In Dark Waters (17 page)

Mitch dug through the contents and found a cheerleader uniform neatly folded. "Donna cheered for the high school."

"I don't think it was for long. She got into some kind of trouble with one of the coaches."

"Like what?"

"I think she slept with him."

"O-Okay." He pulled out a yearbook next and thumbed through the pages. He found Donna with the junior class. Mitch shook his head. "It always throws me when I see a picture of your mother. Except for the eyes, you are a dead ringer for her."

Kelsey peered over his shoulder. It was as if she were looking at herself. A cold chill snaked down her spine. "I've never seen a picture of her that young."

He handed her the book. "Pretty amazing."

"She looked very different by the time I was fifteen. She'd lost a lot of weight, her hair was shorter, brittle, and there were wrinkles around her eyes."

"Hard living."

Kelsey flipped through the book, looking for other pictures of Donna. She found her with the cheerleaders, but Donna appeared in no other group shots. When Kelsey reached the last page, a letter fluttered out. She picked up the envelope.

"What's that?" Mitch said.

"I'm not sure," she said opening the envelope.

Inside was some kind of official document. She unfolded it and inside was a Certificate of Birth.

"It's my birth certificate!"

Kelsey skimmed the names. "Mother: Donna Warren. Father: Unknown. No surprises there." Despite her easy tone, she had to fight off disappointment. She'd always hoped one day she'd find her father. She read on. "Place of Birth: Richmond, Virginia. Says here I was born at the Medical College of Virginia."

Mitch rested his hand on his knee. "A state hospital."

"Donna never had medical insurance."

"I wonder who covered the bill?"

"My father, maybe."

"A good possibility. Let's get some of this stuff downstairs where the lighting is better. I'd like to read through those letters."

Kelsey started to root through the box. "There's a letter here from a Richmond attorney. William Cranston. 701 Main Street, Richmond." The postmark was dated just weeks before her birth. She opened the letter. The reference line said Pending Adoption.

Mitch froze. "Do you smell smoke?"

Kelsey sat back on her heels. She inhaled. "I think I do."

"Let's get out of here."

"What about all this stuff? If the house is on fire, we'll lose it."

He wrapped his hand around her arm and started pushing her toward the attic stairs. "Better it than us."

Kelsey held on to the sides of the ladder and climbed out of the attic. Fingers of smoke reached up the center staircase.

She tamped down cold panic. "The smoke is coming up the stairs!"

Mitch was right behind her, taking the steps three at a time. "Let's get out of here."

He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her close to his side. They started toward the stairs. Kelsey's heart pounded against her chest. She leaned into Mitch.

Halfway down the stairs, the smoke thickened. From the belly of the house, the fire roared like a great hungry beast. The floorboards creaked and groaned.

Kelsey coughed and covered her mouth with her hand. Mitch tightened his hold on her as they reached the bottom step and hurried toward the front door. He turned the handle and pulled.

The door was locked.

Kelsey rubbed her stinging eyes. "It shouldn't be locked. I never throw the dead bolt."

Wasting no time, Mitch took Kelsey into the front parlor to the right off the entry way to a set of tall floor-to-ceiling windows. He tried to open one. It didn't budge. The windows had long been painted shut.

The fire's heat and thickening smoke made breathing difficult. Kelsey shoved a trembling hand through her hair. The house was disintegrating under then-feet and would be gone in just minutes.

Mitch picked up an old Chippendale chair and threw it through the window, smashing the windowpanes. He yanked the curtain down, draped it over his arm and broke out the bits of jagged glass. Tossing the curtain aside, he took her by the arm and together they stepped onto the front porch.

She was aware of distant sirens as they ran down the porch steps and across the lawn. Only when they reached the other side of the street did she suck in a lungful of fresh air. She dropped to her knees, coughing.

Mitch came down beside her. He pulled in several deep breaths. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," she said. Her lungs still ached.

From across the street, Kelsey could see the fire through the first-floor windows of the house. The blaze had consumed the downstairs and had snaked up the stairs. A first-floor windowpane exploded from the heat.

"It happened so fast," she said, her gaze mesmerized by the flames.

Mitch stood and helped her to her feet. "Most fires move fast."

She noticed a spray of cuts across his forearm. Blood trickled down his arm over his hand. "You're cut."

He glanced down at his arm. "Yeah."

The sirens grew louder and within seconds two ladder trucks raced around the corner and down Ruth's street. No one said anything as the trucks parked and firemen went to work. Minutes later, a steady stream of water pummeled the house. The flames hissed and spit.

The fire chief came up to Mitch. "Sheriff."

Mitch nodded. "Walt."

"What do you think caused it?" the chief asked.

"I don't know. We were up in the attic and the fire seemed to explode around us."

"Mitch needs a paramedic," Kelsey said. "He cut his arm breaking a window so we could get out."

