Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Tracy—her mother.
“How do you know about my mom?”
Michelle’s thoughts went back to eight years ago. The years warped into seconds of snapshots. A rapid display of images ran through her thoughts, their speed increasing like cards shuffled into a deck. She recalled that night.
Michelle opened the door to their home, the house where she’d lived most of her life with both her parents.
Located south of Indianapolis, Indiana, the small city was quiet and uneventful.
Michelle went to school in the area from kindergarten all the way through high school, where she was part of the State Championship Band.
She made it home more often her first year away.
Her sophomore year at Purdue University kept her busier.
With her job, classes, and friends, she’d only made it back home one other time.
It was already semester and holiday break.
“Mom. Dad,” Michelle said loudly as she stepped inside the house. She called out again. Nothing. That wasn’t like her parents. Usually, they were waiting for her. They knew she was on her way.
The inclement weather on I-65 and resulting traffic wasn’t conducive to a quick drive. What usually took an hour and a half, doubled. Three hours after leaving her apartment, she was finally home.
Michelle dropped her backpack by the front door and called again, her voice echoing throughout the house.
A decorated tree in the living room was the only illumination, filling the room with vibrant, colorful lights.
A smile curled her lips as she walked toward the tree, drawn by the memories of the ornaments.
Her mom never threw anything away.
Her smile grew as she stared down at the picture of a toothless, childish her pasted to a wooden tree. Flipping the ornament, the year was written on the back. She made it for her parents in the first grade.
The ring of Michelle’s phone made her jump.
Pulling it from the pocket of her jeans, she saw the screen said Mom. “Hi, where are you?”
“Oh good, you’re home. I wanted to be there before you arrived,” Mom replied. “I’m doing some last-minute shopping. And your father got called into work.”
Michelle’s heart sank. She wasn’t expecting a welcome-home party, but she was expecting her parents. Disappointment sounded in her tone. “How long does Dad have to work?”
“Until seven tomorrow morning. There’s a convention in town, and they needed more officers on the street.”
There was always something. As the daughter of a police officer, Michelle was used to the interruptions caused by his work. “Are you coming home soon?”
“Yes,” Mom replied. “I’ll bring home a pizza, and we can catch up.”
After ending Mom’s call, she saw that she’d missed a few text messages.
They were from high school friends. Their tight group had scattered to different colleges.
Now, everyone was in town for the holiday.
They were all asking her to meet them at Misty’s house.
It was an impromptu get-together, and they wanted Michelle with them.
Michelle wasn’t trying to be difficult or rebellious.
She was simply young. Instead of staying and waiting alone, she quickly wrote a note to her parents and left.
When the party grew late, Michelle sent a text to her mom saying she was spending the night.
After all, she still had her suitcase in her trunk.
“We can catch up tomorrow,” Michelle texted.
At nearly four in the morning, the house of friends awakened to screaming sirens. Firetrucks and police cars raced past the front window as each friend woke up, drawn to the parade of lights.
“Did you hear something before the sirens?” Misty asked.
“No, I was asleep.”
“I did,” Taylor, another girl camped in the living room, said. “It was like an explosion or an earthquake.”
Indiana rarely had earthquakes.
A cold chill scurried over Michelle’s arms as she found her phone and contemplated calling her mother. Surely, Mom was awake with all the activity. Then again, Michelle didn’t want to wake her if she wasn’t.
Instead, she sent a text. “Mom, something happened in the neighborhood.”
Misty lived only a few blocks from Michelle’s house.
A second text. “If you’re awake, let me know what you know.”
Michelle looked up at her friends. “Maybe Mom heard something from Dad?”
Fletch opened a director’s chair and set it facing Michelle. “Your mom’s death was eventually ruled an accident. Initially, you were blamed.”
Michelle’s chest ached at the memories, the accusations, and even the questioning by the police.
Her dad tried to intervene, but Michelle was nearly twenty years old and, according to the law, an adult.
The conspiracy theories ran the gamut. The most believable was that Michelle accidentally, or intentionally, hit a burner on the gas stove.
Without a flame to ignite it, the gas accumulated.
“I was cleared,” she replied matter-of-factly.
“Your mother died in a house explosion, attributed to an accumulation of methane, yet no construction had occurred in the area. And now your father will be declared deceased due to an unexplained fire.”
She sat taller. “My father was already dead. I heard the gunshot. When I went downstairs, he was on the floor. There was blood.” She shivered. “The flames…someone started a fire to cover up the crime. You mentioned accelerant.” Her eyes opened wide as she scooted closer to the wall. “Was it you?”
