Flashover (8 page)

The darkness closed in around her. She flipped on the lights to dispel the gloom.

She wandered around the house until she came to the window facing the garden. A movement caught her eye. Nerves tingling, she ducked behind the curtain. What had she seen?

A man's silhouette? No, surely not.

Her fingers were clumsy with fear as she scrambled to check the lock on the sliding door and windows. Returning to the garden window, she moved the curtain a tiny fraction and peered out.

She saw only the dark shapes of her mother's tomato plants bobbing in the slight wind.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to recall exactly what she'd seen.

It was just a shadow, a dark shape that had showed briefly against the moonlight. There was no reason to think it was anything but a cat or maybe the neighbor's dog. Then why did her heart still jackhammer in her chest? She remembered the strange glint she'd seen earlier that made her think someone was watching her with binoculars. Paranoia seemed to be creeping in from all sides.

“You're being an idiot, Ivy. You're still freaked about that guy who tried to steal your purse. There isn't a stalker hiding behind every shadow.” With a deep breath she peeked out into the yard again. Nothing. Flipping on the outdoor lights revealed nothing either. With a sigh of relief she headed to the phone and dialed her mother's cell.

“No, nothing's wrong, Mama. I thought I saw something in your yard, but there's nothing there now. I just wanted to tell you, you know, be careful, just in case.” She felt foolish. She was turning into an hysterical female.

Her mother didn't seem to be too flustered. “Lupe's with me anyway. She's going to spend a few nights with me because her house is being tented for termites.”

Ivy felt better as she hung up with her mother. Even though there had been nothing in the yard, she was glad to know her mother would have company for the next few days. A knock at the door ripped through her calm.

Who would be visiting this late?

She crept softly to the door, heart pounding, cell phone ready to dial for help. At first she could not identify the figure with head bowed on the doorstep. Then with a surge of profound relief, she opened the door to Tim.

“Hey, Ivy. I saw the lights on. Thought I'd check in.”

“Are you done with your appointment already?”

“Yeah, uh, went quicker than I thought.”

His voice sounded odd, tight with some repressed emotion.

“Is…everything all right?”

“Sure, sure. Are you determined to go to your apartment?”

“You bet. Mama's out on a mission of mercy. Can you give me a lift? Come in while I turn off the lights.” She decided not to tell him about her silly fears. It was paranoia, pure and simple.

“I'll wait here. I don't want to track dirt on your mother's floor.”

His lack of resistance to taking her home took her by surprise. Though she thought it was strange, she did not press him.

On the way to her apartment, she tried to pinpoint what was wrong, but it eluded her.

“Did Jeff talk to you about Denise?”

“Yeah. He told you, too, huh?”

Tim nodded. “He wasn't sure how you were going to take it.”

“Take it? How are you supposed to take having someone try to steal your job? Your life?”
Your boyfriend?

They reached the parking lot and continued on foot to her building. The sky was an inky black.

“I'm sure Denise knows you're coming back,” Tim said.

“She'd better. Without my job, I'm…I don't know what I am.”

Tim sighed deeply. “You're so many things besides a firefighter, Ivy.”

Normally, his remark would have irritated her, but the sadness in his voice caught her by surprise. “You're wrong, Tim. I'm a firefighter, that's all I am and that's all I want to be.”

“You've been hurt, losing Sadie, losing Antonio, but that doesn't reduce you to a job. You're still supposed to live, love and laugh, all that good stuff. There are jobs for you that you haven't even imagined yet.”

She wasn't sure how to respond as they walked upstairs and he unlocked her door. He did a careful check of the place.

His back to her, he said, “Looks okay. Sleep well, Ivy. Things will feel better in the morning.”

“Wait, Tim.” She put a hand on his back to stop him. The band of shoulder muscles tensed like steel under her fingers.

“I've really got to go.”

“Not until you turn around.”

With his broad shoulders slumped he slowly turned until the kitchen light shone on his face.

She gasped, finally understanding why he had been keeping to the shadows.

T
im felt a sudden feeling of defeat overtake him. He sighed.

Ivy gasped. “What happened to you?”

He waved her hand away. “It's nothing. I'm fine.”

“From where I'm standing it doesn't look fine.”

He allowed her to take his arm and guide him onto the sofa, turning his cheek to the lamplight. “It looks like you took a punch to the eye.”

He shrugged, leaning his head back on the cushions. “Something like that.”

She retrieved an ice pack and pressed it to his face. “Who hit you?”

He gave it one last try. “Why do you assume someone hit me? I could have run into something. We both know I'm not exactly grace in motion.”

“But you didn't, and since you can't lie to save your life, you might as well come clean.”

He propped his elbows on his knees with a sigh. “I can't tell you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why not?”

“Because I just can't, that's all.” He got up and took the ice pack back to the sink. “I think I'd better go.”

“Wait, Tim.” She turned him to face her. “If I showed up with a black eye and refused to tell you what happened, you'd freak out.”

