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  Graham frowned. He’d known she would show up sooner or later. “Who would have run her off the road?”

  “I can think of a few people who’d like to do it,” the man muttered.

  “Where is she now?”

  “No idea, but she earned herself a trip to the E.R. via ambulance. She had a banged-up leg, was treated and released. She insisted it was deliberate.”

  “Did she get a description of the automobile that ran her off the road?”

  “Sure did,” the captain said. “We even have the vehicle impounded. It was a brown Ford Expedition stolen from a convenience store two blocks from Clark Memorial Hospital earlier this morning because some trusting idiot left his keys in the ignition while he went in to get a cup of coffee. Bet he doesn’t do that again.”

  “So no leads there.”

  “Nope. The police found the vehicle abandoned later, also near the hospital. Might not be any connection to our fire, but we’re checking all possibilities. You can bet the incident will be in tomorrow’s paper. Jolene’s need for attention might even be a good thing right now, if it attracts a witness or two.”

  Graham thought again about Preston’s concerns for Willow and her fears that someone might be after her…and last night’s case of mistaken identity. “What kind of car was Jolene driving?”

  “It’s a red Kia Sportage, which is the reason she didn’t sustain any more damage than she did. Good little cars. My wife drives one.”

  As the captain lapsed into rhapsody about the delights of his wife’s car, Graham closed his eyes and recalled a detail from the fire last night. He’d come out of the apartment with Mrs. Engle and seen the row of vehicles in the carport across the drive from the lodge, specifically checking to make sure none had been damaged. He’d seen an unfamiliar small dark red SUV among them.

  Coincidence? Had to be. But what if it wasn’t?

  “Doc, are you there?” Captain Frederick asked.

  “Yes, sorry. Jolene did believe the wreck was deliberate?”

  “She said it was deliberate, but we all know that woman likes to overdramatize everything.”

  “Something just occurred to me, Captain. I may be overreacting here, but it’s possible that Willow Traynor might drive a red Subaru Outback. She looks enough like Jolene in low light that someone could have mistaken Jolene for her. I made that mistake myself.”

  “Where is Ms. Traynor right now?”

  “I hope she’s safely shopping with my sister, but I think I’ll make sure. Meanwhile, a friend of mine was having a replacement key made for Willow’s car. He had to get the particulars from Preston because I didn’t have them. I wasn’t involved in that conversation.”

  “Better keep your friend away from the car. We don’t want to pass up any leads, even if they seem far-fetched. We’ll need to check out that car first.”

  “Check it out?”

  “What if someone did intentionally run Jolene Tucker off the road because they mistook her car for Ms. Traynor’s? If they were serious enough to do that kind of damage, and if they discovered later that they had the wrong car, they might take it another step and set a booby trap of some kind. Stranger things have been known to happen.”

  “I’ll call my friend now. Then I think I’ll take a drive out to the complex.”

  “Can you get us the key?” the captain asked. “The officers can jimmy the lock with no problem, but it would be better if we didn’t have to.”

  “If we have Willow’s permission, I’ll gladly give the police the key. I’ll just have my friend meet us there.”

  “They’ll get her permission before they make any attempts to enter the car, of course. I don’t suppose Ms. Traynor would know about anyone who might have a reason to hurt her, would she?”

  Graham thought again about his conversation with Preston. Would she? “It’s possible, Captain.”

  “Well, this could be a long shot, but right now we don’t have any other leads on any of the fires that were set last night.”

  Graham remembered the other fires that had spread the department so thin last night. “Are you telling me they were all arson?”

  “That’s right. All three of them, same M.O., same everything.”

  “Was last night the first time this has happened?”

  “First I’ve ever seen. How’s Mr. Black doing?”

  “He’s in a lot of pain right now.”

  “Think he might have made an enemy? Maybe a former renter?”

  “We haven’t had any complaints.”

  “Well, you just let me know as soon as you find Ms. Traynor, will you?”

  Graham promised to do so, then hung up, praying that he was jumping to faulty conclusions, praying that they all were.

  He pressed Ginger’s speed dial number, hoping against past experience that this time, for the first time, she would actually be carrying the cell phone he’d given her.

  Nope. Not Ginger. She’d probably left it in her car somewhere, relegated to the glove compartment, or perhaps beneath the seat.

  He left a message on her voice mail, knowing she probably wouldn’t check it. In fact, her phone could even be out of juice.

  And he needed to talk to her right now.

  Chapter Six

  Dark eyes hovered in the thickness of night, staring up at Willow from the coffin, their depths drawing her down. Something…they wanted her to know something…

  Those eyes repulsed her, and she backed away. Too much. It was all too much. Other people…innocent people…helpless people depended on her for protection. But how could she protect them? If only she knew.

  The rhythm of a heartbeat sang through the room in mechanical tones, a familiar sound she worked with every day. She could do this.

  She was in her element…until the man in the coffin opened his mouth and moaned. Then she lost her strength.

  Willow’s eyes snapped open. She knew immediately she had been dreaming. Not just dreaming, but fighting her way out of another nightmare.

