Angel Fire, Valmore Daniels [rosie project txt] 📗

on my face. “I swear, I told them I didn’t want any part of it. I asked what was he thinking? Told him there were other people in the motel.

“He said they’d have more than enough time to get away; he only cared about getting back at you.”

I clenched my jaw. “So why didn’t you call his father to stop him?”

Troy flushed. “I couldn’t. Not right away. I mean, Barry smacked me so hard I saw stars. Said I was coming whether I liked it or not.”

I put my hands on my hips. “So you were there!”

“Yes and no.” His eyes kept darting around, as if he were looking for an escape.

“Which is it?” I asked.

Troy took a deep breath. “We rode down to the motel in Frank’s pickup. He brought a six pack and was already working on his second beer. He kept saying, ‘Look what that bitch’s boyfriend did to my face,’ and ‘Going to get some payback tonight.’

“Barry didn’t talk much, but when we drove out into the field to wait, he laughed and said, ‘When you play with fire, you get burned.’ ”

My gut clenched. Knowing that someone wanted to do you harm was a horrible feeling; when that person was someone you were once married to, it was worse.

Troy continued the story. “We thought we were going to be out there for a few hours, but we saw you and that firefighter boyfriend of yours go into the room together. That’s when Barry lost it. He told Frank to make sure you and him didn’t get out, and to jam the windows in the back while he and I poured the gas on your front door. He wanted you dead, I could tell.”

I felt the anger within me grow. There was nothing more I wanted to do at that moment than release the power within me and make Troy suffer for his part in the fire.

He held up his hand as if sensing my rage. “I swear to you, Darcy, I didn’t do nothing. The moment Frank and Barry got out of the truck I bolted and never looked back. Soon as I got back to The Trough, I called the fire department. I swear,” he repeated.

“Troy,” I said. “You’re going to tell everything you just told me to Sheriff Burke.”

He shook his head. “No way. Barry’s insane. He’d kill me.”

“I don’t care. We’re going to the sheriff’s office right now.”

Troy’s eyes shifted back and forth, then he looked down and let out a deep sigh. For a split second, I thought he was going to give in, but before I knew it, he burst into action and shoved me out of his way. I fell to the gravel, the wind knocked out of me.

By the time I got back to my feet and ran after him, he was already out of the lumber yard and into his truck.

“Troy, you little weasel!” I screamed at him.

“It ain’t worth me dying over,” he called back as he hit the gas. I had to throw my hands up to protect my face from the rocks flying from underneath his spinning tires.

Within moments, he was gone from sight.

* * *

Sheriff Burke sat in his office chair. He leaned back and folded his hands over his ample belly, his face drawn in a wide smile.

I slammed my hand down on his desk, and he jumped forward, the smile instantly vanishing.

“Now you just calm yourself down right now,” he ordered, pointing a finger at me.

“I demand to know why you haven’t arrested Barry yet,” I said. “I don’t care if he’s your son; he tried to kill me, and instead killed my aunt. Or don’t you remember her?”

“Don’t sass me, little girl.” He pointed a finger at me. “I knew Martha from before you were born, so don’t you go spitting out accusations about how I do my job. I took statements from everyone there last night, and not a single one of them mentioned anything about Barry starting the fire.”

I grabbed at my hair in frustration. “He’s a murderer. He was there!”

“Says who? Troy Hartman?” Sheriff Burke picked up my report and scanned the page. “According to your statement, Troy never actually saw anyone start the fire. For all we know, he just made everything up to get back at Barry for smacking him around. Or he just told you what you wanted to hear so you’d go away. Your statement is all hearsay; this piece of paper isn’t worth spit.”

“If you don’t believe me, find Troy and take him in for questioning.”

He glared at me. “What do you think this place is? We don’t take people in for questioning on your say so.”

“Damn it!” I yelled in frustration.

“Look, I’ll talk to Troy next time I see him,” the sheriff offered. “As part of standard procedure.”

I huffed. “Next time you see him? He took off like a bat out of hell. He’s probably halfway to New Mexico by now.”

“Convenient,” Sheriff Burke said.

“Why are you protecting Barry so much? If you think he’s innocent, why not track down Troy and get his statement?”

“It’s not Barry I’m protecting,” he said to me. “I’m protecting the town.”

“The town?” I was completely stunned. “From what?”

“From you!” He pointed an accusing finger at me, and I took a step back.

“Me? Why?”

Keeping his finger out, he ticked the end of it with the index finger of his other hand. “One, you are a convicted arsonist on parole.” He extended and touched his second finger. “Two, I have statements from the other guests that make me think you might never have been in that fire.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “What?”

