Nightwatch (11 page)

“Why?”

“Because I've known you for at least two years, and in all that time I can't remember once when I haven't heard you take the blame when things didn't turn out exactly the way you'd planned.”

“That's different.”

“Not from where I'm sitting.” She assumed, judging by his stern expression, he was going to continue to argue.

Instead, he simply pushed away from the table and stood. “Want me to help you with the dishes or are you going to leave them 'til morning?”

“Leave them. Absolutely. I'd probably fall asleep at the sink if I tried to wash up tonight.”

It had not escaped her that Mitch had taken exception to her candor and had pointedly changed the subject. Well, tough. She hadn't said anything that wasn't true. It was high time somebody told him he wasn't in control of the workings of the entire universe, even if he did keep acting as though he was.

“Why don't you curl up on the sofa again,” she suggested. “I'll bring you a blanket if you want.”

Mitch shook his head and raked his fingers through his still-damp hair. “I thought I'd bed down with the boys. There's plenty of room on the floor in their room and I want to be close in case of problems.”

Jill's heart skipped. “We locked all the windows and doors. Do you really think they're still in danger?”

“I hope not,” he said, eyeing her from head to toe. “But just in case, why don't you sleep in those clothes and leave the door to your room ajar so I can hear you call if you need me.”

The underlying warning of his words sank into Jill's heart and laid there like an icy stone. He was definitely worried about the house being broken into again. And she should be, too, in spite of their precautions.

Fears that she had managed to bury in her subconscious had not only surfaced, they were making the fine hairs on her arms and the back of her neck prickle. Mitch was absolutely right. As long as the crime of Megan's abduction, not to mention the arson fire that had taken Rob's and Ellen's lives, remained unsolved, no one would be safe. Not at home. Not at church. Not even in a crowded grocery store.

She started for the door to the hallway. “I'll get you a pillow and blanket.”

Although he reached for her arm as she passed, she noticed he didn't try very hard to catch hold. Instead, he simply followed her down the dimly lit hallway.

“I'm sorry if I scared you but you need to be frightened, Jill. Letting down your guard is the worst thing you can do.”

“I know. I just hate thinking of so many awful things happening in Serenity. When I moved here I thought I was stepping back into a happier, less complicated version of a lifestyle that had disappeared from the big cities.” She sighed. “Guess not, huh?”

“I still wouldn't want to live anywhere else,” Mitch
said. “At least here you're surrounded by good people who look out for their neighbors.”

“Not all of them do,” she muttered as she handed him a pillow, then dug through stacks of extra bedding in the linen closet for a king-sized blanket and pillow-case. “There's somebody out there who has very different goals.”

“Leave your door open,” he reminded her soberly.

Jill nodded as she handed him the stack of bedding. “For once, I wouldn't think of arguing with you.”

M
itch had expected Mugsy to start to bug him as soon as he spread his bedding on the floor of the boys' bedroom. But once the little dog had sniffed his discarded, damp boots and had checked out the edges of the fresh blankets, he trotted down the hallway toward Jill's room.

Cute little guy,
Mitch thought, smiling as he watched him go. He was glad Jill had both an inside companion and the dogs outside to stand guard. After they got an electronic alarm system installed and operating he'd feel even better, especially when the time came to leave her.

That outcome was inevitable, just as he'd told Timmy. Although Mitch planned to spend as much of his free time with Jill and the boys as possible, the fact remained that he had a regular job. Chief Longstreet expected him to pull his own weight, not ask fellow firefighters to sub for him indefinitely.

Pausing before lying down, Mitch checked each of the boys to satisfy himself that they were covered properly and sleeping. Apparently, the deputy who had put Paul to bed had also settled for whatever pajamas
she could find because the younger boy was decked out in pink, too. Mitch smiled. Well, at least that way the brothers couldn't tease each other too much when morning came.

Morning.
Sighing, he dropped to his knees atop the blankets on the floor and closed his eyes. It had been a long time since he had tried to pray this way and his mind was blank. He wanted to talk to God, to plead for Megan's return and Jill's peace of mind, but the proper words and phrases eluded him.

Perhaps he cared too much, was too close to the situation to make sense of it.

“I don't have to,” he murmured. “God knows.”

The truth of that simple statement settled in his heart and mind. Tranquility flowed over and around him. After more moments of silent contemplation, he simply said, “Thank You, Father,” before crawling into his makeshift bed and wrapping himself in the blankets.

In a short time he was snoring.

 

Jill knew she should stop thinking so much. Knowing what to do and getting her brain to disengage were, unfortunately, not the same thing.

Part of her wanted to weep. Part of her couldn't help being glad that Mitch was staying and looking after everyone. Plus, Tim was back home, safe and sound. That was another praise, another reason to thank her heavenly Father.

The only real problem was Megan. Where could she be? And with whom? Who would steal a baby like that?

