Playing Dead in Dixie (19 page)

That also took out the phone?

She needed light.  Candles.  A flashlight—

Of course.  A flashlight.  Out in the store, there was half an aisle chock full of flashlights.  There were even batteries to go in them, too.

Time to do a little shopping.

Relieved to have something constructive to do, she groped her way to the door leading out of Floyd's office into the hallway.  Outside the windowless confines of the office, she saw a faint line of flickering yellow light at the end of the hallway, in the vicinity of the stockroom door.

Then she heard the sound.  A faint crackling, coming from the stockroom door.  Faint, faraway, but growing louder.

She tried to mold the sound into something she could explain away, like a passing car or a stray cat picking through the dumpster out back.  She almost convinced herself she was letting her imagination run away with her good sense.

Until she smelled the smoke.

THE ANSWERING MACHINE NEVER picked up.  The phone kept ringing and ringing, setting the hairs on the back of Wes's neck twitching.

It was the third time he'd tried the store number since eight o'clock, with the same results.  He could see Carly deciding not to answer the phone, in case it was someone else calling.  But the answering machine should be picking up.

Something was wrong.

He glanced over at Shannon Burgess, who was finally feeling well enough to escape the confines of the bedroom.  She sat on the sofa nearby, reading a book his cousin Beth had brought her earlier in the day.

"You think you're okay to be here by yourself for a few minutes?" he asked.

She looked up.  "Of course.  Where you going, to check on Nate?"  He could tell by her expression that she knew exactly who he was going to check on, and it wasn't her old bloodhound.

"Something like that."  He forced a smile as he grabbed his keys off the mantle, hoping his anxiety wasn't showing.  He started toward the door, then took a quick detour to move the telephone to the side table next to Shannon, so she could reach it easily.  "I should be back within an hour.  My cell phone is programmed into the phone.  Just hit star-three if you need me."

She looked at him curiously, but he didn't give her time to ask any questions, hurrying out to his truck.

The dashboard clock read eight-thirty as he pulled out of his uncle's driveway.  Night had fallen completely, blotting out the cool blue of dusk.  The truck's headlights were the only relief from the inky blackness, save for a scattering of lights from houses dotting the two-mile stretch of road from his uncle's house to the center of town.

He pulled out his cell phone and tried the hardware store's phone number again.  Still no answer.  He punched the end button and muttered a low curse.

Why wasn't Carly answering?

Phone trouble wasn't unheard of around these parts, of course.  But the weather was calm and balmy, and there had been no construction or repair crews out during the day who might have messed with the lines.  And he wasn't getting a fast busy signal, which might indicate a problem with the line.

Carly just wasn't answering the phone.

He pulled off Petty Creek Road onto Main Street four blocks from the hardware store.  Here, tall street lights lined the road, casting golden circles along the darkened sidewalks and illuminated the faces of the businesses shuttered for the night.

It took a moment for Wes to realize that the glow shimmering ahead in the distance wasn't the light from a street lamp.  As it flickered and grew, a haze began to form across the street, and the first acrid whiff of smoke filtered through the truck's air conditioning system, burning Wes's nose.

The hardware store was on fire.

CARLY'S LUNGS HAD BEGUN to burn, despite the water-soaked cotton vest she'd wrapped around her nose and mouth when she realized the back of the store was on fire.  Her first instinct had been to run, and she followed it, dashing outside and down the street to the pay phone outside Charlie's Diner.

But even as she dialed 911, she realized Manning couldn't be behind the blaze at the hardware store.  If he'd wanted her dead, he'd have blocked all the exits to make sure she couldn't escape the blaze.

No, whoever had set the fire was trying to burn down the store, not kill anyone.  After all, only Wes knew she was still at the store.

She'd alerted the 911 operator of the fire and hung up the phone to avoid any questions she didn't know how to answer.  Digging for more change, she'd put a call into the Strickland house, but the line was busy.  Probably Wes checking in on her to see how her file search was going.

That's when she'd realized all the files were still in the office, in the path of the fire.

