The Burn: Fire in the Wind and a Shot in the Dark

By Laurie J. Tyger

Takes place in the fall of 1989 then the spring of 1991 in a small town at the edge of industrial Weston in the northeast (a composite locale in Pennsylvania).

Part 1, Fire in the Dark, relates the story of high school senior, hothead, and soccer star Maryl ODonnell and her conflicted relationship with Millervilles hunky linebacker, Derek Teaberry. Their families were friends until tough times forced a wedge between them. Maryl tangles with Dereks younger sister, who is injured in the incident, and Derek pushes Maryls twin, Megan, into an intimacy she did not want. A series of events, culminating in a fire at the ODonnells small business, results in Maryl being suspected of conspiring to collect insurance money. Her often-violent responses to pressure dont help, and memories of her part in a childhood kidnapping cloud her judgement. Maryl must enlist the help of her nemesis, Derek, in uncovering who is behind the fireswith a long-ago death as the key to solving the mysterywhile the real culprit seeks to avenge one tragedy with another, the life of a talented young goalkeeper.

Part 2, A Shot in the Dark, finds Maryl at the end of her freshman year at a small college. On a scholarship, Maryl tries to find a balance between academia, athletics, and recreation; in addition, she must maintain a part-time job and keep her boyfriend at bay until the time is right . . . and then the past intrudes, in the form of the young man she helped put in jail who has been released and wastes no time making her aware of it. A ghost appears from the past, further complicating matters.
Faced with choices she never asked for, Maryl must choose between helping someone she thought was lost to her forever, keeping her scholarship or her personal integrity, and in the end, protecting herself from a terrible fate.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Dec 4, 2012
• ISBN: 9781466951266

Laurie J. Tyger

Laurie J. Kubli is a Licensed Social Worker and Army Veteran. Ms. Kubli considers her greatest accomplishment her twenty years as a child protective services worker in Pennsylvania. As such, she witnessed the consequences of child abuse and neglect, and devoted her professional career to keeping kids safe and helping families overcome difficult circumstances. Ms. Kubli is a firm believer in the importance of family, in the value of friendship, and in girls and women having a strong belief in themselves.

Book preview

Prologue

The young man could see the reflection of ocher flames streaking dramatically across the ominous black surface of the lake as he nosed the battered pick-up truck out of the dense forest. The pallid beams from his headlights paled in comparison. Panic tugged at him, breaking through the fuzziness in his head wrought by a would-be innocent Saturday night drinking fest.

He slammed on the brakes, creating a dust cloud that settled wearily over the short bed. The paper bag on the seat next to him tipped over and dumped a six-pack of domestic beer onto the floor. He threw the truck into gear and raced toward the burning building, paying little heed to the rocks and ruts causing the truck to bounce and buck. The second half-dozen rolled off the seat; a can popped a leak, fizzing unnoticed on the floor.

After bringing the Chevy to a second dusty halt, he jammed on the parking brake and leapt out, leaving the key in the ignition.

The heavy oak door swung open, pushed by the force of the fire within.

He stared, mesmerized. The cabin was quickly being consumed by hungry combustion, raging shades of canary, tangerine, royal blue and scorching green. His Adam’s apple dropped and rose with his nervous swallow.

It was dreamy. Had it not been for the heat soaking through his tee shirt and jeans, and nearly searing his exposed skin, he’d have thought it was a dream, a nightmare, a movie. But the heat was real, oppressive, omnipresent and deadly. He was further assailed by the pungent odors of burning wood, the snap of weakened timber and the steady pregnant roar of fiery waves eating into the heart of what was once a cozy cabin—.

Jerking his gaze from the inferno, he switched his attention to the dark water, where the stub of a dock poked out into the lake. He glanced back toward the blazing building and took off helter-skelter down the slope toward the shore. He could see his friend laying still on the grassy bank of the lake.

Reaching his well-muscled roommate, he leaned down to shake him by his broad shoulders. Willie! Wake up! Come on, Willie, the cabin’s on fire!

Willie’s eyes opened slowly. Huh?

The first young man felt the blood drain from his nearly hairless face. Where is she?

Willie stared blankly at him. Who?

The baby! Where’s the baby?

Bewildered, Willie shook his head.

The truck driver’s lean jaw dropped. He charged back up the hill and toward the door, but stopped, buffeted by a blast of hot air. He turned back to his friend, who had lumbered unsteadily up the yard after him. How did this start? What did you do?

