call attention to both you and Denny.” Fletch grinned. “I can always count on Crime Daily. Those ladies scour the outlets for any little tidbit. They’ll get people talking.”
“I don’t understand. One minute you’re telling me to lie low and keep my head down. Now you’re happy that my name is being broadcast all over the world in a true-crime podcast.”
“They won’t be able to hide the fact you’re missing or that your father was killed. That’s what they wanted. They wanted to sweep both of you under the rug like they’ve been able to do to others. They don’t want justice. They want silence. This is the opposite of silence.”
“Who are they?”
Fletch leaned back, extending his arms and intensifying his grip of the steering wheel.
“There are lots of theys. We need to find out which they this is.” She didn’t reply.
“We have about twenty minutes until we arrive at the motel. I’ll check us in.
” He looked in her direction. “Put the stocking cap back on.”
“Aren’t most people checking out at this time of day?”
“The reservation called for a morning check-in. It was also for only one person. I’ll be a gentleman and take the couch.”
Michelle scoffed. “It’s probably too late for the gentleman act.”
“Shelly…” The muscles in his cheeks pulled taut. “I never thought I’d see you like that again. What happened the other night was selfish of me.”
She pressed her lips together as she recalled their one night in a snowstorm, the adrenaline of running for their lives, and the safety of the cabin.
It was easier to have a one-night stand when you didn’t remain with that person.
“You can have the bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.
Things are different now. That night will be…
” —she thought for a moment— “special.” When Fletch didn’t disagree she asked, “Tonight?”
“Tonight, we’ll be back on the road.”
“If you’re going to be putting in hours driving, I definitely want you to have the bed.”
Michelle couldn’t believe her eyes when they pulled up to the two-story motel outside of Peoria, Illinois.
After leaving the interstate, Fletch drove a few back roads that seemed too narrow for oncoming traffic.
If Michelle were asked, this would be the last place she would rent a room.
“You can’t be serious. This looks like it belongs in an episode of Criminal Minds. ”
“I guess it depends on who you think the criminal is, me or someone else.”
Her eyes widened as she took in the rundown parking lot, the sign advertising television, and the front office with bars on the windows. “Do they rent rooms by the hour?”
“Probably. Think of it as shabby chic.” He turned in her direction. “They also don’t have an issue with people paying cash. Most likely, they won’t check my ID. It’s not the Ritz, but it will do for a place to sleep.”
She shivered. “If you say so.”
Fletch parked as far away from the front office as possible.
He went around to the back of the car and opened the trunk.
When he walked toward the barred window, Michelle noticed that he had his hair all tucked under a ball cap.
In less than two minutes, Fletch was back with a key in his hand—an actual key.
It was attached to a plastic tag labeled with the number 108.
It was the room right in front of where he’d parked.
When Michelle opened the car door, she had to kick a fast-food bag out of the way. Wrinkling her nose, she hurried from the car and met Fletch at the door. Her red hair was covered with the stocking cap.
Michelle’s expectations for the interior were nonexistent as Fletch opened the door. To her surprise, other than everything being outdated and worn, the room was clean and thankfully, didn’t reek of smoke.
“No couch,” they said in unison.
The furnishings were standard fare: one queen-sized bed, two bedside stands, a tiny table with two vinyl-covered chairs, and a TV stand. The closet was a metal rod attached to the far wall. The vanity was visible. Undoubtedly, the toilet and shower were off to the side.
Fletch closed the heavy curtains and walked back, checking the bathroom. When he returned, he said, “I’ll take the floor.”
“No. We’re both tired. We can share the bed as…” She hesitated and motioned between them. “Whatever this is. What is this, savior and victim? Friends after a one-night stand? Kidnapper and kidnappee?”
“I’m not a fan of labels, but if you can sleep next to me” —he grinned and quirked a brow— “and only sleep, I’ll do my best to follow suit.”
“Deal.”
“Which suitcase do you need?” he asked.
Michelle flung the covers back on the bed. “No bedbugs.” She looked up. “I didn’t put that much effort into packing. Could you bring all three in? I’ll get them more organized after a shower, some food, and sleep.”
