“Smart,” she admitted and followed closely at his side as they made their way along the dark alleys to a nearly deserted street. His truck was parked across from a grade school, the one Mary Beth and Robert’s kids would have attended had it not been that Mary Beth insisted they be enrolled at St. Theresa’s, the parochial grade school that bled into St. Theresa’s junior high and high schools that all of Robert and Mary Beth’s siblings had attended.
Travis unlocked his truck for her, strode around to the driver’s side and slid behind the steering wheel. The dome light clicked off as he closed the door and started the engine. “You’ll have to point the way,” he said, easing the Ford into the empty street.
“Right at the next intersection, then left at the light and follow that road until you reach Greenwich, which is about a mile and a half, I think,” she said. “Another right. It’s about four blocks down from where we turn.”
He glanced at her, flashed a small, understanding smile in the darkness. “Just let me know if I make a wrong turn.”
She glanced up sharply, wondering if his words had a double meaning, seeing the questions in his intense blue eyes, then decided she was overreacting. The long day and horrific tragedy were getting to her. Dear God, she dreaded what was to come. Her mother, always into theatrics, would absolutely fall into a million pieces.
They drove in silence, Travis not bothering with the radio, Shannon not caring that there were no words between them. They passed dark houses, parked cars and light poles. They met a few vehicles and a gray tabby cat darted in front of the car, only to slink into the shadows when Travis swerved to miss it.
“Geez!” he growled.
Shannon watched the feline hide in the shrubbery as they passed. She was cold to the bone. It didn’t matter what the temperature was outside, internally she was freezing, thinking about growing up with Mary Beth.
Could she really be dead? That vital, vibrant, opinionated woman? Shannon remembered her glimpse of the blackened body and her insides clenched violently, warning her that though her stomach had been emptied, she could still dry heave. Wrapping her arms around herself, almost glad for the life-affirming small jab of pain in her ribs, she fought the nausea.
Mary Beth was dead. Burned. God, it was unfathomable.
“Who would do it?” she asked herself, not aware she’d spoken.
“The guy who’s got Dani.”
Twisting her neck, she stared directly at Travis for the first time since climbing into his truck. “Why? You think this is all connected? The fires at my house? Mary Beth’s…death? Why?”
“Her murder, Shannon. Your sister-in-law was killed.”
Shannon shook her head, fought the chill of certainty as it clawed up her ribs. “How do you know?”
“I just do. Ten to one they’ll find evidence that the fire was intentional when they investigate.”
“But why? What does Mary Beth have to do with Dani? Why the fire at my place?”
“You tell me.”
“I can’t!” She wedged herself in the corner, farther away from this man, and stared at him, wondering what made him tick. Yes, she knew he was concerned about his child, worried sick even, but beyond that, what did she know about him? The answer was simple: not a whole helluva lot. Yet, here she was riding with him, on her way to give her mother the horrible news that Mary Beth was dead. “You’re still blaming me for Dani’s disappearance, aren’t you?” she accused.
“No.” He was adamant. “But somehow it has something to do with you. Otherwise why the burned birth certificate? Whoever’s got my child is flaunting it. Taunting us. Getting off on the fact that he knows more than we do.”
“But what would be the point?”
“I don’t know.”
“Oh, turn here.” She motioned to Greenwich Avenue, a street lined by trees that were overgrown, their shallow roots buckling the sidewalk.
Travis cranked on the wheel and headed down the narrow road that split perfectly formed city blocks, the two-storied, post-World War II houses looking like cookie-cutter replicas of each other. Some had bricks or stones to accentuate the siding, others had been remo
deled several times.
Shannon’s parents’ home, which she pointed out to Travis as they approached, had the same tired exterior it had started with over half a century earlier. The siding had been painted a different color each decade and now was a shade of soft green that had blistered from too many years in the sun. The roof needed to be replaced and the single-car driveway was choked by weeds and grass that were bleached and dry, matching the patch of front lawn.
“Want me to walk you in?”
“I can handle it.”
“Then I’ll wait.”
“You don’t have to.”