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“I’ll be there in ten.”
Zooming down the ramp and onto the highway, he shot into the left lane and floored the accelerator.
DEVON YANKED OPEN her town-house door the instant she heard Monty’s car screech into the driveway. He was out of the driver’s seat and up her walk in one minute flat, his dark gaze assessing her as he stalked inside.
“What happened to Sally?” he demanded.
Swallowing, Devon shut the front door and leaned back against it. With that simulated calm she’d learned from her father, she relayed the entire scenario to him, from Sally’s trip to Lake Luzerne to the telephone call from Sergeant Jakes.
Arms folded across his chest, Monty absorbed every word, his forehead creased in concentration. Then he began pacing, his dark overcoat flapping around him, his mind clearly racing from one thought to another.
Abruptly, he came to a stop. “Human remains. That doesn’t tell us much.”
“It tells us someone’s dead.”
“Yeah, but how many someones? One? Two? And who started the fire? There’s no way it was an accident. Not if Sally was there. When she’s outdoors, she’s attuned to every sound and smell. She’d realize the cabin was burning long before escape became impossible, and evacuate the place. The only thing that would prevent her from doing so would be if she were incapacitated.”
Devon felt sick. “You think whoever set the fire trapped her inside?”
“Assuming she was in the cabin when the perp got there, he probably tried. But Sally’s a fighter. And her will to live, when it comes to you kids, is strong as hell. She’d smash her way out, whether she had to shatter a window or crack someone over the head with a log.” Monty scowled. “What worries me is that she’d never leave another person in there to burn to death. If this Pierson guy was with her, she’d drag him out. So why didn’t she?”
“Maybe she did. Maybe the human remains the cops found belong to the arsonist.”
“Nope.” A hard shake of his head. “That doesn’t wash. The car was Pierson’s. He’d have the keys, either on him or in his possession. Probably not on him, or Sally would’ve found them. Anyway, if he and Sally both got out of that cabin alive, they would’ve jumped into that car and taken off like bats out of hell.”
“Point taken. Do you think Mom was kidnapped?”
“For what? Her secondhand truck and whopping alimony checks? Pierson’s the one who’s a kidnapper’s dream, not Sally.”
“Which means Mom had to have gotten away. Unless…” Devon cleared her throat, forcing herself to make a verbal observation that tasted like poison on her tongue. “Monty, you’re not even entertaining Sergeant Jake’s theory. You and I are desperate to believe he’s wrong. But what if we’re deluding ourselves?”
“We’re not.”
“You’re so sure Mom’s alive?”
“Positive.” Monty didn’t so much as blink. “If she weren’t, I’d know.”
Devon choked up. Her father was a die-hard realist, one who didn’t let emotion cloud facts. She could argue that in this case, he was deviating from that, letting his feelings make him irrational. The funny thing was, she didn’t believe that was true. There was a connection between her parents, one that was as real as any proof.
“You’re right,” she agreed quietly. “You would.” An overwhelming surge of comfort flowed through her. “Lane’s on his way to New York,” she informed her father. “I called him the minute I hung up with you.”
“Where is he? In what country?”
“The U.S. He’s home. He’s grabbing the next flight out of LAX. He’ll be here tonight.”
“And Meredith?”
Devon blew out her breath. “That call’s going to be harder to make.”
“Sure will,” Monty agreed. “She’ll book herself on the next Greyhound heading for Lake George.”
“Exactly. And I’ve got to talk her out of it.” With another sigh, Devon reached for the phone.
“Tell her to hold off buying a ticket. Tell her I can get her there faster than any bus.”
Devon’s hand paused on the receiver. “Excuse me?”
