Page 57 of Twin Jeopardy

“Do they have any idea what started it?” Tammy asked.

“Dad didn’t say. The house is at least as old as I am. Maybe there was a fault in the electrical wiring?”

They didn’t say much on the drive to Junction. Vince gripped the steering wheel and forced himself to keep within ten miles of the speed limit, willing the time to pass more quickly. His dad had said there wasn’t a lot of damage, but what did that mean? Would his parents be able to remain in the house, or did they need somewhere else to stay? Was the fire an accident or deliberate? And why was all this happening now?

A lone fire truck sat at the curb when they arrived. A firefighter and a Junction police officer met them at the end of the drive, where Vince’s parents also waited. “We’re confident the fire is out,” the firefighter said. “But call if you see any more smoke or flames.”

“I don’t understand,” Mr. Shepherd said. “How did the fire start?”

The police officer introduced himself as Sergeant Fisk. “Where were you today, Mr. Shepherd?” he asked.

“We were in Eagle Mountain, visiting our son and attending the Fourth of July celebration,” Dad said.

“Does anyone else live in the house besides you and your wife?”

“No.”

“Do you know of anyone who might want to harm you and your wife or your home?”

“No. What are you talking about? Are you saying the fire was deliberately set?”

“The blaze started in the upstairs back bedroom,” Fisk said. “Whose bedroom is that?”

“No one’s,” Dad said.

“That was our daughter, Valerie’s, room,” Mom said, her voice strained.

“Where is your daughter now?” Sergeant Fisk asked.

Her face crumpled and tears slid down her cheeks. Dad pulled her close. “Our daughter disappeared fifteen years ago,” he said. “We don’t know where she is.”

Fisk looked back toward the house. From this angle, it appeared undamaged. “Did someone set the fire intentionally?” Vince asked.

“It looks that way,” Fisk said. He turned back to Vince. “You’re the son?”

“Yes. I’m Vince Shepherd.”

The officer turned to Tammy. “And you are?”

“Tammy Patterson. I’m Vince’s friend.”

“You two were in Eagle Mountain this morning also?”

“Yes,” Vince said. “Tammy was taking photographs for the paper, and I worked a fundraising booth for the local search and rescue group. How did the fire start?”

The firefighter spoke. “Someone piled a bunch of papers—pages torn from books, from the looks of things—and set the fire in the middle of the bed. The neighbor whose backyard adjoins this one saw the smoke and called 911.” He turned to Mr. and Mrs. Shepherd. “You can return to the house, but don’t go into that bedroom. You’ll need to have a restoration company see about cleaning it up. There’s a lot of smoke damage, and we can’t be sure there isn’t structural damage from the flames.”

Mom moaned, and Dad tightened his arm around her. “Did anyone see somebody near the house this morning?” he asked.

“We spoke with the neighbors,” Fisk said. “No one remembers anything unusual. Have any of you noticed anything out of the ordinary recently?”

“No,” Dad said. Mom shook her head.

Vince felt Tammy tense beside him, but he said nothing.

They waited until the firefighter and Sergeant Fisk had left before they went into the house. Vince smelled smoke when they entered, but the scent wasn’t as strong as he had expected. He followed his mother and father up the stairs, Tammy behind him. The closer they walked to the bedroom, the more intense the odor of smoke.

They halted outside the bedroom. His dad pushed open the door to reveal the smoke and soot-blackened remains of a little girl’s bedroom. Parts of the pink comforter on the bed were still intact, though the center was a black hole. Half a dozen books lay scattered at the foot of the bed, some splayed with spines showing, others with charred pages. Black outlines showed where flames had charred the walls, and everything was sodden.

---