Seven
Helena shifted in the passenger seat of Trevor’s truck, the morning sun spilling through the windshield, casting long, dappled shadows as they wound their way through the forested roads outside Lavender.
The air was crisp, a gentle breeze rustling the aspens lining the highway, their leaves a vibrant sunlit green.
Lark lay curled up in the back seat, her head resting on her paws, ears occasionally twitching at the sound of passing cars.
She hoped Trevor knew what she meant when she’d said he wasn’t alone.
God was always with him, but she could help him walk through grief like no one else.
She’d experienced more than her fair share.
He had seemed to lean into that but then suddenly, his eyes had grown focused.
Like his thoughts had taken her words in and then kicked them out.
Maybe he accepted her sentiment but didn’t want to be comforted by her.
He might think it would lead to something deeper, but Helena wasn’t about to let it progress past friendship.
She’d made too many mistakes and had closed up shop on falling in love. He didn’t need to worry about that.
Helena then let her mind wander to Nancy’s words which were still echoing in her mind.
The unexpected connection to her parents was unsettling, like finding an old scar she hadn’t known was there.
Nancy had spoken of her father with a fondness, of a shared past, a bond forged in smoke and ash.
The mention of her Uncle Rick, too, had scratched at something raw within her.
…Rick might’ve had a bit of a crush on your mother back then. Maybe even dated her before Bruce.
Helena’s hands tightened around the strap of her seat belt, her jaw clenching as she turned the thought over in her mind.
She had no idea her uncle had ever been involved with her mother.
It made sense, she supposed, given their small-town roots, but it felt like a missing puzzle piece snapping into place.
Was this the reason for the tension between her father and uncle?
The unspoken wedge that had grown into a chasm over the years?
Had it been about more than just business disagreements or the usual sibling rivalry?
He had noted Dad always wanted to be the hero. At what expense?
Trevor glanced over, his jaw set, hands gripping the steering wheel.
He hadn’t said much since they’d left the assisted living center last night, his face a stony mask, eyes fixed on the road ahead.
She understood the silence, the need for space, the slow burn of grief simmering beneath his tough exterior.
She felt it, too, the quiet panic of watching someone you love fade away, the helplessness of it, the dull, unending ache.
“Are you sure you don’t mind going to Uncle Rick’s with me?
I know it’s not about any case we’re working on, but I need answers about him and my father and my mother.
I need to know if I can trust him. If I can trust…
my dad, which hurts just saying that. But…
but Alicia was found under our house, Trevor.
Tell me that my dad isn’t the number-one suspect. ”
“If I didn’t know him, I’d lean that direction, too. I actually looked at his interview report, which wasn’t much. No one ever suspected him. But you’re right. We have to be unbiased,” Trevor said finally, his voice rough around the edges. “Maybe Rick will be at the Airbnb before we get there.”
Helena shrugged. When she’d texted him that she wanted to stop by, he’d said to let herself in. He was in Colorado Springs on business and would be there shortly.
“After, we can go by Lavender University.”
Last night, Detective Chuck Bomer had forwarded Trevor a bio link to a Lavender University English Lit professor whose name matched the partial initials on the tie clip found in Kendra Rowe’s car.
Percy Rainer. Married with two high school children.
Good looking too. They’d looked into him and found that his wife had filed divorce papers last year, but they hadn’t gone through with it.
At the very least, he might have been having an affair with Kendra Rowe.
Maybe the tie clip would be enough to force him to tell the truth.
They lapsed into another stretch of silence, and she prayed they wouldn’t be met by that pickup out for round two of running them off a mountain.
Maybe that’s why she was focusing on her father and his past with Uncle Rick.
It kept her fear humming at the edge of her mind, though it never fully left.
She wasn’t safe, no matter where she went or who she was with.
This killer wanted her dead. And no amount of investigating or helping Trevor walk through his own grief would change that.
They turned onto the long, winding driveway leading to the Airbnb. It was an older cabin, its wooden frame dark and weathered, perched on a bluff overlooking the river, the trees swaying gently in the breeze.
Trevor killed the engine, and they climbed out, Lark hopping down from the back seat, her nose twitching as she took in the new scents.