I—I don’t remember…

How could you let this happen? he demanded, and pushed his way into the hellish inferno.

Chapter One

The Blues

The boy who shot Maryl O’Donnell did not initially present himself as obsession incarnate. Rather, he more closely resembled an innocent, blue-eyed, low-income cherub.

Maryl stood next to her coach’s fire truck red Corvette holding four empty water bottles and stared at him.

He appeared to be three or four years younger than her, eerily familiar yet improbably guileless. His jeans sported holey knees, his blonde bangs hung untidily above a pert nose, and he leaned easily against a burgundy minivan.

His cadmium gaze held hers.

She jumped as one of the water jugs clattered to the asphalt parking lot of the elementary school where they played their games. Inhaling deeply, she wet her lips and knelt to retrieve the fallen bottle. Her fingers shook and she dropped another one, then shoved them individually under her arm and quickly stood, meeting the bright blue gaze surging from his young face.

His face was angelic, but his eyes shone like crystal blue daggers.

She glanced around the parking lot. They were alone. She rubbed the cracked pavement with the right toe of her cleated athletic shoe, then turned to regard him. Who are you? she demanded, tightly gripping the bottles.

He sighed but didn’t answer.

You—how old are you?

Wrinkles formed cracks around the sapphire ice as his eyes narrowed.

Raising her chin, she scanned the field that stretched across the small rise beginning at the end of the parking lot. The vibrant colors of the combating teams melded and divided like opposition fluids as the players fought for control of the ball. Sunlight jabbed through the clouds, lending beams of drama to the changing scene.

She dropped her voice a pitch and thought about throwing a bottle at him, the impish angel with his impudent gaze. What’s your name?

The lines in his face smoothed. Tommy, he said, and started to walk away.

It was her turn to frown. Tommy, she muttered. She looked down at her shoes, a hundred memories competing with the image of the boy who stood before her. When she glanced up, he was gone, disappearing into the tree line. A single tear wrote a salty conclusion to the brief encounter.

Tommy, she repeated softly.

The referee’s whistle blew, and her attention snapped back to the game and her mission. She trudged back toward the field, stopping en route to fill the bottles at the fountain. Leaving them on the bench, she reclaimed her seat on the bottom row of the bleachers. Their team huddled around the coach, receiving instructions, and a few of them scarfed up the newly-filled bottles.

Took you long enough, a teammate said from above and behind her.

When she didn’t answer, the teammate tried again. We’ve scored three and your sub’s been stopping everything in sight. Your position as the hot-shot goalie of Millerville High may not be as secure as you think.

Shuttup, Linda, Maryl said.

Aw, what’s the matter, O’Donnell? You didn’t like that butt-kicking I gave you yesterday? Linda asked. Your lip looks better today.

Maryl glanced back at her. I don’t want to fight with you, McCrory.

Why not? Scared or something?

No, Mack, I don’t feel like getting another suspension.

Linda McCrory snorted. I could’ve told you that knocking Stacey Teaberry off the wall right in front of the principal’s office probably wasn’t such a hot idea, she said, and laughed.

Can’t you please just shut your fat trap already?

Their coach, Judith Romero, turned around to eyeball them. Hey! You two keep it down back there.

She started it, Linda said.

Maryl again glanced back at her. Yeah, right.

Judith Romero said, O’Donnell, you go all the way to the right, and McCrory, you may seat yourself all the way to the left, got it? They did not move fast enough for her liking. "Now would be a good time."

When she finished her half-time speech, the coach approached Maryl. Warmed up?

Maryl looked up. Really? I’m playing? I thought you said—

Don’t argue with me. You have your uniform on, and— The coach hesitated. I know Linda started that crap yesterday. I also know that you shouldn’t have responded. You’ve lost a lot of time this year because of your temper, Ms. Romero said. As it is, you may have blown your chance at becoming the first female athlete at Millerville to go All-Conference four years running. She pointed a finger at her goalie. So stop screwing around and play some ball, all right?

Quickly, Maryl nodded and began doing leg stretches. Yes, Coach.

She played most of the second half, allowing one goal to result in a tie. The teams shook hands afterwards, and Maryl headed for the bleachers and began to remove the protective padding. Coach Romero approached her again. Not bad, although you looked a little stiff. No more fights, O’Donnell, do you hear me?

But—like you said, Linda started it, and anyway, Stacey deserved it.