  This time the man in the coffin had been so real, and for a moment she wondered if she weren’t receiving some supernatural warning that she might be dead soon. Or maybe someone she loved would be dead.

  “Stop it,” she muttered impatiently. If she kept this up she’d be seeing omens in every cloud in the sky. She had always been cursed with an active imagination.

  Still, couldn’t her subconscious be trying to tell her something?

  But it wouldn’t come. Would she ever be able to sleep normally again? Without the aid of sleeping pills? Without the haunting memories that plagued her?

  “Oh, Travis,” she whispered. “Why didn’t you just take me with you?”

  Immediately she knew the futility of that line of thought. She couldn’t wish for death.

  She wanted to fight. She wanted to defeat the mysterious evil that had accosted her at times she least expected it since Travis had left her, since her baby had died, since she’d lost her reason for living.

  And yet she couldn’t fight an invisible enemy.

  She turned over in bed and looked at the clock. In five minutes the alarm would go off anyway. She snapped off the switch and lay thinking.

  Who was the dead man in the coffin? This was a dream she’d had before and, as always, it confused and frustrated her. Why did that particular dream come to her so often? And why now?

  Frustrated with Ginger’s failure to answer her cell phone, Graham disconnected and called Blaze. At least he could depend on the communication-savvy college kid to be accessible.

  Blaze answered after the first ring. “I was just getting ready to call you, Graham.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Parked alongside the road at the entrance to your complex. The police have got the driveway roped off. Something’s going down, because there weren’t this many people here earlier, when I came to get the identification number from the car so I could have a key made. Mind telling me what’s up?”

  “I will when I get t
here. Who else is there?”

  “The place is crawling with police and firemen and news crews and onlookers.”

  Graham groaned inwardly. News crews. A rental property owner did not need this kind of media attention. “You have the key, then?”

  “Yep. I had to go through fifteen gazillion hoops to get it, but after a call to the police to verify my story, and a call to my guardian to make sure I was legit, and a call—”

  “Blaze.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t give the key to anyone until we know Willow has given permission for her car to be entered.”

  There was a pause, then he said, “Can I stay and watch the excitement?”

  “Sure. I’ll be there in a few minutes. Just stay out of the way.”

  There was an impatient sigh. “I’m not a kid, you know.”

  “Sorry. I’ll see you soon.” He disconnected. This would be a wild-goose chase. He hoped.

  Once more he pressed his sister’s speed dial number. He’d tried her at home and she wasn’t there. He could only hope she was still shopping with Willow. If only, miracle of miracles, she had thought to recharge the phone this time. He nagged her about it enough—she should know by now.

  One could always dream.

  He turned onto the tree-lined driveway of the complex behind the fire chief and noted that Blaze hadn’t been exaggerating. Three police cruisers lined the drive, as well as two fire trucks. Jolene Tucker stood at the periphery with a camera and a hand-held recorder, finding plenty of people to talk to about the excitement.

  At least most of the renters were now safely settled in their temporary dwellings and weren’t on hand to be interviewed.

  Blaze Farmer also stood watching with obvious interest, pacing up and down the road.

  Ginger finally answered Graham’s call. “Yes?” She sounded harassed.

  Graham sighed with relief. “Did I catch you in traffic?”

  “How’d you guess? It’s okay. I’m on 76. It’ll be slow for a while. Don’t even ask me how I got caught in this turtle race.”

  “I won’t. There’s no time. Is Willow with you?”

  “No, she’s taking a nap in her room. Did you get my message about that? She insisted on getting a room near the hospital.”

  “Yes, I got the message.”

  “I’m on my way there now.”

  “I thought you, of all people, could convince her to stay with us.”

  “Sorry,” Ginger said, “but she’s a pretty spunky young woman, if one is allowed to use that word these days. I really like—”

  “You’re on your way to see her?”

  “Yes, though I’m early. She was going to visit Preston before we went to supper.”

  “Listen, we’ve got a complication. Keep this under your hat for now, but a car resembling Willow’s, with a driver who resembles Willow, was run off the road this morning. The police are checking out Willow’s car.”

  “Oh, great, that’s just what she needs,” Ginger muttered.

  “The authorities are sure the fire was arson.”

  “Do they have any suspects?”

  “None yet, but that incident on the road this morning sounds a little too close to be coincidence. It’s possible someone could have been trying to hurt Willow.”

  Graham parked and got out of his car, watching the police search the ground near the carport. In the light of day he saw one of the lines of scorched grass that led from the driveway to the destroyed cabin.

  “Graham?” Ginger said. “Do you think Willow is in danger?”

  “I don’t know how to answer that right now. She could be. I think she’s convinced of it, too. Preston told me a few things about her situation. Did she mention anything about her life in Kansas City when you were with her?” The crunch of gravel was loud beneath Graham’s shoes as he walked toward the crowd of officers around the carport.

  “Very little, except for the loss of her baby soon after her husband’s death. I got the feeling she wasn’t in the mood to share with a stranger. Not that I blame her.”