Walt nodded. "Let's get you both over to the medic. I want him to look you both over."

Kelsey fell into step beside Mitch. The adrenaline had vanished. Her legs felt like rubber and her head swam. By the time they reached the back of the rescue truck, she feared she'd collapse.

Mitch glanced down at her. "You're as white as a ghost."

"I'm okay," she lied.

Immediately, he cupped his hand under her elbow and guided her toward the truck. She sat down on the back bumper. A medic took one look at her, pressed an oxygen mask to her face and wrapped a blood pressure cup around her arm.

Slowly her head began to clear. Mitch sat beside her, an oxygen mask on his face as the medic started to bandage his arm.

"You're not going to need stitches, Sheriff," the medic said.

"Good," Mitch said.

The medic's news eased Kelsey's mind and allowed her to shift her focus to the house. The fireman's hoses had doused the basement-level fire but the second floor and attic still burned. The attic filled with all those papers would be lost.

Sadness tightened around her heart. She yanked off her mask. "For years, I've told myself I didn't care about Donna, her past or even who my father was. It wasn't until tonight that I realized I was kidding myself. There are so many unanswered questions about Donna and the answers were right at my fingertips."

Mitch pulled off his mask and wrapped his soot covered hand over hers. "It's not over yet, Kelsey."

The warmth of his hand seeped into her. "Everything is lost!"

"Now is not the time to talk about it," he said. "Let's get you out of here."

"Everything I owned was in the house. My wallet, my camera, my clothes." Her hand slid to her waistband where her cell phone remained clipped. She shook her head, smiling at the irony.

"What's so funny?"

"Figures my cell phone would make it out. My friends have always given me grief about my phone because I'm never without it."

He leaned toward her so that his shoulder brushed hers. "There's nothing wrong with that."

Tears filled her eyes as she stared up at the dying flames. "You know why I've always had a phone?"

His thumb rubbed the inside of her palm as he stared down at her. "Why?"

"So Donna could reach me. I always figured if I had a phone, she could find me." A tear escaped down her cheek and she swiped it away. "Dumb, huh?"

"Not at all." He rose and pulled her with him. "Let's get out of here."

"Where are we going?"

"To my place."

Kelsey laid her head back against the seat of Mitch's car and closed her eyes. She was vaguely aware of the ride over to Mitch's house, but couldn't tell what streets he took. Her mind was numb, and an overwhelming sense of exhaustion overtook her.

"We're here," he said, shutting off the engine.

Her head snapped up. She'd drifted off to sleep. "Where are we?"

"My house." He opened his door and the dome light came on.

She squinted against the brightness. Her vision cleared. He leaned toward her, one hand resting on the steering wheel and one on the seat. His presence filled the cab. As she looked into his eyes, she found a softness there that touched her heart. It would be so easy to lose herself in him. So dangerous.

Back at Ruth's, she'd not questioned the decision to come to his house—she'd only wanted to get away from the fire trucks and the ruins of Ruth's house. "Maybe this isn't such a good idea. I can stay at a motel."

"We'll talk about that in the morning. Right now, you need a hot shower and a good night's sleep." He got out of the car and came around to her door. He opened it.

She climbed out and stared up at the white two-story Victorian. The house was huge by most standards but the idea of sharing it with him made it seem very, very small. "This is your house?"

"I've been restoring it for the last couple of years. The first and third floors are still rough, but the second floor is done." Then, as if reading her thoughts, he said, "Five separate bedrooms."

He led her up the stairs to the massive front door, painted in black lacquer, and opened it. Inside the entryway, he turned on the light. The first floor looked like a construction zone. Tarps, paint cans and ladders littered it.

"It gets better," he said.

He guided her up the wide, well-lit hallway to the second floor. The upstairs hallway was painted in a pale yellow, the wood trim a glossy white. The wood floors had been sanded and varnished. The faint smell of paint hung in the air. She could see his attention to detail in the crisp lines of the dentil molding above and the gleam in the hardwood floors. The restoration was a labor of love for him.

Mitch walked her to a door at the end of the hallway and opened it. He flipped on the light. The room had a large four-poster bed with a canopy. The bed had sheets and blankets on it, but the wood floors were bare. The windows had simple white shades, but no curtains.

"I've left the decorating to Mom," he said. "She said something about white iolite—whatever that is— and lots of pillows. For now, though, it's kinda bare."

"It's great."

"There's also a bath through that door." He crossed the room and switched on the light. "Again, no frills but it's completely refurbished with plenty of towels."

She didn't bother to look. "I'm sure it's perfect." She stared at the massive bed that dominated the room. "You live here alone?"

"Yep." He moved to the threshold and paused. "No need to be nervous."

"I'm not nervous," she said a little too quickly.

"Then that makes one of us."