He felt a torturous mixture of frustration and tenderness. For a split second, he allowed himself to consider how he'd feel if someone struck her. He reached out a finger and traced her cheek. “If someone hit you, I'm afraid I would forget my self-restraint and knock his block off.”

She captured his fingers in hers. “So tell me.”

His heart sped up, but he kept his voice level.
Lord, help me handle this right,
he prayed. “I am trying to help someone who doesn't want my help and that someone's situation is their business and theirs alone.”

“Your principles are maddening.”

He grinned. “And painful sometimes.”

She looked closely at the wound and he knew she was checking his pupils for signs of concussion. He didn't have one, he was sure, but if that kept her there, close to his face, her mouth inches from his, he wouldn't tell her otherwise.

“Well, at least tell me you're not going to help this person out anymore, right?”

“No can do.”

She blew out a breath. “Be reasonable. If someone is going to clobber you, they don't deserve your help.”

“I'd like to agree with you but the Bible says differently.”

Ivy turned away. “Come on, Tim. You know the Bible is just a book to me now. A bunch of pages and a cover, that's all.”

If I could only show you how powerful those words are, Ivy, you could let go of your pain.
He put a hand on her back and leaned his face on her shoulder. “If someone strikes you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also.” He whispered gently in her ear. “I will always be there to give you my other cheek, Ivy, if that's what you need to learn to love Him again.” He gathered her close and breathed in the scent of her.

She pushed him away. “Leave me alone about God, Tim. He's not benevolent, as least not to me.”

The frustration swirled through him again. Longing and loving were not enough. As much as he wanted to, he could not help her and it killed him. Only God could turn her heart. He would try, though. The words pained him even as he prayed them.
Lord, help me to be what she needs me to be, even if that's only a friend.

“Good night, Ivy.” Tim closed the door softly behind him.

 

Nick sighed. It would have been much easier if he'd snatched Cyril's friend at the fire. The guy ran like a rabbit, too fast for Nick to track. He seemed an unlikely friend for Cyril, but Nick had followed Cyril enough to know that the guy was a chameleon who could creep from place to place and blend in with the surroundings. Cyril was smart, too smart.

It just didn't pay to be too smart.

Nick did not consider himself a smart man, but he had a character trait that made up for that. Determination. He was determined not to return to digging postholes and the odd grave for a living. The work had given him steel muscles and an inexhaustible tolerance for bitter cold and sizzling heat, but it was not a job that would carry him to old age. Nick was smart enough to know that.

This life in Oregon suited him just fine. The variety kept it interesting and the mobile trailer parked on the back of the property was plenty big for a hot plate and TV. He didn't even mind the ever-present threat of rain. He enjoyed the adventure, such as the purse snatching and spying on the girl earlier at her mother's house. Too bad she'd left before he'd picked her lock.

He sat under the canopy of a sprawling pine and watched the entrance to the apartment. A tall man with a shiner came out before eight and left without noticing Nick.

Mind wandering, he wondered again what the constant ebb and flow of humanity looked like from a distance. Ants, he decided. It would look like a colony of busy ants, trailing back and forth on endless forays. The thought amused him as he sat. It was time to step up the pace, he thought. Get busy, like those ants.

The nighttime brought a coolness that he would have found refreshing if temperature impacted him in the slightest way. He settled himself more comfortably against the broad tree trunk and turned his thoughts to cameras while he waited.

 

Ivy heard the scream that night. It came from the hallway, a long, vibrato wail that made her hair stand on end. She threw open the door and hurtled out. Moe's apartment door was open and he stood in a corner trembling, flapping his hands up and down as if he were fanning some kindling to life.

His mother leaned against the doorway with her hands over her mouth.

Ivy gasped at the ruins that lay everywhere. The drawers were emptied, cushions torn off the sofa and Moe's precious video collection tossed over the carpet.

Madge looked up when she saw Ivy. “We came over to pick up a few things, but Moe was hungry so I took him out for a slice of pie first. We weren't gone for more than two hours. Who would do something like this?”

Ivy checked her watch. Almost ten thirty. How had someone gotten in and out, unnoticed? She hadn't heard anything unusual, but then again she'd been in the shower so she'd made her own noise. “I'm going to call the police. Why don't you come to my place so you don't disturb any evidence?”

Madge eyed her son, who was rocking from foot to foot, his face a mask of anguish. “Let me see if I can calm him down a little first. He won't want to move for a while.”

Ivy nodded and placed one call to the police and one to Tim. Then she returned to wait with Madge and Moe.

They showed up within minutes of each other.

Greenly made a few attempts to talk to Moe. He gave up quickly and shoved a piece of cinnamon gum into his mouth before he started to photograph the room. Madge took Moe's hand and managed to pull him to the couch.

Tim jogged up the stairs, wearing jeans and a T-shirt. The bruise was now vivid against his fair skin. His worried eyes sought hers. “Is everyone okay?”

Ivy nodded and joined him in the hallway. “Somebody broke into Moe's place.”