Judith Romero pursed her lips, placing long fingers on her narrow hips. Look. You know I shouldn’t have let you play at all. When Vice Principal Andrejcak catches wind of this, it won’t be pretty, she said. I’m going to try to explain it as good for the school, Linda pushing you around all through practice, and—well, all of the recent vandalism targeted at your family, but—

All right, I’m sorry. I’ll—I promise I won’t fight anymore.

The coach nodded. I won’t be able to cover you next time, she said. By the way, somebody’s here to give you a ride home.

Maryl scanned the bleachers, which were empty now. Who?

Stacey’s brother, Derek, the coach replied. Said he came to give you a lift, but if you don’t want to, I can take you home.

Oh. Locating the husky linebacker, she picked up her bag and began to walk towards him. It’ll be okay. I kind of wanted to talk to him anyway.

Derek Teaberry leaned against the stands, picking apart blades of grass. Reaching him, she asked, Is that all you do, take things apart?

He raised his eyes under dark brows. What? No. He dropped the blade and shoved his hands into the pockets of his football jacket with its oversized M.

Did you enjoy the game?

His broad shoulders rose and fell under the heavily-lined varsity jacket, and his emerald eyes slid to the side and back. His thick black hair fell loosely over his forehead but bristled above the back of his stocky neck. You could’ve had that one, he said mildly.

Yeah, maybe. She ran her fingers through her full hair, whose odd coloring resembled various stages of drying hay. I’m pretty sure you didn’t come here just to analyze my less-than-perfect outing, she said, meeting his gaze.

Straightening up, he toed the grass with a new leather tennis shoe. Oh, I— He paused as several players straggled past. I wanted to apologize. He bit his full lower lip, which protruded over a square jaw. I’m sorry about what happened—with Meg and I.

What happened with Meg and you? Her voice had risen stridently. You mean that little thing in the alley when you tried to rape her? Her knuckles whitened as her grip on the gym bag tightened measurably.

I didn’t really try to—

Really? What would you call it? Attempted love-making?

He sighed, not meeting her stare. I came to apologize, not get into a fight with you.

Really, she said again.

Neither of them noticed Coach Romero’s approach until she asked, Are you coming, Maryl, or do you have a ride?

Maryl took a breath. Oh, I think I have a ride.

Judith contemplated Derek, who said, I can give her a ride home, Ms. Ro, if that’s okay with you.

The coach glanced from one to the other, nodded and continued on to her car. You may want to go soon, before it’s dark. There are a lot more accidents at night than during the day, she said over her shoulder.

When she was out of earshot, Derek said lowly, Is that why you hit Stacey?

Incredulity distorted her features. What? You mean, you did something to my sister, so I do something to yours?

He nodded. Yeah.

No, you moron, she said. Stacey’s been talking a lot of trash about my family, that’s why I decked her. She’s a major ditzo flake, and she’s been saying stupid things about my mother sexually harassing your dad, or something cheerleader-ish like that, so I pushed her.

Shaking his head, he said, I know that’s not it.

Yes it is, you—creep!

You did it for revenge.

I did not!

Yes you did, O’Donnell, he said, his dark brows closing over his eyes.

No I didn’t, Teaberry, she responded, meeting him glare for glare. She stood with her feet firmly planted in the dry grass, hands on her hips, a slight breeze ruffling her blonde bangs. So what are you going to do, attack me too?

His gaze faltered. A muscle twitched in his cheek. No.

She glanced toward the parking lot. One car remained, aside from Derek’s.

No, he said, more insistently. No, I didn’t come here to do anything besides talk to you.

Well, that’s a nice change, isn’t it?

He swallowed. I came here to apologize. I didn’t think Megan would talk to me.

Imagine that.

Once again he met her hard stare. What do you want from me?

What do I want?

Yeah. Do you want to hit me? Go ahead, if it’ll make you feel better.

She bit her lip, mulling it over. Yeah, I do want to.

Then do it.

I can’t.

Why not?

It’s getting dark and I have to get home, that’s why not, she said.

By tilting his head to one side, he let his long bangs hang down nearly to his well-formed shoulder. He grimaced. Okay. Let’s go, then. He scrunched through the grass toward his car.

After a brief hesitation, she followed him. Hey, she said.

Half sliding, half tromping, he made his way down the short dirt path to the asphalt lot. Hey, what?

Nearly tripping over a rock jutting out, she ran down the trail after him. You’re not getting off that easy, you know.