“Well, look at you. You say you walked through flames, yet here you are, not a mark on you. That long hair of yours isn’t burned. There are no scars on your arms or hands. Did you happen to see Frank’s face lately? And that was just a pot of hot coffee.”

I struggled for a way to deflect his reasoning. “But Neil gave you his statement.”

“Oh.” He pressed his lips together. “And like I’m going to believe the man you’re shacking up with will tell the truth.”

I clenched my fists. There was nothing I could do or say to convince Sheriff Burke. His mind was made up and that was all there was to it.

Anger bubbled up inside me, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I could sense something inside me urging me to let it out. This time, I had to focus to keep myself calm and under control.

“I can’t believe this,” I said, echoing my earlier thoughts.

“Believe it. I’m looking into this, and if I find anything that leads me to believe you were behind that fire, I’m going to come down on you like a ton of bricks.”

It was all I could do not to succumb to my frustration and anger. “You’re out of your mind.”

Like most bullies, Sheriff Burke could sense when he had the advantage, and he pressed his: “It’s simple, really. Your aunt and uncle are getting on in years. They can’t run the motel anymore. I’m sure their insurance is paid up, though. I’ll have to check on that.”

My eyes widened at his implication.

He said, “You’re their only living relative. Maybe they asked you to set the fire so they can claim the insurance money, or maybe you thought this up all on your own. Doesn’t make any difference. You burn the motel to the ground, but someone gets hurt and you got spotted. Now you have to point the blame somewhere else.”

Logically, everything he said was a possibility. Suddenly, I realized that not only was the sheriff stonewalling my accusation, but he was building a case against me. I felt like a rat trapped in a cage.

The thermostat on the wall edged up a few degrees.

In a court of law, it would be my word against several witnesses. I had a criminal record. A repeat offender, this time they wouldn’t send me up for negligence, they would send me up for murder one.

Beads of sweat appeared on Sheriff Burke’s forehead. He wiped at it with a handkerchief.

“You bastard,” I cursed. “I didn’t do this. You know it.”

Wisps of steam rose from the half-empty cup of coffee on his desk.

“I don’t know any such thing. You did this once before. Don’t deny it. You killed your father and your mother.”

I closed my eyes. I tried to remember the mantra, but I couldn’t. My mind wouldn’t let me.

“And now you’ve killed your aunt. Who else has to die before they put you away for good?”

The effort it took to retain control of myself made me shake.

“My eyes can see,” I whispered.

“What did you say?”

“I am in control.”

The power dissipated. But I had to strain with the effort to keep it in check.

I took a deep breath and realized there was no point in staying.

The only reason Sheriff Burke hadn’t slapped handcuffs on me yet was that he didn’t have enough evidence to back it up. The more I argued with him, the more incensed he might become. He might decide to throw me in a cell anyway, and if there was any chance for me to clear my name, I couldn’t do it locked away.

I willed myself to shut my mouth, and backed out of the office.

Sheriff Burke said, “Don’t you leave town, little girl. I’ve got my eye on you.”

A self-satisfied smile on his face, Sheriff Burke reached down to grab his coffee cup. It was so hot, though, it burned his fingers, and he jerked his hand away, knocking the scalding coffee over his paperwork.

I could hear his curses from all the way down the hall.

 

Chapter Twenty-Nine

I had no idea when Neil was going to be finished at the fire hall, and I didn’t want to go back to Beth’s house. She would ask too many questions. Then there was my uncle. I couldn’t face him knowing there was nothing I could do to help him get justice for his wife. Aunt Martha was all he had, and she was the only person in the world who had ever ‘gotten’ him. It was like losing a limb for him; an essential part of who he was.

The more I thought about losing Aunt Martha, the more my own grief consumed me, and the angrier I became. I had always loved and admired her, but in the past week, she had become like a second mother to me.

That damned fire inside me had taken away nearly everyone I loved.

I had to work past my grief somehow. If I didn’t do something about clearing my name soon, Sheriff Burke would pin the fire on me, and Barry would get away with murder.

I didn’t know what to do or where to turn. When I happened to pass by the Finer Diner, I decided to duck in and grab a coffee.

* * *

I sat in a booth by myself and stared out the window. My coffee had long since grown cold. A thousand ideas came and went in my head, but inevitably, my thoughts circled back to how hopeless my situation was.

Two women a few booths over were talking about the fire. I instinctively shrank down so I was hidden, and perked my ears up at the same time.

“It’s a crying shame about what happened to Martha Johnson,” one of them said.

Her friend tsked in agreement. “And that poor Edward; what’s he going to do now