High School Reunion. Mallory Kane
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and dried-out wood all over the place.”
“But bad wiring didn’t cause this fire.”
Kit shook his head. “There was a stack of papers and photo albums in the middle of the dining room table. Preliminary investigation indicates that the fire started there. And it wasn’t an accident.”
Cade nodded. “I figured that. How do you know?”
“It’s an amateur setup. The smell of lighter fluid is all over the place.”
“I didn’t smell anything but smoke.”
Kit grinned. “You work enough fires, you eventually learn the different smells. Lighter fluid’s different than electrical or gasoline or a cigarette.”
One of the firemen hollered at Kit, who waved at him.
“How’d you get here so fast?” he asked Cade.
“I heard the car alarm, and since we’d already had one situation tonight, I thought I’d better check it out.”
“Car alarm?”
Cade frowned. “Didn’t you hear it? Your house is about as close to Misty’s as mine is.”
“I was asleep.”
Cade had been, too—he’d thought. But when the faint sound of the car alarm had reached his ears, he’d immediately thought of Laurel.
“Need me for anything else tonight, Cade?”
“God, I hope not. We’ve had plenty of excitement for one day.” He nodded toward the house. “Can I get inside? Check for damage and evidence?”
“Yeah. I think we got all the hot spots.”
“Great. Thanks. You’ll get me a copy of your report, right?”
Kit sent him a mock salute as he climbed onto the fire truck.
Cade looked around. Thank goodness the rubberneckers had dispersed. Over by their cars, Fred and Shelton stood talking with a couple of neighbors. Every so often, one of them would gesture or point toward the house.
He didn’t see anyone else. A tremor of alarm streaked through him. He stalked over to Fred. “Where’d Laurel go?”
Fred frowned and glanced at Shelton, who shook his head. “Haven’t seen her since the firemen got here.”
“She must have gone back inside. Thanks, guys.” Cade sprinted toward the house.
“Hey, you want some help?” Fred called.
“Nope. Y’all head on home.”
He took the front steps two at a time and burst through the front door. The smell of wet, charred wood and fabric permeated the house.
He heard a cough coming from the den.
Laurel was standing just inside the door, facing the sodden mess that had been her friend’s living room. Her arms were folded and her fingers were white-knuckled.
“You shouldn’t be in here.”
She shrugged without turning around. “Where else should I be? Look what they did. Misty will be devastated.”
He took her arm and turned her around. “You need to—God, Laurel. What happened to you?”
Her face was red and her eyes were nearly swollen shut. He grabbed her other arm and squinted at her in the pale light shining in from the street lamps. “Were you burned? Why didn’t you tell me?”
She shook her head. “No. The fire was after.”
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