Abruptly he stopped and spun around, and she bumped into him, hurriedly stepping back.

You said you didn’t want to.

I do want to, I just can’t. I promised my coach I wouldn’t get into anymore fights, she said, pushing the hair out of her eyes.

It won’t be a fight, he said. You just hit me, and then that’s it. We’re even.

She let out a breath that was part laugh, part snort. It’s not that simple, you big, stupid jock!

Why not?

Because— Slapping her thighs, she kicked a juice can that someone had flattened, and regarded him from a sideways position. You—you act like this little thing about—that if I hit you, then that makes everything okay with my sister, my twin sister, and it just doesn’t work like that, she said. I do want to hit you, kick you, make you understand that you just can’t push yourself on a girl and she’s supposed to accept it, just because that’s what you want and you’re this big, bad football-playing hunk that all the girls want to date, and she’s just some trombone-playing, quiet girl with brains who doesn’t know how to defend herself—

That’s not how it was, he said.

Yes it was!

No it wasn’t.

Her lips quivered slightly and she tightly pressed them together before asking, Then how was it, Derek?

Instead of replying, he spun away from her and strode to his car.

Again she hurried after him, drawing even with him as he reached his car, a navy blue Mustang. Her eye was caught by the sight of the other vehicle, a red Corvette. She stopped abruptly, then calmly walked over to her coach, who sat in the driver’s seat writing on a steno tablet. Hey, coach. Still here?

Judith Romero glanced up. Apparently, as I see you are, as well. Is everything okay?

Maryl glanced back over her shoulder at Derek, who sat in the Mustang but had not started it yet.

Oh, yeah, we’re fine. I mean, we’re going now. Everything’s fine, she said. Really.

The coach nodded. If you say so. I know things haven’t been going too well between your families lately, since—well, you know.

Yeah, I know. Everyone knows, she said, about Dad firing Mr. Teaberry, and all. She dropped her gaze, studying a crack in the asphalt. I guess you heard us—talking.

Didn’t hear a thing, she said. If you’re sure you’re okay?

Maryl nodded. Yes, I’m sure.

Coach Romero turned the key then, glanced once at Derek, and drove slowly from the lot.

Maryl watched the Corvette disappear around a bend.

Coming?

She turned back towards him. I reckon so.

Chapter Two

Windows

Maryl leaned into the open window. You didn’t answer my question.

He turned the key in the ignition and the radio began thumping through the bass-heavy speakers he’d had installed behind the back seat. The very air hummed with its effect. Lowering the volume, he said, I didn’t mean to hurt her.

Through the window she pulled open the door and slid into the leather bucket seat, tossing her equipment bag into the back. You need to tell her that.

I told you, she won’t listen to me.

Maryl sighed. How did it get this bad? Our fathers have been friends for years, and then—

Derek shrugged. Things happen. There isn’t much demand for appliances in little old Millerville, and people like to go to the big malls now, anyway, and super discount stores, he said. It’s really not your dad’s fault. I know he couldn’t afford to pay him anymore. I mean, my dad hasn’t really made a huge success out of his life.

She stared at him. I didn’t think you thought that way about it.

What did you think?

That you all hated us.

Derek’s meaty hand rested on the steering wheel. He stopped studying it long enough to meet her gaze. Enough to slash the tires on your car and break the plate-glass window of your store?

Dropping her eyes, she nodded. I thought you did it.

Well I didn’t, he said.

Peripherally, she caught him staring, but it wasn’t at her face… What are you staring at, you pervert? she demanded, glaring at him.

I wasn’t— He began to protest but stopped, aware that he’d been ogling her, and a wave of widening blood vessels reddened his bullish neck and face before he rescued himself by turning to gaze out his window.

Clutching the door handle, she said, Maybe I’ll walk.

Quickly he grabbed her arm. Don’t go, Maryl—

Eyeing his hand, she said, Derek, let go of my arm. She looked up at his bright eyes, dark green with tiny yellow flecks, like raw cucumber, and his slightly parted, moist lips, and the shock of blackness that was his hair—.

The breath caught in her throat.

I wasn’t going to—you don’t have to be afraid, I just— he protested.

I’m not! I just—decided that— She didn’t finish the thought. "Let go."

Freeing her arm, he dropped his impressive jaw onto his equally impressive chest. "I’m sorry. God, I’m such a jerk. He slammed the steering wheel. I’m such a complete, total, big dumb jock. I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize what—"

She had pushed the door open but paused to watch him berate himself.

