Colby Agency: Small-Town Secrets Part 11

"Do you smell that?"

Dana inhaled a lungful of air. There was an odor...it tingled in her throat.

"Smoke."

The single word he uttered settled like shackles around her limbs. She couldn't move. Couldn't speak.

The flashlight fell from her limp fingers. Bounced on the floor, sending bobs of light across the wall.

He grabbed her arm and reached for the abandoned flashlight simultaneously. "We have to get out of here."

Smoke...the word filtered through the layers of disbelief. That meant...

Fire.

Chapter Thirteen.

It was past midnight.

Dana sat on the steps of the Bellomy porch and watched the firemen roll up their hoses.

The full moon seemed to spotlight the blackened sh.e.l.l that had once been her home. All their worldly possessions had gone up in flames. Going through the rubble might reveal a few salvageable items.

The things from before her life as she knew it ended.

"Dear, are you sure I can't get you something?"

Mrs. Bellomy hovered nearby. She wanted to help. She'd offered a blanket, a cup of hot chocolate, a good, stiff drink. But Dana felt too numb to interact with another human on any level.

Knowing she was waiting for some sort of response, Dana managed a faint shake of her head. Thankfully that seemed to satisfy Mrs. Bellomy. She disappeared back into her home.

Spence and the chief were still deep into what looked like a heated exchange. The spotlights the firemen had settled around the house to facilitate their efforts showcased the tension between the two men.

If Dana's memories about the journal could be trusted, then that insight into the past was lost. All her sister's things. Their stuffed animals and dolls...the artwork their mother had collected over the years.

Everything.

Gone.

Her sister and father were dead. The family home was destroyed. If something happened to Dana's mother, there would be no one left who remembered the time when they were happy.

Dana tried hard to recall that time. Before the murders. Way before. But those memories were foggy. When had she stopped remembering those days?

Was there something wrong with her? Really, truly wrong. Like a brain tumor? There had to be a logical explanation of why she couldn't recall those final days of her sister's life. Was her condition growing progressively worse? How else would she explain the fogginess that appeared determined to descend over all she should be able to recall?

The screen door behind Dana squeaked as it opened, then closed with a swat of wood against wood. Mrs. Bellomy settled onto the steps next to Dana.

Dana closed her eyes and tried to summon some kind of emotion. She felt utterly blank. She couldn't cry. Couldn't scream. Nothing.

"I'll call your mother in the morning, if you'd like. No use upsetting her in the middle of the night."

Dana hadn't even thought of that. Of course her mother would need to know. "Thank you."

"Carlton tried to properly see after the place all these years. But it's not the same when no one's living in a home. Things just go down. It's like the house is sad because it's empty and it slowly, surely falls apart."

Dana's gaze followed the organized chaos across the street as the firemen continued to go about the final steps of their business. Mrs. Bellomy was right. The house had been abandoned...left to disintegrate.

"The chief says it was probably a faulty electrical problem."

Dana nodded, the words scarcely registering.

"I know you feel you have to do the right thing, Dana," Mrs. Bellomy went on, "but I don't think you're doing yourself any good here. Carlton and I were so happy to see you again, but this is tearing you apart. Why don't you put all this behind you and get back to your real life in Chicago? You can't do any good here. Nothing's going to change no matter what you find."

For the first time since Dana had decided to go to the Colby Agency, she seriously questioned the whole point of what she was doing.

Mrs. Bellomy was probably right-they all were.

Dana was hurting people, particularly her mother, by being back here. No one would cooperate with her efforts. She hit a brick wall everywhere she turned. And the few details she did discover all pointed to what her nightmares already told her.

She had killed her sister...

Why was she bothering to look?

Was the chief protecting her? Had her mother and father been protecting her when they rushed her away from here?

If her nightmares were true, then Dana deserved nothing better than what she'd had the past sixteen years. She'd muddled her way through college, hadn't had a real relations.h.i.+p. She barely dated. She existed...nothing more.

She didn't even deserve that.

The numbness faded, leaving an emptiness that was far worse.

She should have died that night. Not Donna. Everyone had loved Donna. Dana had been n.o.body. Her life had never impacted anyone's until sixteen years ago when she'd destroyed three families, including her own.

"You're right." Dana pushed to her feet. "I should go."

Mrs. Bellomy called after Dana, but she just kept walking. Spence and the chief were still deeply involved in their conversation. No one noticed as she pa.s.sed. Dana was glad. She didn't want to talk anymore. She didn't want to think.

And she definitely didn't want to remember.

Walking in the direction of town wasn't a conscious decision. It was just the way the road went, and she followed it.

As bright as the moon was, there were no stars visible. The glow filtered through the barren trees. Leaves danced along the pavement as the wind picked up. Dana s.h.i.+vered.