He glanced around her into the room. “Looking for something, I see.”

Ivy remembered Cyril's frightened face from their meeting in that same hallway.

“Do you think Moe will tell Greenly if he's got something of Cyril's?”

They looked at the trembling young man.

Ivy sighed. “Maybe his mother can figure out what's going on.”

Madge couldn't. She led her son into the hall. He stood rigid as plaster, whispering to himself. “The officer agreed to let us back in when he's done so I can get some of Moe's things. He's going to come stay with me until this mess is sorted out.”

Ivy kept her voice low. “Do you have any idea what Cyril might have given to Moe?”

“He gave him lots of things. A picture frame, a checker game, little odds and ends like that. All junk. Nothing that anyone would go to this trouble to find.” She pursed her lips. “To do this, to someone like my Moe who never causes anyone trouble.” Tears crowded her eyes.

Ivy put an arm around the woman's padded shoulders. “I think it has more to do with Cyril than Moe.”

Tim nodded. “Just the same I think it's a good idea to take him to your house.”

Greenly gave the all clear, and Madge led Moe back into the apartment to pack his things.

Tim caught Ivy's eye. “It's a very good idea.”

She stiffened. “I know what you're thinking and I'm not moving out. Whoever this is, is after Cyril like you said.”

His voice dropped to a whisper. “Suppose this person finds out Cyril talked to you and assumes he passed the item in question along.”

For a moment she replayed the fear she'd felt the night Cyril had surprised her in the hallway. It would be comforting to let Tim take her away, keep her safe, feel his strong arms around her. She thought about how she'd let her guard down with Antonio, let him see her weaknesses.
No way, Ivy. You're tougher than that.
“I'll be fine here. I'm staying.”

“And you say my principles are maddening.”

Ivy and Tim went to her apartment and she made them both some decaf coffee. Ivy added two sugars and a hefty dose of cream to hers. “Have you been able to find anything on Cyril?”

Tim took a sip of coffee. “Not much so far. He's lived in many different states. He bought the house here about six years ago. I can't find much of an employment history on him.” His face was rueful. “I can tell you he applied for a fishing license recently.”

She shook her head. “Can't see how that sheds any light on things.”

“A friend of mine from church has a P.I.'s license so he can do more in-depth digging than I can. He said he'd look into it.”

The bruise on Tim's face stood out sharply in the lamplight. She wondered again who had given it to him. Traces of fatigue lined his face. She was about to ask him a question when Madge poked her head through the open doorway.

“We're all packed up. Can Moe stay here with you for a minute while I bring the car around front?”

“Sure.” Ivy opened the door fully and Moe stepped hesitantly inside. He stood just inside the doorway, next to his suitcase, clenching and unclenching his fists. Madge gave him a pat and went downstairs.

“Do you want to sit down, Moe?” Tim gestured to the chair next to him. “Why don't you relax for a minute?”

Moe fixed his gaze on the spindly ficus plant perched on the mantel. His lips moved but the words were inaudible.

Ivy took a step or two toward him, being sure not to crowd. “It's okay, Moe. We'll get your place fixed up again and the police will catch whoever did it.”

Moe blinked rapidly. “M4e2d7s9c3i6z5t5r472cla0n7noe6r5y9r9o7w2.”

Tim stood. “What did you say, Moe?”

He repeated the cryptic string of numbers and letters, speaking more and more rapidly until the words were lost in the jumble of sound.

She shot a look at Tim. “What is he talking about?”

“I have no idea,” he whispered back.

Ivy tried to catch Moe's eye. “We don't understand, Moe. Can you tell us what you mean?”

Moe didn't answer. His lips moved in a silent stream.

Madge rejoined them, car keys in hand. “All set. Let's go, honey. I'll make you some popcorn before bed. The Jiffy Pop kind for a special treat.”

Moe closed his mouth and scurried into the hallway.

“Madge, Moe was saying something we couldn't understand. A bunch of letters and numbers. Do you know what he meant?”

“No, I never do. He's sort of got a gift for numbers. They comfort him, almost.” She pushed a clump of graying hair out of her face. “I gave up trying to understand my son a long time ago. I just love him instead. It's the best I can do.”

Tim grabbed the suitcase and followed Madge and Moe to the car.

Ivy watched from the window as they loaded up and Madge drove away.

When Tim rejoined her he was followed by Detective Greenly, who accepted her offer of coffee. He drained it in a few minutes and she refilled the mug.
So that's how police work gets done. It's fueled by coffee.
She felt a pain deep inside when she thought of her crew gathered around the morning coffeepot after a busy night, praying for a few hours of quiet.

Would she ever get back that family? That passion that burned inside of her? Would she feel again the sense of belonging and value? She looked over at Tim and his strong profile eased her discomfort.

“I've closed the apartment until we check for prints,” Detective Greenly was saying.

Ivy snapped back to the present. “The break-in has to be related to Cyril's disappearance.”