I can’t believe I just did that, he said. He risked a sideways glance at her. Please don’t go. I’ll take you home, and I promise I won’t touch you, okay? Please?

She frowned. He was pleading, after all. All right. But straight home, okay? I think I’ve gotten into enough trouble lately. My mother’s about ready to send me to a juvenile detention center as it is.

As if to soothe the wild beast within, he pushed in a CD of Kenny G. The engine rumbled and then settled into its steady purr, and he nosed the sports car out onto winding Rabbit Run Road. Your mom runs a tight ship, I guess, he said. She always seems to have this overly serious look on her face. Is she a slave driver, or what?

Maryl shrugged, then decided to fasten her seatbelt. It’s the law, you know, she said, pointedly staring at him, and he did likewise. I don’t know. I guess she’s a little pushy, but only because she wants us to do well.

Well, I know what that’s like, he said. Just because my dad was this big football star in high school, I had to be the biggest, meanest, SOB you ever saw. And then I turned five and we had to move away. Grinning, he glanced over at her, but she looked the other way.

Avoiding meeting his gaze, she stared out her window, contemplating expansive fields, not yet harvested, stretching back to the hills, and dense forests, the leaves just beginning to change colors but still effective in blocking their view of the homes and the occasional farms, factories and gas stations that dotted the strip of road between Beauregard and Millerville. How about if I ask Meg if she’ll talk to you, all right? And I guess I should come over and see Stacey sometime soon.

"Ohhh . . . I forgot to tell you. She said she’d like you to stop by tonight, he said, and turned on the lights, sending the shadow-killers out to lead the way through the twilit evening. Said she wants to tell you something."

Maryl consulted her watch. It’s getting kind of late.

She said it would only take a minute, but that it was really important that she talk to you tonight.

Oh, come on, Derek. How urgent could it be, coming from her?

Hey, he said sharply.

She sighed. Oh, all right. I can stop. It’s not like they’ll actually miss me at home, or anything.

They turned onto Cedar Creek Road. The rocky creek wandered quietly in its shallow bed, running steadily, dutifully, in its unvarying route. A field rolled past on their left. It seemed as if its last crop had been harvested years before, as weeds grew wildly in the parallel troughs.

The sports car turned onto Fourth Street, rolling to a quiet halt in front of a spacious three-story house. That’s a beautiful house, she said, gazing up at the well-maintained wooden structure. It’s too bad you had to leave.

Killing the engine, he turned to face her. The people who lived there in between didn’t do any damage, he said.

That’s good. She opened the door and alighted, then followed him up the cement steps to the veranda, which spread itself across the width of the house. If you didn’t do it, who did?

Derek stooped to retrieve the evening paper. Perusing the front page, he leaned against the slatted railing and said, I don’t know. Someone who seems to be taking advantage of our dispute to wreak a little havoc of his own.

Maryl regarded the fading light above the jagged rooftops of the homes across the street. But nothing has happened to you or your family, or your property, right?

As he shook his head, the black curtain swished across his forehead, reminding her of a car wash. Nope. He wouldn’t dare. I’d kick his butt, he said. You know what my dad thinks? He thinks you’re doing it to yourselves, for sympathy.

"What? Why? Why would we do that?" She leaned on the rail next to him.

The big football player shrugged. I don’t know. Hey, Denver won. He folded the paper back in order to get a better look at the picture of John Elway cocking his arm for a pass.

That’s ridiculous, she said. It’s probably just some dumb punk with nothing better to do. It’s probably all that trash on TV and the movies with violence and sex and— Meeting his sideways gaze, she suddenly stopped, feeling her face warming under the intensity of his deep green eyes—. I mean, you know, stuff, she finished a bit lamely. Pushing off the banister, she wandered to the top of the steps and scanned the peaceful street. An SUV approached from the north end. Is that your dad’s car?

Is it a black Outback with a roof rack?

Yes, I think so.

He refolded the paper. Then I guess they’re back, he announced in a sing-song voice reminescent of the popular movie.

And if he does think that, he may not want me on his porch.

No, probably not.

Slowly turning to regard him, she sighed and said, Don’t be too concerned, or anything.

I won’t. I’ve seen you in action, he said. He dropped the paper on the indoor-outdoor floor covering, crouched into a fighter’s stance, and took a few airborne jabs.

