Chapter 3 – "The Secret Stairwell My Father Built to Kill Me"
The hospital discharged Evie twenty hours later.
She had nowhere to go.
Her parents had left the hospital shortly after the consultation room conversation. They hadn't come back. Evie had watched the corridor for hours, expecting them to return, expecting something—some explanation, some excuse, some sign that she hadn't imagined the whole thing. But no one came.
The staff had been kind. They'd found her a pair of donated clothes—sweatpants that were too big, a t-shirt that said "I Survived My Trip to Virginia" in faded letters. A nurse named Marlene had brought her a toothbrush and some shampoo. Another nurse, a young man named David, had offered to call a shelter for her, but Evie had declined.
She was eighteen. She could go anywhere.
But she didn't have anywhere to go.
She sat in the plastic chair outside the hospital entrance, watching the late afternoon sun filter through the trees. A few miles away, the house that had been her home for the past eighteen years was nothing but ash. And somewhere in Richmond, her parents were probably already talking to lawyers, strategizing, figuring out how to spin this into something that wouldn't destroy them.
A black sedan pulled into the drop-off lane.
Detective Thorne got out.
"I thought I might find you here," he said. He looked like he hadn't slept either. The wrinkles in his jacket had wrinkled. "How are you doing?"
"Define 'doing.'"
"That bad, huh?" He walked toward her and sat down on the bench next to her. Not too close—giving her space. "I talked to the fire investigator. They're going to be on scene this evening. I also had a team start canvassing the neighbors."
"And?"
"Everyone we've talked to so far says your parents left the house around midnight. They drove separately. Your mother went to a friend's house. Your father went to his office."
Evie processed that. "They weren't in the house when the fire started."
"We don't know that yet. But their alibis... they're thin, Evie. Both of them have stated they were at home, asleep, until they woke up to the smoke. But the neighbors all say they saw your parents' cars leave."
"Which means they were lying."
"It means we need more evidence." Thorne pulled out his notebook. "I also had a team look at the house from the outside. The fire appears to have started in the kitchen, as your parents said, but there's something else you should know."
Evie waited.
"Your mother's car was parked in the driveway when the fire department arrived. Your father's was not."
That was interesting. Evie thought about it. "They left separately. They met up somewhere. Then one of them came back."
"That's the working theory." Thorne closed his notebook. "But the fire is still too hot to properly investigate. We might have to wait a few days before we can get inside."
"A few days."
"At least."
Evie looked down at her hands. The bandages had been changed that morning, but underneath them, her arm was still raw and blistered. It hurt to move her fingers. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to think.
"Detective, I need you to be straight with me."
Thorne looked at her.
"Someone set that fire," Evie said. "Someone locked me in. And I think it was one of my parents. Or both of them. I need to know what you're going to do about it."
"I'm going to do my job." Thorne's voice was calm. "I'm going to investigate this as a potential arson and attempted murder. I'm going to interview everyone who might have information. I'm going to collect evidence. And if I find probable cause, I'm going to make arrests."
"Even if the suspects are wealthy and well-connected?"
Thorne's mouth twitched. "I've arrested wealthy people before. They bleed just like everyone else."
Evie almost smiled. Almost. "Where do I go? I don't have anywhere to sleep tonight."
"We found you a place." Thorne reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a business card. "A friend of mine runs a shelter in Henrico. It's a women's shelter. Safe, clean, secure. They have a bed for you as long as you need it."
Evie took the card. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. The shelter has rules. You'll have to follow them. But they'll keep you safe until we can get this sorted out."
"And my parents?"
"They're in their own house now, probably trying to figure out how to make this all go away." Thorne stood. "I'll be in touch, Evie. I'm going to find out what happened to you. I promise."
He turned to walk away, then stopped.
"One more thing," he said. "The lock you brought out of that fire—the key, the padlock—I had a team photograph both of them. We'll have them analyzed for fingerprints. But I want you to know something."
Evie looked up at him.
"The fire was hot, Evie. Hot enough to melt glass. But that lock was intact enough for you to break. And it was still in the doorframe, still holding the door closed." He paused. "Someone locked that door deliberately. And they used a specific key to do it. Not some random thing they found lying around."
"You think it was my mother."
"I think whoever did it had access to your house and knew your family's habits." Thorne met her eyes. "The key with the blue handle—your mother said it was kept in a drawer in the kitchen. A drawer that was locked. A drawer that required a key to open."
May you like
Evie's blood went cold.
"Your mother lied about that key, Evie. When we asked about it, she said she didn't recognize it. But she knew exactly where it came from. She just didn't want to admit it."
