hardest times, times that seemed to tear her apart, came in the middle of the night. That’s when she’d think she heard the sound of Jenny’s voice. Sarah would roll out of bed, still half-asleep, and head for the room where Jenny slept before realizing that room was empty—just like all the other rooms in the house. Sarah was no longer needed as a mother. Jenny was dead.
Tonight the smell of smoke was pervasive throughout the house, but she could tolerate that. Her depression at the loss of her family nipped at the edges of her consciousness, but with an effort of will she put that aside to consider something of more immediate importance. What she couldn’t get past was her fear that whoever set the fire would return. Every noise she heard seemed to represent footsteps on the stairs or movement in the next room.
Sarah wished she still had the pistol Harry kept in his bedside table. Right after they were married, she’d told him she felt uncomfortable with a gun in the house.
“I’m a nut about firearm safety,” he’d said. “I want to have it to protect us, but I’m careful. Believe me.”
After Jenny was born, Sarah renewed her objections. It wasn’t safe to have a pistol in the house where there was a child. She’d read about gun owners who shot a family member or were wounded or killed themselves. Finally, Harry had given in to her entreaties to get rid of the weapon. But now she wished she had it with her. More important, she wished she had Harry beside her.
They’d worked together—she, an ER doctor, and he, a surgeon—to mesh their schedules so they’d have time with each other and with Jenny. Things were going well. They’d even talked about trying for a little brother or sister for their daughter. But one afternoon, as Harry drove home from the day-care center with Jenny in the car seat, another driver crashed into them and snuffed out both their lives, as well as her own. And, so far as Sarah was concerned, her life ended at that moment as well.
Sarah told herself for the hundredth time there was no need to go over the past. Harry and Jenny were gone. She was still here, although she wasn’t sure just why, and she had to concentrate on moving ahead. That had been her priority since her loss: moving ahead, one day at a time, one step at a time, even if she had to force herself. This fire was simply another roadblock she had to get past. Harry, I’m trying. Really, I’m trying.
The firemen had thrown the main electrical breaker to the house until they determined the location and severity of the fire. Now, although the electricity was back on, the clock at Sarah’s bedside continued to flash 1:13, the time when all this took place. She’d fallen into bed without resetting the clock, so that now when she opened her eyes and looked in that direction, she saw a constant reminder of what had happened tonight. She knew she should get up and reset the clock, but the effort was beyond her at this point.
It seemed to Sarah she’d done nothing but toss and turn since dropping onto the bed in a state of exhaustion at almost four a.m. She untangled herself from the covers and punched the button to light up the dial of her watch. It was ten after five. Sleep wasn’t going to come.
She slid her feet into the scuffs that had fallen at the bedside. She shrugged out of her robe, then went to the closet and wrapped herself in Harry’s robe, one she’d kept because even after eight months she thought she could smell his after-shave lotion in it. Even now, it felt like she’d put on a suit of armor. It was a little like Harry was there with her. And she needed that.
Sarah padded down the stairs. In the kitchen, she flipped on the coffee maker and waited, hoping the scent of the freshly brewed coffee would overcome some of the smell of smoke that seemed to follow her wherever she went in the house.
She looked at her watch and wondered how long it would be before she could begin making phone calls. Sarah moved to one of the kitchen cabinets, opened a drawer, and withdrew a notepad and pencil. Then, armed with a fresh cup of coffee, she sat down at the kitchen table and began to make a list of the tasks that faced her.
* * *
The last emergency vehicle had gone. Clouds covered the moon and stars, and there were no streetlights nearby. He couldn’t have planned better circumstances for watching unobserved. With the car windows partially open to let in the night breeze, he was comfortable leaning back behind the steering wheel. Other than a couple of officers driving by earlier, apparently the police had decided that regular patrols in the area weren’t necessary for the rest of the night. That suited him just fine.
The house had been dark since he drove up, but he knew that didn’t mean its occupant was sleeping. Sure enough, at that moment the light in an upstairs room came on. In a few minutes another window, this one downstairs, was lit, the illumination faint as though from a light in an adjoining room. He figured she’d been unable to sleep, had tossed and turned before eventually getting out of bed. Now she was probably sitting in the kitchen, perhaps drinking coffee or tea, wondering why this had happened.
Well, that was the point of the whole exercise, wasn’t it? He didn’t want to kill her—not yet. First, she had to suffer—not necessarily physically—but she had to suffer. That’s what this was about—the waiting, the wondering, the fear. The dying would come later.
Chapter 2
2
Kyle Andrews sat hunched over his laptop computer at his kitchen table, his second cup of coffee at his elbow, skimming the news headlines. He looked up from the computer, took a sip of coffee, and wondered if it would be a good idea to call Sarah.
He’d first met Harry and Sarah Gordon when he came to town to set up his law practice. He’d actually met them where a lot of people in Jameson met—at the First Community Church. It wasn’t long before he and Harry became good friends, and Sarah appeared to be happy about that. Soon thereafter, Kyle met someone else at church, someone who changed his life. It wasn’t too many months later that he was engaged to Nicole, and the two couples double-dated frequently after that.
Nicole’s sudden death had left Kyle with a hole in his heart, but he’d tried not to show it. After all, that was what Christians did. But when Harry and Jenny were killed, Kyle figured he, more than most, had a sense of how the tragic death of a loved one might affect Sarah. And that was even more reason for him to offer support to her now.
Harry had never said, “If something happens to me, take care of Sarah.” Kyle figured he didn’t have to. That sort of thing was understood between friends. In the eight months since Harry’s death, Kyle had worked hard not to press Sarah, while still making sure she knew he was there for her. He’d like to do more, but there never seemed to be the right opening. For now he’d best simply stay close and be available.
Would this be a good time to call? He looked at his watch. Not quite eight. It was Saturday, and she might be sleeping in. On the one hand—
The ring of his cell phone made him look up from his computer. When he saw the caller ID he realized his decision had been made for him. Sarah was calling.
“Good morning,” he said. “I was about to call and see how you’re doing.”
“That’s why I’m phoning. I . . . I need your help this morning.”
“As a friend or as a lawyer?” Kyle reached for his coffee cup. “Did you get a speeding ticket yesterday, Sarah?” He smiled at the thought. Sarah was the epitome of the term, “straight arrow.”
“I’m meeting with the police this morning, Kyle, and I’d like you to be there with me.”
Kyle set the cup on the table without drinking.