She crossed her arms, then decided she should stand closer to him, regardless of his exaggerated evaluation of her self-defense capabilities.

Car doors slammed. They watched as Jonathon Teaberry gathered Stacey in his massive arms and carried her up the steps, his wife immediately behind him hauling a bucket of chicken. Maryl made a mental comparison and couldn’t help smiling, then bit her cheek to stop from laughing. If Derek noticed her odd look, he didn’t comment.

Daddy, I don’t think this is good for my back, Derek’s sister whined.

Well, sugarplum, it’s the only way I know to get you up the steps without you hurting yourself.

Hi, Dad, Derek said, walking towards them. Need any help?

No, son, I’ve got everything under control, he said as they reached the porch. I may go talk to Ed over at Shaughnessy’s— He halted when he saw Maryl O’Donnell. Mrs. Teaberry had one high heel on the porch and one on the step below. Derek stopped a few paces in front of them, and Maryl hung off to the side, trying to blend in with the hanging plants that clung to green life against the shortening days of autumn. She decided to retrieve the paper that Derek had dropped.

A sudden breeze riffled Derek’s mother’s shawl, lifting it from her slim shoulders.

Well, if it isn’t O’Dogbreath, Stacey said sweetly.

Her mother reprimanded her sharply. Stacey! Don’t talk like that.

"Mother, she did this to me."

Maryl stared at the azalea in the sloping, petite front yard. Like the spider plants on the porch, it drooped towards its wintry demise.

I think you’d better leave, O’Donnell, Stacey’s father said.

Jon, please, Helen Teaberry said. I’m sure Maryl didn’t come here to cause any trouble. Did you dear? She directed this question to Maryl.

No, I—

Nor to push our daughter over our wall? One wall wasn’t enough? Jon Teaberry asked.

Dad— Derek began.

It’s okay, Derek, Maryl said, touching his elbow with the rolled newspaper. I’ll just go.

Derek shook his head. No, don’t. Look, Dad, I think it’s time to make amends. That’s why Maryl came over here, to patch things up.

Maryl raised an eyebrow, gazing at the strong profile of Derek’s face.

Mr. Teaberry started to huff, but Stacey interrupted him. It’s okay, Daddy. I actually did want to talk to her, she said daintily. Briefly.

Still holding the paper, she glanced from one to the other of them, waiting for the pronouncement from the big guy. Obligingly, although not gracefully, the father of Derek and Stacey agreed. Okay. Wait here. He completed his hauling mission, with his wife and son in his wake. Derek winked at her as he traipsed past.

The sun had by now dropped just below the horizon, leaving a clear lavender backdrop to the silhouetted homes opposite. Wearing only the tee shirt she’d worn under her uniform, she shivered in the cooling autumnal air. The irony of Fourth Street revealed itself in the imperious structure at its northern end that housed the mayor and his family, when, aside from the Teaberrys, all of the other families on the narrow lane lived in simple block houses and made do with cars five or more years old. At its southern end, Fourth Street descended geographically as well as economically into a narrow valley strewn with hovels, some abandoned, and barely-maintained homes to the poorest of the many poor in Millerville. Factory workers once lived if not well there, at least not badly; at least they used to repair the holes in the roofs and cut the grass and keep a coat of paint on the walls—

Her dismal reverie was interrupted by the door opening. Jonathon Teaberry emerged, still glowering like an ill-tempered jack-o-lantern. Why did you come here, you little thug?

It wasn’t my idea, believe me. Defensively, she clutched the paper.

Don’t give me any lip, girl, or I will give you the back of my hand.

And a big one it is. She mentally elbowed herself. Derek asked me.

Oh, did he now? You going to holler rape, too?

Her grip on the paper tightened with the tensing of her jaw as she bit back several retorts and barely kept herself from slapping him, which would have given him a good excuse to knock her over his wall. Instead she swallowed. No. You heard Stacey—she wants to talk to me. I don’t know why.

Couldn’t it wait until tomorrow?

"That’s what I said."

He pressed his lips together. Well, go in then, but keep it brief. The dark hair showed gray, the square jaw harbored loose flesh, but when he stood so close, she understood how the 6'2" mass of hard muscle and thick gut had gotten mostly what he wanted over the years, not to mention the many quarterbacks who must have dreaded seeing him across the line of scrimmage. The slate gray eyes did not invite an argument.

