Mercy Kill_ A Mystery - Lori Armstrong [56]
“I guess.”
I hung up and said to Hope, “Go throw on some clothes, and I’ll meet you out front.”
“But I can’t leave Joy—”
“With her father? Come on. You’ll have your cell if Jake needs something.” I put my hand on the wall. “I might need you to drive since I’ve been sick.”
“Then Jake can drive you. I’ll stay here.”
“Jake is a manager, not an owner. You will be a full participant in whatever decision we make, Hope. So get changed and meet me by my truck.”
She raced upstairs, Jake behind her. I threw on sweatpants, slipped my feet into a pair of flip-flops, and grabbed my keys.
We reached the truck at the same time, and Hope climbed in the passenger’s side. “What do you think happened?”
“They said some kind of gas explosion.”
She was quiet, not the good kind of quiet. I felt her studying me, but I kept my eyes firmly on the road.
“Don’t you think it’s . . . convenient that after I tell you I want to move into the Newsome place, something like this happens?”
I looked at her. Hard. “Don’t you think it’s a goddamn good thing something convenient like this happened before you moved in with Joy and Jake?”
A comprehending look of horror crossed her face, and she shut up.
We saw the flames from a half mile away. They’d died down since the initial blast. I dodged parked vehicles lining the drive and rolled down my window upon reaching the Eagle River County Sheriff’s Department blazer blocking access.
Shit. I hoped it wasn’t Dawson. I so did not want to deal with him right now.
Deputy Jazinski leaned in the window. “Gonna have to leave it parked here, Miz Gunderson. Clayton’s waiting for you around the left side of the pumper truck.”
“Thanks.” I was sorry I’d worn flip-flops as Hope and I picked our way through smoking piles of debris.
Once we had a clear view of the burned-out shell, Hope reached for my hand and gasped. “Oh my God.”
From far away, I’d experienced the detachment I’d honed after taking out a target. Aim. Fire. Verify. Move on. Even now, faced with the destruction I’d set in motion and my sister’s emotional reaction to it, I didn’t feel a single ounce of remorse.
But I did have to fake it. “It’s just . . . gone.” The catch in my voice was a nice touch.
A man in a full firefighting suit approached and removed his headpiece. “Mercy. Clayton Black. We’ve never officially met, but I responded to the fire at your place last summer, and I was on scene at Clementine’s.”
“I imagine the next time you hear my name you’ll head the other direction.”
He smiled, making him look far younger than he’d sounded on the phone. “No. I’ve always been the type to run headlong into danger rather than away from it.” He turned toward the house. “As you can see, there ain’t much left.” He pointed to the roof, which had broken into three pieces upon impact with the ground. “At this point we’re treating this as a propone explosion. None of the outbuildings were affected. And we’ve had enough moisture that the flames scorched the ground in places but didn’t start a full-blown fire.”
“That’s something, I guess.”
“Since we spoke, we’ve been keeping an eye on it, and I gotta say, it’s . . . unnatural for a bunch of firefighters to stand around and watch something burn.”
“I imagine it is. But I’d rather see them safe on the sidelines than risk their lives on a building that ain’t worth saving.”
“And that’s the question of the night, isn’t it?”
The reddish glow from the flames backlit the man, emphasizing the fact that he wore street clothes, not a fireproof suit. His face was shadowed, but I knew who he was.
His gaze flicked between us. “Mercy. Hope. Thanks for getting here so quickly.”
“No problem, Chief.” Dave Klapperich had headed up the volunteer fire department for as long as my dad had been sheriff. During the week Dave ran a successful trucking company and was a shrewd businessman, so I wasn’t surprised by the suspicion in his eyes. He suspected