A car had rolled up next to her without her noticing. She started. The driver slowed, peered out at her and then drove on. Dana hugged her arms around herself. She looked around the tree-lined street that led into Brighton proper. It was a few more blocks before she reached the next neighborhood. She probably shouldn't have taken off on her own since she obviously had no friends around here. So far everyone she'd encountered wanted her out of here and considered her crazy or a killer or both.

The sound of another car approaching sent adrenaline searing through her limbs, initiating the fight-or-flight response. The headlights cut across her and pierced the darkness in front of her. She kept walking. Didn't look back.

By the time the vehicle was next to her, she was certain her heart was going to burst from her chest. She refused to look. Kept her attention straight ahead.

The sound of a power window lowering hummed in her ears.

"Dana, what're you doing?"

Spence.

Thank G.o.d.

He braked hard. "Get in the car."

She started to say no. But what was the point?

What was she doing?

The tears came from nowhere. Flooded her vision then streamed down her cheeks. She tried to pull herself together, to be strong. But that wasn't happening.

A door slammed. Footsteps echoed on the pavement. And then she was in Spence's arms.

He held her tighter than anyone had in a very long time.

Dana sagged against his chest. She cried so hard that her whole body shuddered with the effort.

She was so lost.

What did she do now?

What did it even matter?

SPENCE WATCHED DANA SLEEP. She'd cried for a solid hour. There had been nothing he could do but hold her. Nothing he could say except to make the same promise. He would find the truth.

He crossed the room, pushed back the generic drapes and peered out at the night. A deputy's cruiser sat in the parking lot across the street. Chief Gerard had made it clear that he wasn't tolerating any more trouble out of Spence or Dana.

If Spence or Dana went anywhere near Joanna Ca.s.sidy's parents, legal action would be taken. Since Sherry Sanford's family had moved to Denver, they were beyond the chief's jurisdiction. However, he warned Spence that he had already called the Sanfords and urged them not to take calls from Spence or Dana.

A stalemate.

The chief was fighting him every step of the way.

Why?

And this whole business about the fire being related to the home's incoming electrical supply was ludicrous. The exterior service panels were in the off position, had been for nearly sixteen years. It was true that the meter was still in place and that the electrical service was still active to the service panel, but the fire had started on an exterior wall beneath that service panel. A service panel that was off.

Spence was no master electrician, so he couldn't say for certain that the chief's suggestion was impossible. When considered with the vandalism to the first-floor bedroom in the house as well as his car and the reaction of a number of citizens to Dana's presence, foul play should be suspected.

And investigated.

That wasn't going to happen because the chief wanted Spence and Dana out of here today. An arson investigation would only give them reasonable cause to prolong their stay in Brighton.

Spence had already considered consulting Victoria about bringing the FBI into this. There was a major cover up going on here, and Spence wasn't at all sure he could handle this alone.

He knew how the law worked, no question.

Without tangible physical evidence, he didn't have a leg to stand on. All he had was an overwhelming gut instinct that the chief was hiding the truth.

How could anyone not see that?

Had the parents of the victims been so devastated that they couldn't dredge up the wherewithal to induce the chief to do his job?

Were the citizens of this town so convinced that Dana was guilty that they refused to see anything else?

Evidently.

Spence closed the drapes, checked the lock on the door and sat down on the bed. He needed sleep. Later today they had only one avenue available. Attempt to interview Patty Shepard and Ginger Ellis. The chief hadn't cautioned him to stay away from those two in particular.

If that didn't give him something more to go on, he would have no choice but to call Victoria.

Spence didn't want to fail the Colby Agency.

But more than that, he didn't want to fail Dana.

As if his thoughts had summoned her, her eyes opened. She blinked, stared at him a moment, likely mentally replaying the night's events, then pressed her hand to her mouth.

"We're going to start early," he said, in an effort to give her hope. "We'll go to Ginger Ellis first, then to Patty Shepard. We're not giving up." Not yet.

She rolled onto her back, swiped at her eyes. "My entire life I've been the one who didn't bother anyone, didn't speak out of turn. I was always quiet and obedient. How can this be real?" Her gaze met and held his. "How could I have killed three people and not remember? How could all these people believe I'm pure evil?"

Spence traced a tear she'd missed that trickled down her cheek. "There are a lot of unanswered questions. And we're not settling on a conclusion until we have the answers. When we have the truth, we'll deal with it. Whatever it is."

"But how?" She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. "How am I supposed to deal with it?"

"We will deal with it," he reiterated. "You don't have to do anything alone."

He had sworn he would never again get personally involved on this level. And here he was, involved all the way to his heart. But he couldn't let her do this alone. No way.

He kept seeing that little thirteen-year-old girl all alone in the woods with her sister's body. The invisible little girl that everyone made fun of and blamed any and all trouble on.

The throwaway kid.

There were far too many in this world.

Even sixteen years later, as an adult, Dana Hall was still treated as utterly dispensable.