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It wasn’t that she wanted him dead.
She didn’t want him to die by fire.
What a horrible death.
A single bullet would be better.
Under the bench where Michelle was seated, Fletch removed a large cooler. Within were gallon jugs of water. For a moment, she considered asking why they couldn’t use snow or ice, but the idea that a cooler kept the water from freezing was enough to fill her scrambled mind.
After adding the coffee grounds and water, Fletch turned away from the coffee pot. “Tell me about Tracy’s death.”
CHAPTER THREE
Tracy—her mother.
“How do you know about my mom?”
Michelle’s thoughts went back to eight years ago. The days all warped into seconds as a rapid display of images shuffled through her thoughts, their speed increasing like cards being blended into a deck.
Michelle opened the door to their home, the house where she’d lived most of her life with both of her parents. Located south of Indianapolis, Indiana, the suburb was quiet and uneventful. Michelle had gone to schools in the area all the way through high school, where she was part of the State Champion Band. While she’d made it back home a few times, her sophomore year at Purdue University had been busy, keeping her from a long visit until now, the semester and holiday break.
“Mom. Dad,” Michelle called, surprised that they weren’t waiting for her. She’d called to tell them that she was on her way. The weather on I-65 and resulting traffic hadn’t been conducive to a quick drive. Three hours after leaving her apartment, she was home.
She called again, her voice echoing throughout the house. The only illumination was the Christmas tree in the living room, vibrant with colorful lights. Dropping her backpack and suitcase, Michelle went to the tree, drawn by the memories of the ornaments.
Her mom never threw anything away.
Michelle smiled at the picture of a toothless, childish her pasted to a wooden tree. She’d painted the tree in first grade. Flipping the ornament, the year was written on the back.
Michelle’s phone began to ring.
Pulling it from the pocket of her jeans, she saw the screen said Mom. “Hi, where are you?”
“Oh, I wanted to be home,” Mom said. “I’m doing some last-minute shopping. And your father got called into work.”
Michelle’s heart sank. She wasn’t expecting a celebration, but she was expecting some kind of welcoming party. “How long does Dad have to work?”
“Until seven tomorrow morning. There’s a convention in town and they needed more officers on the street.”
It was always something. As the daughter of a police officer, Michelle was used to the interruptions that his work caused. “Are you coming home soon?”
“Yes,” Mom replied. “I’ll bring home a pizza and we can catch up.”
Michelle wasn’t trying to be difficult or rebellious. She was simply a teenager. After talking to Mom, a text message came through from a high school classmate, announcing a get-together at her friend’s house. Instead of staying and waiting alone, Michelle quickly wrote a note and left. When the party grew late, Michelle sent a text to her mom saying she was spending the night.
At nearly four in the morning, the house of teenagers awakened to screaming sirens. Firetrucks and police cars raced past the front window as each friend woke up, drawn to the parade of lights.
“Did you hear something before the sirens?” Misty, the friend who invited Michelle to stay, asked.
“No, I was asleep.”
“I did,” Taylor, another girl camped in the living room, said. “It was like an explosion or an earthquake.”
Indiana had earthquakes but rarely.
A cold chill scurried over Michelle’s arms as she found her phone and contemplated calling her mother. Surely, Mom was awake with all the activity. Then again, Michelle didn’t want to wake her if she wasn’t.
Michelle sent a text.
