Daisy growled as she increased the treadmill’s speed, annoyed that she couldn’t even think about dating someone who wasn’t Chris without feeling guilty. They were only friends—friends who, up until a week or so ago, hardly even touched in a friendly way.
After they’d talked about her mom, though, Chris had touched her…a lot. Daisy reminded herself sharply not to read too much into the hugs and pats and knee-squeezing. They were still strictly friends, just huggier than they had been, and she was asking for awkwardness and long absences if she tried to push them into more.
Even her father didn’t want to be in the same house with her, so Daisy wasn’t sure why anyone else would, either.
“Stop,” she said out loud, annoyed with her angst and self-pity. She hit the button to increase the speed several times, until all she could think about was moving her feet and trying to breathe.
Working out killed an hour of the endless night, and a shower used up another twenty minutes by the time she was moisturized and dressed. She was exhausted, having finally crashed from her adrenaline surge, so she decided to attempt sleeping.
“This is probably a bad idea,” she muttered, pulling down the covers. She stared at the sheet-covered mattress for a while, but she just couldn’t bring herself to lie down. As much as she longed for sleep, to be unconscious and oblivious until she woke refreshed in time for Chris’s six a.m. breakfast visit, Daisy knew it wasn’t going to happen. With a sigh, she headed for the window seat.
The second she sat, she was tempted to pop right back up again. Irritation with her restlessness kept her in place. Automatically, she checked each house across the street for any signs of movement. Ian and Rory’s house was dark, with no light peeking around the shutters. Daisy couldn’t remember if Ian was on duty or not. There was a reassurance to the idea that Ian and Rory were sleeping across the street, so she decided to pretend that Ian had the night off, and his house was not as empty as it looked.
The Storvicks’ was almost equally dark, except for the dimmest glow from the younger daughter’s bedroom. She always slept with a night-light. Corbin’s computer must have been off or sleeping, since his window was pitch-black.
Almost reluctantly, Daisy shifted her gaze to number 304. Now that she knew there was blood in the living room, the building felt almost menacing. Had it really been a body Macavoy had been hauling out of the house that early, early morning? Was that where the blood had come from? If so, who was the poor dead person?
Her brain spun. No wonder Lou needed a whiteboard or an oversized pad of paper to organize her facts and theories. Keeping everything in her head was overwhelming and confusing. Daisy felt like she was thinking the same thoughts, the same questions, over and over. She looked at her phone where it was sitting quietly on her nightstand, and she was tempted to call someone.
Ellie had said she had trouble sleeping, but only when George was on a search and rescue call. Daisy had no way of knowing when and if he’d be gone, and she didn’t want to wake up anyone in the middle of the night. Just because she couldn’t sleep didn’t mean she should share her misery.
An odd glow in one of the upper windows of the vacant house caught her attention. She stared, thinking she had imagined it at first, but then it got stronger. The light reminded her of the Storvick girl’s night-light, just a muted illumination that was almost lost in the ambient light from the streetlamps.
The color was more orange than the night-light, though, almost an eerie red. Scooting closer to the window, Daisy stared at the odd glow, trying to puzzle out the source. It wasn’t right for a flashlight, although it might be if someone had a hand in front of the beam.
Although she didn’t want to take her eyes off the mysterious light, she needed to let someone know about it. She jumped off the window seat, grabbed her cell phone, and returned. Instead of sitting, she put one knee on the cushions and leaned forward.
The light was brighter, flickering and dancing, and Daisy sucked in a breath as she recognized the motion.
Fire.
The house was on fire. Fumbling a little, she pulled up the screen, planning to dial 9-1-1…but then she hesitated. If Libby or another dispatcher wanted her to talk to the sheriff before they sent the call to the fire department, the house could be burnt to the ground before anyone with hoses arrived. Instead, she pulled up her contacts and tapped on Ian’s number.
The ringing felt like it continued forever, and she wanted to cry when Ian’s recorded voice told her to leave a message. “Hi, Ian, it’s Daisy. The white house that’s for sale—the place two down from yours?—is on fire. I’m going to call Rory. Oh, it’s about two forty-five in the morning.”
She ended the call and called Rory. This time, there were only three rings before she answered. Although the other woman’s voice was a little gravelly, she sounded surprisingly alert, considering the time. “Daisy. What’s wrong?”
“The house across the street is on fire.”