  He tsked. “Sis, you’re losing your touch. Where’s she staying? Do you have a number for the hotel?”

  “It isn’t a hotel. I told you, it’s a motel, tiny and old, one of the few buildings that survived the reconstruction. I tried to get her to at least stay in a condo, but she was in the mood to make her own decisions. After everything that’s happened to her, I can’t say I blame her.”

  “You don’t know the half of it yet.”

  “Oh, really? Mind filling me in?”

  “Preston says she’s convinced that someone not only murdered her husband, but also tried to kill her.”

  There was a soft gasp over the line. “Oh, Graham. She never said a word about anything like that.”

  “But Preston is also afraid she might be imagining things due to the onslaught of grief at the time.”

  “Why don’t you let me tell her about the problem with her car when I reach her?”

  “You’re stuck in traffic—it could be a while. The police will need her permission to search her car for any possible tampering.”

  Ginger told him the name of the motel.

  “You wouldn’t happen to have the number, would you?”

  “Nope. It’ll be in a phone book,” she said. “I still wish you’d let me get to her and break the news to her, myself.”

  “She’ll be fine. Will you please keep your cell phone on you?” Graham asked, none too gently. “And keep it charged.”

  “You got it. Let me know what the police find.”

  “I’ll be sure to call you.”

  Willow dabbed away the last droplets from her shower and towel dried her hair, glad she’d recently cut it short enough that her natural curl would take over. She didn’t like to spend much time on styling, and all she had to do with this was wash and dry. Now she would have time to walk to the hospital and check on Preston before dinner.

  She selected a newly purchased pair of black jeans and a flowing, red gauze blouse and realized, with surprise, that she was actually looking forward to early dinner. Ginger had been the first person in months who’d made her laugh.

  How long since I’ve made a new friend?

  She’d drifted away from most of her friends after Travis was killed, burying herself in work to avoid facing the loss. She’d attempted to stuff her grief with fatigue from too many hours on the job, particularly after the miscarriage.

  Working most Sundays, she’d lost contact with church family, even though they called and attempted to keep her involved. Her relationship with her in-laws had atrophied from neglect, as well. After all, she’d had no children to keep the family connected. She couldn’t blame Travis’s parents and siblings for giving up on her.

  These past two years she hadn’t seemed to even have a life, which had made it so easy to pick up and move in with Preston.

  Poor Preston.

  Until this morning’s shopping trip with Ginger, Willow hadn’t realized how much she missed having friends. Could it be that, after two years, the trauma of the fire had finally shocked her out of her shell?

  She slipped her feet into new black leather sling backs and was removing the tags from a new purse when the telephone rang on the bedside stand.

  She picked up, expecting to hear Ginger’s voice. Instead, it was the deep voice of a man who identified himself as Detective Abrams asking to speak with her.

  During his quick description of the accident last night with a car much like hers, Willow felt herself growing weak. She sank onto the bed, listening to the man explain the situation.

  “You want my permission for you to search my car?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  How did she know he was the police?

  On the other hand, if he wasn’t the police, he would have no reason to call for her permission. “Of course, you have it. You actually believe someone might have sabotaged me?”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, we don’t know tha
t this is the case, but we also don’t want to take chances, in light of last night’s fire.”

  “How will you obtain access?”

  “We have a young man here by the name of Blaze Farmer who had a key made so he could return your car to you today. Dr. Vaughn had requested his help.”

  “Okay, then. I’d appreciate an update when you can call me. I’ll be in the hospital with my brother, if you call within the next thirty minutes.”

  After disconnecting, she sank onto the bed and clasped her hands together to keep them from trembling. What was happening?

  Graham recognized Detective Trina Rush working beneath the rear hatch of the dark red Subaru Outback as he approached the crowd. She was about fifty, with graying hair and a kind face. At the moment, however, her usually serene expression held dismay. She stepped back and looked at the crowd over her shoulder.

  “I don’t believe what I’m seeing,” muttered one of the firemen.

  Graham worked his way through the small crowd of firemen, policemen and onlookers. The mat that covered the spare tire for Willow’s car had been pulled out, along with the tire—the detectives had been thorough in their search for any kind of booby trap.

  In the tire well was a gallon-sized plastic Ziploc bag. It held a pack of Virginia Slim cigarettes and several books of matches. And a can of lighter fluid.

  “Willow Traynor has some explaining to do,” Detective Rush said softly.

  Willow stepped from the elevator onto the third floor and walked down the corridor to ICU. The hospital scents and sounds seemed to assault her, and she felt haunted by the familiar look and feel of the place, wistful for the activity. She’d missed that routine so badly these past months, grieving not only the loss of her family, but the loss of the job she’d loved.

  But the patients in those beds deserved better than a sleep-deprived nurse who started at her own shadow and burst into tears without provocation. As she’d reasoned with herself throughout the few excruciating weeks before she’d turned in her resignation, how would she endure it if she made a mistake on medication or an error in a patient’s care? An ICU nurse was held to an even higher standard than a well-trained floor nurse.