Page 68 of The Last Close Call

“I know he is.”

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Joy stood at the back door, peering through the glass. She stared at the gazebo at the center of her yard, but all she could see was that charred black skeleton that had once been a house.

The blaze was determined to be an accident.

Her stomach knotted as she replayed the words, over and over, as if replaying them in her mind would somehow make them true.

Twenty-eight years.

How many times had she thought of the Andersons during those years? In her mind, they were fixed in time, along with her baby. It was easier that way. It kept things in the past. But in reality, Gale and Philip Anderson had been dead for five long years now.

Because they’d adopted a psychopath.

Someone who had the capacity to kill not just strangers but his very own parents.

Scritch-scratch.

Joy jumped, startled, as Sam pawed the door near her feet.

She turned the bolt and opened the door, and he darted outside.

“Hurry up, Sam. It’s cold.”

She started to close the door, but then Frodo was there, wanting to go out, too.

“Chop-chop!”

He dashed out, joining Sam on the edge of the patio. Together, they ventured into the strip of grass beside the pool.

Joy locked the bolt and grabbed her glass from the coffee table. It was empty again. Funny how that happened so much when Michael wasn’t around to notice. She padded across the kitchen, enjoying the cool tile floor on the soles of her feet. She had come straight home from work and kicked her Louboutin pumps into the corner, then changed into her oldest, comfiest, unsexiest pajamas, which she kept in the back of her closet for nights when Michael wasn’t around.

Joy plunked her glass on the bar and poured another glug of Grey Goose. Two glugs. Then she added the last sip of cranberry juice.

The blaze was determined to be an accident.

“Determined by who?” she murmured, stepping on the pedal for the trash can. The stainless steel lid popped up, and she dropped the plastic jug into the bin. “Or determined by whom?” She sipped her drink. “Who set the blaze? No one did. But! The blaze was determined to be an accident by WHOM?”

Joy pictured her freshman English teacher, Mrs.Perkins, diagramming that sentence. And another one: WHO brought the child into the world? Joy did. Joy to the world! However: The child who murdered his parents was brought into the world by WHOM?

Mary Perkins was a stickler for grammar, and her students scored high on the SAT. They got scholarships, and went to college and grad school, and went on to do big things!

Joy stumbled, slamming her toe into the chair, and caught herself on the dining table.

“Shit!” She set her drink down. “Shit, that hurt.” She sank into the chair and stared down at her toe. It was going to bruise. Badly.

Scritch-scratch.

She got up and hobbled over, taking her drink with her. She undid the bolt and opened the door. Frodo scurried into the house.

“Where’s Sam?”

She looked outside.

“Sam?”

Joy peered into the yard, trying to penetrate the shadows along the fence line. A gust of cold air blew the door against her.

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