Charming (25 page)

“Okay,” Haley said, nodding, nodding though she disagreed. “Okay. I’ll go there and wait.”

“You need to stay here, Miss.” The paramedic wrapped a blood pressure cuff around Chris’s arm and helped him lie on his back as they waited for the stretcher to arrive, then glanced up over his shoulder. “Let us take a look at you.”

“I’m fine.” Flames had engulfed the house, Dad beat the shit out of her, Joce and Niles were ‘barely’ alive… fine was such a lie.

The girls sank into the car—Haley behind the wheel, Christine in the passenger seat—then took off down the street filled with cop cars, ambulances, and fire trucks. Shifting hurt. Steering hurt. Everything left Haley breathless, achy.

The house blew up.

Blew up.

“Need me to drive?” Christine asked, giving the finger to all the people lined up on the streets who were taking pictures with their smart phones, probably lighting up every social media outlet with the news.

Haley gasped and clutched her ribs. “Can you drive stick?”

“Haley-loo-boo, I’m not sure you can drive stick right now.”

“Good point.”

They switched seats and Christine drove them through traffic and onlookers, weaving around idiots who thought they could stand in the road just because tragedy struck, who thought driving the right way down the street no longer applied. They passed house after house, yards full of people gawking in the direction Christine and Haley came from.

“Come on. Get out of the way.” Christine waved at a group of people jaywalking across the street, some of them still in pajamas, bedhead indicating how early in the day it was. “It’s a house fire, not the end of the world. Go about your business.”

A little old lady sat at the end of her driveway, digging out flowers, undisturbed by the morning’s events.

She looked up and caught Haley staring, smiled, a tight thing that showed how worried all the commotion made her. “Excuse me. Can you tell me what’s got everyone in such a tizzy?”

Haley glanced in the rearview and watched the smoke rise, trying not to cry.
Just a house. Not a home
. “There was an explosion up the street.”

“Thank you.” The woman returned to tending the browning yellow and purple mums around her mailbox, cutting the stems near the dirt.

“About time, jerkface.” Christine shifted to first and sputtered up the street, but Haley couldn’t help but look back, wondering how, in a sea of people all rushing to get the scoop, to be part of the action, to possibly help—doubtful—this sweet old woman could only worry about herself.

Then she spotted it and gasped. “Turn around.”

“What? And deal with all those stupid rubberneckers again. Can we call them rubberneckers if they’re not driving?”

“I said turn around.”

Christine whipped the car around and laid on the horn. “Yeah, I’ll show you where you can put that finger!”

“Stop at that old lady’s house.” Haley pointed to the driveway containing a light-gold Honda Civic with an almost impossible to read Jesus sticker.
Todd
? She knew he lived close, given all his late night walks, but she hadn’t realized just how close.

“As you requested, the Withe’s.”

Haley grabbed the handle and glanced at Christine, wondering how much a heart could handle before giving up.
What am I doing
? “You know her?”

“She lives twenty houses up the street and has all sorts of rumors swirling around. You’re new to this part of town, so you’ve missed all the excitement. Now, mind telling me what we’re doing?” Christine whispered, eyebrow raised, looking back at the curb, to the car, to Haley.

“Just follow me.” She pushed open the door and approached the old woman. “Ma’am?”

Curly, white hair framed her round face lit with a warm smile. A perfect grandmother. “Oh, you again.”

“I need to speak to Officer Lyttle. Does he live here?”

Laughing nervously, the woman said, “No. That the same man who reporters just announced is missing?”

Oh no
.

“But that’s his car.” Haley pointed, stomach turning. “He gave me a ride home from the hospital in it last night. Todd Lyttle, works at the cemetery too, wears a badge and a gun?”

“My son borrowed the car last night to run an errand, but his name is not Officer Lyttle.” The woman returned her attention to dropping spring bulbs into small holes between the cut mums, cheeks slightly pale. “You look pretty black and blue. Maybe you’re confused.”

Christine stepped behind Haley and leaned into her. “There are tons of cops driving up and down this street. Do you really think it’s smart to sit around and chat with random loony people?”

No time to explain, Christine. Just go along with this
. “May I speak to your son? Ask him a question?”

The woman sat back and sighed, then laid her trowel on the concrete driveway. “He’s not home. I dropped him off about an hour ago. Poor boy bought a fixer-upper in Clarksburg with hopes to get his family back. The house is coming along well. He’s trying so hard to be strong.”

“Family back?” Christine asked.

“Would you like to come inside? I rarely get visitors. I have fresh baked bread.”

Haley didn’t need the slight shake of Christine’s head to know entering this woman’s home was a bad idea. “Sorry, ma’am. We’re kind of in a hurry.”

“I understand.” She tore open a bag of dirt and dumped a thick layer over the bulbs.

“What’s your son’s name?” Haley asked before she could stop herself.

“Walter Withe.”

“Crazy old…” Christine bit her tongue when the woman glanced up sharply and narrowed her eyes. “I’m sorry. I meant to say that’s crazy he bought an old place up in the mountains. It’s so far away from you.”