It had been stupid to go back inside.  She knew it.  But if she didn't rescue the store's files, she'd never be able to prove someone was embezzling money from Floyd and Bonnie.

And if investigators determined that arson had caused the fire—and Carly was certain it had—Floyd and Bonnie might be suspected of deliberately setting the fire to get rid of a failing business.  Even if they weren't charged with a crime, no insurance company would ever pay their claim.

They'd be ruined.

So here she was, back in Floyd's office, aided by a flashlight she'd borrowed from the store's stock, moving files and ledgers from Floyd's office to a shopping cart she'd pulled from the front of the store.  Time was ticking away.  Fire licked at the doorway that closed off the hallway from the stock room in back.

But she couldn't leave the books to burn.

As she tossed the last file into the cart, she heard sirens approaching.  She yanked the cart toward the doorway, grunting a little as the weight of the files and ledger books dragged on the cart's wobbly wheels, and pushed it down the hall to the main sales floor.

She headed toward the front door, her flashlight illuminating the smoke-filled haze of the center aisle.   As she neared the front door, flashing red lights from outside bit through the smoke, and the sound of sirens grew louder.

At almost the same moment, the door burst open, letting in the full force of the siren's wail.  A dark figure dashed through the front door.  Carly directed the flashlight's beam toward the entrance and saw Wes's wide, dark eyes.

"Carly?"

It took all her self-control not to knock the shopping cart aside and throw herself into his arms.  She dragged the wet vest away from her face, coughing as smoke filled her lungs.  "Help me get this outside!"

The door opened again and a fireman burst through.  "Get out of here!  Is there anyone else inside?"

"No, I was here alone," Carly answered as Wes grabbed the shopping cart and dragged it with him toward the open door.  "I think the fire started out back."

The fireman hustled them outside, looking oddly at Wes and the shopping cart.  He waved the other firefighters toward the back of the building.

Wes pushed the shopping cart up against the side of his truck, tucking it there so it wouldn't roll down the sidewalk, and turned to Carly, clutching her shoulders with shaking hands. "What the hell did you think you were doing, staying in there with the place on fire?"

"I had to get the books."

"The books aren't worth getting yourself killed, you crazy idiot!"  He jerked her roughly to him, pressing his cheek against her hair.  She relaxed against his solid strength, adrenaline swirling away like water down an open drain now that both she and the files were safe.

"What happened?" Wes asked a few moments later, holding her at arm's length.  He looked her over, checking for injuries, she supposed.  She wondered if he saw any.  She couldn't feel much of anything except a harsh tickle in her throat and a gritty sensation in her smoke-stung eyes.

She coughed again.  "It was eight o'clock and you hadn't called."

"I tried."

"I knew you would have.  That's how I knew something was wrong.  I checked the phone and found it wasn't working.  That's when the power cut off and I started smelling smoke."  She coughed again, a hard, wracking spasm that made her chest hurt.

Wes opened the passenger door of his truck and lifted her inside.  "Stay right here."  He waved someone over—an EMT, Carly realized, spotting the medical kit slung over his lanky shoulder.

Wes introduced him as Phil Toomey.  "I think she may have some smoke inhalation."

Phil checked her over quickly.  "Can you get her over to the bus?  I'll give her some oxygen.  How does your throat feel?  Scratchy?"

Carly cleared her throat.  "No, not really.  I covered my mouth and nose with a wet vest while I was in there, so I didn't take in a lot of smoke."

"I would say you're a smart girl, but when I see why you stayed in there—"  Phil looked pointedly toward the shopping cart still tucked next to Wes's truck.

Carly didn't bother to try to explain.  In retrospect, she had to agree.  She'd taken a very foolish risk without even knowing for sure that there was anything in those files and ledgers to prove fraud against the Stricklands.

But all she'd thought about as she frantically gathered up the files was how much the Stricklands had done for her over the past couple of weeks.  And in exchange, she'd brought danger into their midst in a way that even Wes, with all his suspicions, probably couldn't fathom.

Taking a chance to help the Bonnie and Floyd out of an even bigger mess had seemed the least she could do.