She followed him into the house, where he retired to the living room. Derek, she saw through the doorway, sat in the kitchen slicing onions. Looking up, he rubbed his tearing eyes. She’s at the top of the steps, first door on the left.

Thanks, she said. You know, if you slice from the other end, it doesn’t hurt as much.

Maryl climbed the broad staircase. Its well-worn wooden banister began in the front hall, circled around the middle floor and disappeared into the nether regions of the third, behind a dark wooden door.

The portal Derek had indicated blushed pinkly and denied easy access, so she knocked.

A high-pitched query: Who is it?

Grimacing, Maryl said, It’s me, the one you hate.

Oh. Well, come on in anyway.

Opening the door revealed more shades of rose, mauve, blush and salmon than Maryl knew existed. Fuzzy things stared blankly at her from every available shelf, the larger stuffed animals situated in the corners of a room a third again as large as the one she and Megan shared.

Stacey languished in a rose-colored, queen-sized bed, enmeshed in at least five princess-sized pillows, a flowery comforter and a hot pad whose cord ran to an outlet hidden behind the massive oak head piece. She pouted under a barrage of foundation, lipstick, eyeshadow and whatnot, all tainted some annoying shade of pink. This thingy-ma-do is really too hot, she said, struggling with her props. Could you kindly yell that down to my dear mother?

Why don’t you just slide the blanket between you and it?

Oh. That might work. Stacey continued to try reaching around her back without bending her arms, and it did not work.

Her reluctant visitor sauntered over to her. Here. Maryl placed an arm under the cheerleader’s back and pulled the spread over the heating device, then sidled to the window and stared out at the backyard, where a small garden withered.

Why thank you. That feels much better, Stacey said brightly. I guess I won’t—

You can cut the act, Stacey. I’m not your next hot date.

Act?

The airheaded cheerleader routine. I’m not up to it right now.

Stacey dropped her tone an octave. Oh. That act.

Completing her survey of the yard, she turned back to cotton-candy land. So did you want to tell me something, or not?

Well, I… How’s everything? Stacey studied her mauve nails.

On the oak night stand stood a squat lamp with roses and frilly fringes. She asked, What’s with you all this pink crap, anyway? It’s making me nauseous.

I like it.

Frowning, Maryl said, Yeah, whatever. Since you asked, four new tires and a store window set us back a ways, your brother’s taken to pushing my sister around, and your father just threatened to beat me up. Is that bad enough, or are you going to stick pins in my voodoo doll tonight, after I leave? She wandered to the expansive dresser with its ornate attached mirror, and met Stacey’s reflected gaze.

You act like it’s my fault.

You sent Linda after me, didn’t you? Did you pay her, or what?

Her stare held a surprise that seemed genuine. Linda? McCrory?

The one and only, praise the Lord.

I didn’t put her up to anything, Stacey protested. You know she’d take any excuse to tangle with you.

Maryl’s gaze swiveled around to the stuffed company Stacey kept. Yeah, well. She bit her lip, combed her hair with her fingers, then turned back and shuffled to the nightstand. The lamp’s thick shade lent a soft glow to the room, which with the encroaching darkness had likewise sprouted shadows, and she contemplated the deep rose of the carpet before saying, Anyway, I did want to—I mean, I came over to say I’m sorry. She glanced at an oversized Teddy bear. I’m sorry I knocked you down. I don’t think I was really trying to hurt you. Well, maybe just a little—but not this badly, she said, and backed towards the door. I hope you’ll be okay. She turned and grabbed the door knob.

I’ll be okay, she said softly. I’m more concerned about my dad. You know how he gets when things aren’t going well. She patted the covers in front of her as if attempting to push out the wrinkles. And then there’s Derek. Thinks he’s God’s gift to girls, she said. Except you, of course.

Having opened the door, Maryl closed it again and faced her. What?

He thinks you don’t like him.

I don’t.

Yeah, right. You’ve liked him since you were twelve. She smirked.

Thirteen, she said too quickly. I mean, I was thirteen, you were twelve, when you moved back here. She grimaced. Anyway, he’s a jerk, and I have to go.

Wait, Maryl. I think you should know—

With a sigh, she again pushed the door closed. What?

I heard something…

You heard what from whom about what?

I heard—from someone—about you, your family, she said. That something is going to happen.

Tonight, right? After Stacey nodded, Maryl laughed and shook her head. You’ve been reading too many Harlequin Romances, Stacey, she said, and opened the door for the last time.

