Chapter 8 - The Orchard House
Victoria’s story was almost elegant.
Rosa had grown unstable after her mother died in the Cedar Pines fire. Rosa blamed the Nolans. Rosa took Grace hostage. Daniel followed them and tried to stop her. The train incident was Rosa’s revenge.
There was even a reason for the broken window.
Daniel had broken it while trying to rescue Grace.
Rosa listened to the deputy repeat the statement and said, “Wow.”
Grace looked at her.
“What?”
“I sound organized.”
“You hid a burner phone in a church coffee tin.”
“Exactly.”
The deputy did not smile.
By afternoon, investigators had searched the Nolan house.
The loose floorboard was empty.
The blue box was gone.
Rosa did not swear. She simply sat down very slowly.
Grace knew that was worse.
“Who knew?” Grace asked.
“No one.”
“Daniel?”
“No.”
“Victoria?”
“No.”
“Then how—”
Rosa stood up. “I need a ride.”
The deputy blocked her. “You’re not leaving.”
“To the orchard house.”
Grace frowned.
Daniel’s family owned an abandoned caretaker cottage behind an old apple orchard forty minutes outside town. They had stopped using it years ago.
“What’s there?” Grace asked.
Rosa looked embarrassed.
“My copy of the copy.”
Grace stared.
“You made a backup.”
“I made a bad backup.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I put photographs on a memory card, wrapped it in plastic, and taped it underneath a drawer.”
“Which drawer?”
Rosa hesitated.
Grace closed her eyes. “Of course.”
“The bathroom.”
The deputy rubbed his forehead.
Two state investigators drove them to the orchard house before sunset. Grace went only because the doctor released her with strict instructions to return if contractions resumed.
The cottage looked smaller than she remembered. Ivy had swallowed half the porch. One window was boarded.
Inside, dust covered the floor.
Rosa headed straight for the bathroom.
The drawer was there.
The tape was there.
The memory card was not.
Rosa stared at the empty strip of plastic.
Grace felt cold despite the stale heat.
One investigator crouched near the doorway.
“Someone’s been here recently.”
He pointed to a footprint in the dust.
Not Rosa’s.
Too large.
Then Grace noticed a smell.
Sweet. Chemical.
Gasoline.
“Everyone out,” she said.
The investigator turned. “What?”
“Now.”
A soft click came from the kitchen.
Rosa’s eyes widened.
May you like
A space heater near the wall glowed orange.
And beneath it, gasoline crept across the floorboards in a thin shining line.