Wes scooped her up from the front seat of his truck, tucking her close to him.  She briefly considered protesting that she was strong enough to walk, but the truth was, she liked the feel of his hard, warm body pressed so intimately against hers.  She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her face into the curve of his throat, breathing in the smell of him, more potent even than the smoke swirling around them in a thin, brown haze.

Wes laid her on the gurney in the back of the ambulance, where Phil and another EMT were waiting.  As he started to straighten, she grabbed his arm, keeping her voice low. "Go guard the files.  I'll be fine."

He shook his head.  "You're out of your mind."

She stood her ground.  "Why else do you think the fire started at the back of the store?"

He gazed at her, his eyes narrowing, suspicion evident in their dark depths.  After a moment, he gave a brief nod and climbed out of the back of the ambulance.

Phil placed an oxygen mask over her nose and she breathed deeply, the pure oxygen easing the tightness in her lungs.  From her perch on the gurney, she could see only what was directly in front of her, so she didn't know how the firefighters were faring with the store fire.

She could see Wes, however, as he started pulling folders and ledgers from the shopping cart and putting them inside a large olive-drab duffel bag lying in the bed of the truck.

The other EMT, who introduced himself as Tommy, checked her vitals again just as Wes was returning to the ambulance.  "I think you'll live," the EMT murmured, softening his tense expression with a half smile.  "Wes, you can take her home, but someone should stay with her, make sure she doesn't have any delayed reaction to the smoke."

Wes nodded.  "Got it covered."

Tommy turned back to Carly.  "If you start feeling hoarse or short of breath, you tell Wes.  He'll get us out to Floyd's place in a heartbeat, okay?  Smoke inhalation isn't something to mess around with."

"I promise."  Carly relinquished the oxygen mask and took the filter mask the EMT gave her.

He gave another to Wes.  "Use these 'til you're out of the range of the smoke."

Carly put the mask on and gave Wes her hand so he could help her down from the back of the ambulance.  She walked with him to the truck, trying to get a glimpse of what the firefighters were accomplishing with the steady stream of water shooting from the hose attached to the nearby pumper truck.

Wes hailed one of the firefighters moving toward them on his way to the truck.  The fireman paused briefly and answered Wes's terse question about the fire.  "We have it contained to the stock room and the back offices.  There may be a little smoke damage at the front of the store, but I think all the merchandise out there will be safe."

Carly nearly wilted with relief.

"Any idea how it started?" Wes asked.

The fireman's gaze settled darkly on Carly.  "Not yet.  But we're investigating.  Tolliver will want to talk to both of you."

Carly glanced at Wes.  His lips thinned to a tight line.  He'd caught the man's unspoken accusation, too.  "He knows where to find me.  And I know where to find her."

The firefighter's eyes narrowed, but he finally looked away and moved past them to the pumper truck.

Hardly a surprise she'd be the prime suspect, Carly conceded as Wes helped her into the cab of the truck.  A stranger in town, alone at the hardware store long after closing time when it happened to catch on fire.  Her file rescue mission wasn't likely to ease suspicions any, unless she could use the files to prove Sherry or someone else had been stealing money from the store.

Right now, however, she just wanted to take a long, hot bath and soak away the soot and grime seeping into every exposed pore of her body.

"We're going to have to have a long talk about personal safety," Wes muttered through the filter mask as he pulled the truck in a U-turn and headed back toward the Stricklands' house.

"I know it was stupid, okay?  But what's done is done."  As they cleared the worst of the smoke zone, she pulled the mask from her face, rubbing at her sweat-damp chin.  Her fingers came back grimy.  "I must look like a coal miner."

He pulled off his mask and glanced at her, one corner of his mouth twitching upward.  "Pretty much."

"Still mad at me?"

"Yes."  He looked back at the road. "Did you find anything in the files?"

She wished she could say yes.  "Not yet.  But I think there's something there."

"Because of the fire?"

"I don't think the phone and power lines cut themselves."  She shuddered, remembering her first, sharp burst of fear when the lights went out, the rising terror building like bile in her throat at the thought that Manning had finally found her.