Helena followed him up the creaking steps, the wood groaning beneath their boots, and Trevor hesitated a moment before entering. Lavender was always a place no one locked doors and people could safely come and go. But Helena was finding that wasn’t the case at all.
She was living proof.
Cold chills crawled up her spine, sending a shiver through her bones.
The door swung open with a faint, rusty creak, and the smell of old wood and vanilla-laced air hit them as they stepped inside.
The cabin’s interior was a cluttered mix of mismatched furniture that actually worked, and old hunting trophies, dusty deer antlers mounted above the stone fireplace, their hollow eyes staring down at the couch and coffee table. She shuddered.
Trevor flipped on a light, the overhead fixture casting a dim, yellowish glow across the room. Lark moseyed ahead, her nose to the ground, sniffing along the baseboards, her tail low and stiff. Helena watched the dog carefully, noting the way her ears jumped, the subtle tension in her frame.
“You think he’ll be forthcoming this time now that I know what I do?” Helena murmured, crossing her arms as she scanned the room.
“Who knows?” Trevor muttered.
Helena checked her watch and aimlessly wandered the cabin, waiting on him to return with more direct answers about Dad.
Trevor followed making small talk and then they finally returned downstairs.
Lark froze near the fireplace, her body going rigid, head snapping up as a low, rumbling growl rolled from her throat.
Helena’s pulse quickened, her hand instinctively moving to the knife clipped to her belt.
She stepped closer, her work boots whispering against the old wooden floorboards as she followed the dog’s gaze.
“Lark?” Trevor whispered as he took a cautious step toward his dog. The hair along Lark’s spine stood up, her muscles taut, the growl deepening to a fierce, guttural snarl.
A split second later, Helena caught it. The acrid, chemical bite of smoke, faint at first, but growing stronger, more pungent, curling into her nostrils.
“Trevor,” she said, her voice low, urgent.
Trevor turned, his eyes widening as he finally registered the thin tendrils of smoke snaking along the outer walls of the house.
“Fire,” Helena snapped, grabbing his arm. “We need to move. Now.”
For a moment, Trevor just stood there, his eyes locked on the growing coils of smoke, his breath coming in pants, and Helena felt the sudden, gut-punch realization that he was frozen, paralyzed by the sight, the memories of burning wreckage and scorched flesh no doubt flashing through his mind.
“Trevor!” she barked, yanking harder on his arm. “Move! Now!”
Lark let out a sharp, insistent bark and Trevor’s unfocused haze snapped into panicked awareness. He stumbled back, his face pale beneath the scruff of his unshaven jaw as the flames burst the window, shards flying through the room.
Helena tightened her grip on his arm, steering him toward the door as the smoke thickened, the bitter stench filling her lungs, stinging her eyes. The heat was rising now, the crackling of wood, the distant, ominous roar of flames building somewhere deeper in the house.
The place was catching fast.
“Come on,” she urged, shoving him toward the door as Lark darted past them, her nails clicking frantically against the floorboards. “We have to get out.”
The flames had already found their way into the living room from the front porch. Both sides of the house were engulfed. She only hoped the back door would lead to safety.
Trevor stood like a statue, but she managed to pull him to the ground. “Stay down. The smoke…it’s too much,” she hollered, and motioned for Lark to lower herself. But she wouldn’t. Instead, she tugged on Trevor’s shirt, pulling at him to force him to slither on his belly toward the kitchen.
Helena followed suit as Trevor barely moved and Lark did the brunt of the work until they reached the back door.
Helena used her shirt to grip the knob and thrust it open.
Smoke and flames were eating the sides of the house, but there was a small gap and only seconds to burst through before they were completely engulfed.
“Help him, Lark. Help him,” Helena sputtered as the dog continued to yank on Trevor, forcing him to move.
They tumbled outside and several feet from the burning cabin, the warm, sunlit air hitting them like a splash of cold water. Helena’s pulse thundered in her ears as she drew in sweet oxygen.
Trevor bent over, his hands braced on his knees, gulping air, and Lark pressed against his side, offering comfort and support.
“Trevor, are you okay?” Helena coughed and laid a hand on his shoulder, the heat of the fire still searing through the material.
“I’m… I’m sorry.” He hung his head.
Helena opened her mouth but was cut off by a man hollering.
Uncle Rick.