Fletch returned with Michelle’s bags, a backpack, and a duffel bag, Fletch opened the duffel bag and removed a small gun. “Since you’re familiar with guns…”
Her eyes opened wide. “I didn’t shoot the one last night. I had to do a YouTube video to remember how to load it.”
“This one is a Glock 19.” He handed it her direction. “It’s heavier than your Sig Sauer due to the double-stack magazine.”
Michelle took a step backward. “I brought mine.”
Fletch’s eyes opened wide. “You did?”
She shrugged. “Dad gave it to me. I decided it was important.” She lifted one of her bags and unzipped the zipper. Clothes and items spilled onto the bed. “I’m not certain which bag it’s in. Besides, as long as you’re here, I won’t need it.”
“I’m going out for supplies.”
Her heartbeat quickened. “Dad taught me to shoot a rifle in a field with clay pigeons. He took me to the shooting range to learn how to safely handle my Sig Sauer. I’ve never shot at a person.”
“I’d like to get some sleep. Let me show you this gun and you can look for yours later. If you have to use this, it will be to save your life.” Fletch came closer, placed the Glock in Michelle’s hand. “You’re experienced. I’ll just show you the ins and outs of the Glock. It’s not complicated.”
For the next few minutes, Fletch explained the parts of the pistol, the way to load and unload the magazine, and how to depress the trigger safety. His instructions were thorough and patient. They also sparked memories of her dad’s lessons years ago and more recently, the lady on the YouTube video.
At the end of their lesson, Michelle was only ninety percent as scared as she’d been at the beginning.
The fear wasn’t necessarily of the handgun but of being alone.
Which was crazy. She hated sounding needy, but she still asked, “How long will you be gone?” Michelle carefully laid the gun on the TV stand.
“Not long. I told the front office I wasn’t to be disturbed. Keep the door locked, and don’t open it for anyone but me. I’ll have the key, but I recommend you lock the deadbolt while I’m gone.”
Michelle eyed the pistol and looked back at Fletch. “Please hurry.”
He came closer and reached for her shoulders. “You’ve got this, Shelly. Most likely, you won’t need to use that. I don’t want to leave you without some protection.” He glanced at the open carry-on cases. “And it could be months before you straighten all of that out.”
Pressing her lips together, she shook her head.
Fletch pulled the stocking cap from her head.
Michelle’s fiery hair fell from captivity, cascading over her shoulders.
He ran a lock between his thumb and finger.
“The first time I saw you in person, I couldn’t look away from your hair.
You were so vibrant, full of life.” He inhaled. “I want to keep you that way.”
“Alive is good.”
“I’ll be back with food and water.” Surprisingly, he placed a kiss on the top of her head.
As Fletch headed toward the door, Michelle asked, “Is it really this dangerous? Do you think they’re coming after me?”
“After what happened last night—yes, it’s dangerous. Until you’re where I know they can’t find you, we aren’t taking any chances.”
Michelle followed behind him. Once the door closed, she turned the knob to engage the deadbolt and leaned her forehead against the cool metal door.
“How can this be my life?” she asked in a whisper.
Under the spray of the shower, she studied her wrists, now a deeper purple from the attacker’s grip. There were tender bruises on her thighs, and her lips were still sore. Michelle couldn’t help wondering what would have happened if Fletch hadn’t been watching.
She would have had to pull the trigger.
As she shampooed and conditioned her hair, she inventoried everything that had been taken from her over the last few days.
Her father.
Her home.
Her safety.
The life she knew.
At 9:40 in the morning, she was dressed in sleeping pants and a t-shirt with her wet hair combed out.
Sitting cross-legged on the bed she opened her mother’s locket and stared down at the small photos.
The one of her parents curled slightly at the edge.
Michelle pressed it down with the realization it was her only photo of her parents.
Swallowing her emotions, Michelle latched the locket, slipping the necklace over her head and began going through her luggage.
She had her things in a semi-state of organization when her cocoon shattered at the distinct rattling of the doorknob.
Peering out from the edge of the curtain, she saw in the parking spot that had held the sedan was a dusty black truck. The knob rattled again.
Steeling her shoulders, she went to the TV stand and picked up the Glock.