Many answers, all of them bad, occurred to Jill. If they assumed that the child's abduction had nothing
to do with Rob's and Ellen's deaths, there were far too many other frightening options.

The biggest question was still,
why?
Perhaps if they knew that, they'd be better able to figure out where the little girl was now, which was probably why the sheriff had told Ms. Rochard that he was actually looking forward to receiving a ransom note.

Finally feeling the effects of encroaching sleep, Jill closed her eyes and kept silently repeating, “Keep her safe wherever she is. Please, Jesus?”

Letting her mind drift she slowly began to envision herself at the scene of the Pearson fire. She was searching, looking everywhere in her dream world for the children, even though instinct kept insisting they were somewhere safe. All she had to do was find them.

An unusual scent made her nose tickle.
Umm, smoke? A bad sign
, she told herself in her sleep.
Hate smoke. Smelly stuff.

Something wet touched her cheek. It tickled. Jill's eyelids fluttered. There was another disagreeable odor wafting her way, something other than the smoke of her imagination.

She swatted at the tickle, then opened her eyes and nearly jumped out of her skin. She was nose to nose with her shaggy little dog and being treated to a close-up dose of panting dog breath.

Before she could order Mugsy off her bed, he barked right in her face. If his wet tongue and halitosis hadn't been enough to fully awaken her, that sharp, yipping warning certainly was.

Sitting up and struggling to see in the dark, Jill looked toward the window. Was that a glow?

The truth suddenly grabbed hold of her and made her
heart race. A fire?
Yes!
She couldn't see actual flames from her window but she knew
something
was burning. The wafting smoke odor she had thought belonged in her dream was now detectible in the bedroom.

She threw off her covers, screamed, “Mitch!” and hit the floor running.

Mugsy nearly tripped her trying to beat her out the door.

Bouncing painfully off the doorjamb didn't even slow her down.

Her bare feet slapped the hardwood floor and she caromed off the hallway wall.

“Mitch! Fire! Help!”

 

Awakened from a sound sleep, Mitch was disoriented for a few seconds before he realized where he was and what he was hearing. Kicking off blankets, he jumped to his feet just as Jill reached the doorway and flipped on the overhead light.

“I smell smoke,” she said breathlessly. “And I think I see fire outside.”

“You're sure?”

He was already stuffing his feet into his soggy boots but he looked up long enough to see her roll her eyes and arch her eyebrows before she said, “If I was dreaming, it was the most realistic nightmare I've ever had.”

“Okay. You call 911 on your cell and head for the yard, just in case. I'll bring the boys.”

“I'll help you. I can carry Paul.”

Mitch picked up the younger boy and started to hand him to Jill before turning to the opposite bed.

He froze, staring. “Where's Tim?”

“How should I know? You were right here with him.”

The accusing timbre of her voice cut Mitch to the core. He understood why she sounded so frenzied. He felt the same. Yelling at each other wasn't going to help so he tamped down his rising temper.

“All right. You take Paul into the yard and stay there. I'll make a quick pass through the house and join you. Holler if you see any sign of Tim.”

“Right. You still want me to call the fire department?”

“No. Just take care of Paul. I'll make the call.”

Without waiting to see if she was obeying his orders to the letter, Mitch grabbed his cell phone and hit speed dial to notify the station. As he explained the situation and gave Jill's address, he was tossing aside blankets from the beds and peering underneath furniture.

“No. I'm not sure,” Mitch said in response to the dispatcher's questions. “But you'd better start at least one engine 'til I can take a closer look around. The homeowner said she smelled smoke. I'll call you back as soon as I know more.”

As long as the electricity stayed on he knew he'd be fine. If there really was a fire and the overhead lines burned enough to cause a short, however, he'd be wandering around in the dark. That wasn't going to happen to him again. Not after the fiasco in the woods. He kept a heavy, metal light in his truck. That was his next stop. And while he was outside he'd be able to check on Jill and see whether or not she'd actually followed orders this time.

The power held. Continuing to shout for Timmy, Mitch reached the front door and threw it open. He was alone. It was hard to tell if he was seeing signs of a fire
around the side of the house or if the interior lights were merely shining into the yard but something was odd.

He leaped off the porch and jerked open the door of his truck. Cell phone in one hand, flashlight in the other, he started around the side of the old farmhouse.

There! A pile of glowing embers! Jill was right. One small fire was smoldering next to the well house and another had been set beside a small storage shed. If the whole area hadn't experienced a soaking rain just hours before, either of those starts could have caused a lot of structure damage.

Mitch kicked at the closest pile of burning embers and scattered them enough to eliminate any danger. If these were the only two attempts at arson they'd be all right.

He spotted Jill standing next to the well house, balancing Paul on her hip and using a pitchfork in her free hand to try to break up that little fire. Her mop of a dog yipped at her and ran in circles, splashing water that remained in a few puddles.