“That’s all right, dear. Quite a few people associate the word crazy with my son. Although, none of it is his fault. Berkshires laid off my husband two years ago, then right after they changed their computer services firm and Walter lost his job, too. We went without medical insurance, sold off everything we owned, nearly this house. My husband”—she choked and wiped a gloved hand below her nose—“fell into a deep depression. Walter found him in the closet. He’d tried to hang himself, and when that failed, my husband used a shotgun. My poor son hasn’t been the same since, but he’s trying. He’s got a great job at the cable company now.” The woman looked up and registered the opened mouth stares Haley and Christine wore. “Oh my. Please forgive me. I didn’t mean to tell you children all our family’s… I really should get out more often. Play Bingo or something more productive than replacing bulbs.”

“Where in Clarksburg did he move to?” Christine asked. “I have some family who live on River Road.”

“I’ve always loved the gorgeous homes on River Road.” Mrs. Withe relaxed. “Walter lives on Cross Road. You should see the place. I don’t enjoy visiting. Hopefully he gets it in order for that baby of his, little Maggie. Would you like to see her picture?”

“N-no, but thank you, Mrs. Withe.” Haley took a step toward the Porsche, the world slipping from below her feet, everything swirling. Todd didn’t exist. Walter, Walter who pretended to work at the cemetery, who murdered the cable company employee, who’d been in her house, drove her home, he’d been lying to her for so long. Almost two years he pretended to be Todd. Two years. “S-sorry for the confusion. The car looks so similar to Officer Lyttle’s.”

“No problem, dear.”

They got back in Chris’s car and took off.

“Where to?” Christine pulled out a joint and lit it, trembling as she drew in a deep breath. “Please tell me not Clarksburg.”

“Sugarloaf Mountain. Head up to the summit.”

Haley had the psycho’s name and knew where he lived. Now she just needed to wait for Chris and drive to Clarksburg.

Christine blew the skunky smoke out the window. “You need to call the police.”

“No way. He burned my house—”

“I’d say he destroyed your house, Haley-loo-boo, blew it up, something a little more powerful than burned.”

“Blasted my house to smithereens. Happy?”

“Not really.”

“He tricked the hospital, his mother, me, and apparently the real Officer Lyttle. He can probably trick the police as a whole, too. I just need to find them, Christine. On my own. With or without you.”

Haley would prove her innocence.

She’d save Joce and Niles.

Christine grabbed Haley’s hand and squeezed. “With me. Always.”

igh above the town, Haley and Christine sat on the hood of the Porsche and watched smoke rise from the house. The dark black plumes disappeared into the overcast, gray sky, but the smell?

The smell followed them to the summit of Sugarloaf Mountain: wood and chemicals, an electrical scent overpowering a natural fire, awful, stomach turning.

Haley and Christine huddled here, arms touching, not speaking for hours. Red and blue lights traveled down several streets, lighting up Deerfield’s grid like an electrical circuit board. Sirens traveled the vast but open distance from civilization to nature and rang inside Haley’s ears.

“Maybe he’s not coming. What if they keep him at the hospital overnight?” Trembling, she returned inside the car and scrubbed her hands along her arms. “We should go.”

Christine followed and turned the key in the ignition, then pumped up the heat. “And when Chris arrives and freaks because he thinks you’re dead?”

“I hate it when you’re right. Hate it. You’re supposed to be high.”

“I am high. Don’t feel a damn thing, especially not this cold that seems to be bothering you.” Christine rolled down the window and propped her feet on the frame. “But I’m not stupid. Momentary lapses in judgment? Sure. Like last night. But now? Hell if I’ll ever smoke that much again.”

“Good. I wish you’d stop altogether.”

Christine snorted. “We both wish things for each other. And those wishes pretty much never come true.”

Haley held out her hand, and Christine took it. “I love you.”

“Right back at ya, loo-boo, ever since you showed up on that front porch, crying, refusing to go in that house. The moment we saw each other I realized we were two messed up chicks.”

Holding hands in a car parked on top of a mountain sounded like a romantic thing, a thing someone might walk by and misinterpret, but Haley and Christine didn’t care about random strangers—people who weren’t even around today—or what they thought. They sat here, staring through the windshield, waiting.

Waiting.

Waiting.

Another hour rolled by. Two. Three.

Haley’s cell beeped, wasting battery to tell her she only had one percent left. “Piece of crap.”

“I still have mine.” Christine reached for her backpack and then set it in her lap. “I have clothes, too, plenty, unless you enjoy walking around looking like a street rat. You haven’t complained, so I haven’t mentioned my stash.”

“Thanks.” Haley took a t-shirt, hoodie, and jeans from Christine, changed her pants first, then shirt.

Christine gasped. “Oh, Haley. I’m so fucking sorry. So—”

“It’s okay.”

“No. No it’s so not.” Christine touched the white bandages wrapped tightly around Haley’s ribs. “My parents are some big pieces of shit, utterly horrible for making me murder that baby, that baby I made with someone I love. But this. That motherfucker brought you into this world, loved you, treated you like gold, then just took it away one day when he couldn’t handle the pressure. He deserves to die, to be castrated, to be locked behind bars in the tightest security prison there is on this planet for what he’s done to you.”