“No.” Fletch’s gaze narrowed. “Why would your parents be targeted?”
She shook her head. “I have no idea. My mom was a librarian—a great mom but as boring as they come. Dad was a policeman, thirty years with IMPD. Sheriff Perkins or that deputy with him killed my father or knows who did.” She shook her head.
“Dad’s house is miles outside of Iron Falls.
They were there too fast. I think they know what happened.
” Her gaze narrowed as she recalled her previous question.
“Wait a minute. You were there fast too.”
“I didn’t hurt Denny.”
“Why would anyone target him?”
The percolating coffee exploded in the glass top of the coffee pot, their bubbles interrupting the conversation. As Fletch stood, he pulled the hoodie over his head, further ruffling his hair and revealing a tight black dri-FIT shirt, the kind that hugs each muscle, each indentation and bulge.
She narrowed her eyes, wondering if she’d made the right decision.
Maybe she should have trusted Sheriff Perkins instead of Fletch.
Without conscious thought, Michelle scanned from his messy hair to his boots.
The way his shirt hugged his toned abdomen and biceps made her realize why he had no problem carrying her through the woods.
Either Fletch worked out religiously, or he was simply created to near perfection.
Noticing the obvious rise in temperature from the hotplate and lantern, Michelle unsnapped the large coat she was still wearing. Leaving it draped over her shoulders, she asked, “Am I safe with you?”
“I’m not a threat. Your safety is up for debate.”
“You don’t by chance see any spare clothes around here, do you?”
Fletch turned her way with a curl to his lips before turning a complete circle.
“I don’t see any clothes here. After dark, we’ll move.
He took a step and lifted his eye to a peephole near the door; one she hadn’t noticed earlier.
“The snow is falling heavier than before. That’s good.
Along with the wind, our tracks should be difficult to follow. ”
“Are you a cop? You don’t work with Sheriff Perkins, do you?”
“I’m not employed by the sheriff’s department.”
“Private eye? Some kind of survivalist?” she questioned as he handed her the steaming cup of coffee.
“Sorry, no cream or sugar.”
Michelle sighed. She liked both in her coffee. “The warm mug feels great on my fingers.” She took another look around. “Seriously, how do I know I can trust you?”
Fletch retook his seat across from her. “I’d say that’s up to you, but at the moment, your choices are rather slim.”
“Do you know more about my mom’s death?” It was a question she hadn’t broached with anyone since she was determined not guilty—not guilty, not innocent. Yes, she remembered the state prosecutor making that distinction.
“The less you know, the better.”
The small hairs on Michelle’s arms stood to attention. “Less I know about what?”
“Why were you at Denny’s house last night?”
“He’s my dad.”
Fletch nodded. “Why last night?”
“It was a surprise visit. I wasn’t planning on staying.
Dad is always…” She took a deep breath, deciding to make a less emotional declaration.
“…was always concerned about the roads around here, especially when the weather got bad. I’d been in Boston over the weekend for an event.
With a pause between projects, I decided to visit him on my way home.
I hadn’t seen him since he visited me a few months ago. ”
“Did he know you were coming?”
Michelle shrugged. “No. Like I said, it was a surprise.”
Fletch inhaled and leaned back against the chair. “Did he act in any way unusual?”
She pushed through her memories. “He wanted me to leave—which wasn’t unusual—but finally relented, allowing me to stay when the snow got worse.” Her eyes opened wide. “Do you think he knew what was going to happen—that there was danger?”
“What do you think?”
Michelle didn’t know what to think. Her gaze met Fletch’s. “Do you seriously think Sheriff Perkins would have hurt me if he found me?”
“I think that there would be two casualties of the fire, not one. Dead men tell no tales.”
Michelle smiled. “You know Disney didn’t come up with that quote.”
“Are you telling me,” he asked with a hint of a grin, “that you’re not a Pirates of the Caribbean fan?”
“I am. Remember, my mom was a librarian. She was all about research, not taking things at face value. The phrase is originally credited to a man” —Michelle tried to recall— “a religious man, I believe. Thomas Becon who lived in the sixteenth century.”
Fletch tilted his face. “You sound like you take after your mom.”
She wasn’t sure, but that felt like a compliment.
“What else did your mom research?”
“Everything.” Before Michelle could answer further, Fletch’s phone buzzed, and he read a text message. When his dark eyes met hers, the spark that had been present a moment earlier was gone, leaving them a deeper black—a void.
“We can’t wait for nightfall. We need to get out of here now.”
“You can’t be serious. It’s daytime and we’re in the middle of Iron Reservoir. We’re sitting ducks.”
“I’ve gotten out of worse.”