“Here. Give me that. I'll do it.” Mitch said. To his relief she passed him the long-handled tool.

“I thought I saw a fire over by the shed, too.”

“Yeah. There was. I took care of it already.”

“What's going on? Did you find Tim?”

“Not yet, but the house is safe enough if he happens to be hiding in there. Have you seen any sign of him?”

Jill shook her head and cuddled Paul, quietly assuring him everything was fine. “No.”

“Okay.” Mitch swung the beam of his light in an arc that encompassed the entire rear yard that lay between the house and the barn. “I'm going to call the chief and tell him what we've found so he doesn't start additional
units. We need an investigator more than we need a second pumper at this point.”

Just then he saw movement near the far corner of the barn. Timmy? Yes! The boy was moving so fast he was almost a blur.

Tim careened into Mitch. “Back this way.” He shouted and tugged on the fireman's hand. “C'mon. Hurry!”

“Is there another fire?”

“No.”

“Then take it easy. Everything's okay now.”

The boy was adamant. “No, it's not. I saw somebody running away. Just like when…”

“Go with him,” Jill said. “We'll be fine. I hear sirens already. Even if there is someone else out here they won't stick around. Not now.”

“No. We're all going,” Mitch ordered.

“But…”

“No buts. We're sticking together. I want a witness.”

“Why?”

Mitch lowered his voice and spoke to her as privately as possible while Tim ran on ahead. “Because these fires are too amateurish to have been set by the same people who blew up the factory.”

“Then who?”

He shrugged. “I hate to say it, but if I had to guess I'd be inclined to think Tim was responsible.” He paused, hoping Paul's constant sniffling had kept him from hearing or paying much attention to the adult conversation.

“Why him?”

“Maybe to be a hero this time,” Mitch offered. “I've seen situations like this before. He failed to save every
body when his home burned. By lighting little fires like these, he'd have the chance to alert us and atone for not being able to help his parents.”

“You've already decided he's guilty, haven't you?”

“No. Not at all. I'm just saying it's a strong possibility.”

“I don't agree.”

“That's your prerogative. The evidence will prove it one way or another.”

“Not if you never look beyond that poor kid, it won't,” Jill insisted.

Mitch could tell from the stubborn set of her chin and the sound of her voice that she was more than disagreeing with him. She was irate.

“Look,” he said, “there's no reason for you to feel you have to defend Tim. If he's guilty we'll get him professional counseling. He'll be all right.”

“Good. Because after he learns that the one man he felt he could rely upon thinks he's an arsonist, he's going to need it.”

Mitch didn't know what to say. He wasn't picking on Tim the way Jill seemed to believe he was. On the contrary, if the boy needed help, then this was the time for him to get it, not later, after he'd had time to develop into a true criminal.

“There!” Tim shouted. “See?”

Raising the beam of his flashlight, Mitch shined it across the pasture. All he could see was the boy, jumping up and down and gesturing wildly into the distant darkness, and Mugsy, gamboling after a scattering family of wild rabbits.

Jill was the one who asked, “What do you see, Timmy? Where? Show us.”

“Over there…” The childish voice dropped. “He was right there. Running away. I saw him.”

“Okay,” Mitch said. “Now come with us. We need to wait out front for the fire engine.”

Although Tim did obey, Mitch could tell he wasn't happy about the result of his supposedly meaningful discovery. That figured. Assuming the boy had started the useless fires, as Mitch suspected, he'd want to divert suspicion and make himself seem heroic by pointing out a villain. Even if there wasn't one.

Mitch doubted there had been anyone else around. He suspected they would find plenty of evidence that Tim had lit the childishly ineffective fires. Seeing that proven would be hard for Jill to accept but there was nothing Mitch could do about it. She was the kind of person who always saw the best in others, who viewed her glass as half-full rather than half-empty. That was one of her most endearing traits.

Leaving her standing aside with the boys, Mitch jogged up to greet Chief Longstreet.

“I think we're okay here, Jim,” he said while the older man climbed out of his car. “I've seen barbecues that burned a lot hotter than these attempts. I kicked the coals away from the structures but we may want to wet down the exterior walls in a couple of places just in case.”

“Arson?”

“Oh, yeah.”

The chief shook his head and grimaced. “Great. Next you'll be telling me there was a bomb here, too.”

“Not this time,” Mitch said. “The Pearson fire looked like a professional job. This one was strictly amateur.”

“Any suspects?”

“Afraid so.” He gestured toward where Jill waited with the children. “I was sleeping on the floor right next to Tim but somehow he managed to sneak past me. We found him running around outside after all this started.”

“Lucky you didn't sleep through it.”

“Yeah. I guess Jill smelled smoke after the dog woke her.”

“What dog?”

“Over there.”

Pointing, Mitch noted that Mugsy was sitting at Jill's feet, sides heaving and tongue lolling. The others, however, were conspicuously absent.
Again.