No, I mean it. He will!

Wheeling, Maryl asked, Who, Stacey, who? Who’s telling you this, and what do you really know, and what are you making up, and why would you tell me this anyway—whether it’s true or not, why would you even bother telling me, knowing I’m not going to believe a word you say anyway? Huh, tell me that, you frizzy-haired brainless pink maniac!

Stacey’s Malibu lips parted under her pert nose and furrowed brow. It’s true, she said, her voice a mere whisper. Some girl told me. She told me other things, and she was right. She said someone’s going to break into the—

No, you’re lying.

Yes! The store, she said triumphantly, and sank back into the pillows. The phone suddenly rang, its pink bulb lighting up.

My back hurts, so go away, she said to Maryl. And don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Stacey answered the phone with her high-on-helium ditziness, and Maryl took her leave.

Chapter Three

Night Burns

On the painting in the foyer two uniformed men grappled over an odd-shaped leather ball, the artist’s flamboyant brush lending slashing motion to the close-up shot of their sweating faces. The painter captured a deadly animosity in the defender’s eye and a touch of dread in the ball-carrier’s.

Tearing her eyes from the picture, Maryl rounded the stair and headed for the over-sized kitchen, where Derek now stood tossing a salad. Sure you won’t stay for dinner? he asked.

No, I can’t. I really should get home.

Wiping his hands on a towel, he said, You can call first.

What, and warn them I’m coming?

Derek strode into the hallway. Where’s your bag?

With a groan, she said, Oh, great. I left it at the field.

Forming an O with his mouth, he flicked his forefinger against his taut cheek, creating a popping sound. We can go get it and then I can drop you off at home, he offered. It’s not that far.

Startled, she paused to stare at him. I kind of wanted to swing by the store, she said. Stacey said—well, that somebody might hit it again. I don’t know if I believe her, but I’d still like to check.

He shrugged, glancing up at his mother descending the stairs. Hey, mom. I’m going to take Maryl back to the field—she left her stuff there—and then back home, if that’s okay?

Helen Teaberry smiled and said, Sure, honey. She had changed into peach sweats and flat house shoes. Just be careful of the deer.

Derek nodded and gave her a quick hug. ‘Kay. ‘Bye.

Thanks, Maryl said to her and followed Derek out the door.

Once they were en route, Derek asked, So exactly what did Stacey say? Before she had a chance to answer, he began making popping sounds with his cheek again, only this time he varied the size of the O to create different noises. It sounded like a song that should remain unwritten.

She watched him. What are you doing?

Abruptly, he stopped. Nothing.

Maryl sighed and ran a hand through her blonde shags. She didn’t really specify. Just that someone was going to break in, or something, but I’m sure dad installed burglar alarms by now, she said. At least I hope so. Although, he likes to think of Millerville as this nice little hoe-down town where nobody ever steals or breaks windows or slashes tires, she said ironically. So maybe he didn’t.

The tiny green lights of the dashboard dramatized the firmness of his profile. He frowned, the dark stubble on his jaw creating a dark valley below his lower lip. He glanced at her. Where did she hear that?

Maryl shrugged. I don’t know, but she mentioned that ‘she’ was right before.

She was right before what?

"No. Stacey said that someone else was right before, so it’s probably true this time, too."

Right about what?

Are you watching out for the deer? I don’t know about what, Maryl said, rubbing her arms.

Derek flicked on the heater and the radio; Sheryl Crow was pining about the shortcomings of family life at Home. I saw a dead one a little ways back, he replied. I suppose she’s talking about the other vandalism.

Yeah, I guess. Abruptly, she peered around the head rest into the back seat. Oh, Derek.

Oh, what?

Guess what’s in the back seat?

Your gym bag?

Uh-huh. She turned back around again. Sorry.

After verifying that her navy blue nylon carrier slumped on the narrow back seat, he began searching for a turnaround. Gee. Didn’t you take your medicine today, or what?

She sighed. Funny, ha-ha. She decided to change the subject. Your mom seems pretty nice.

Yeah, I guess.

Maryl stared out at the darkness as they headed back towards downtown Millerville. A half-moon crept among scattered spongy clouds, lending little assistance to their goal of following Mrs. Teaberry’s directive to avoid the wildlife. Quietly, she asked, Why did you do it?

She felt his sideways glance but didn’t meet it.

He didn’t answer immediately. I was just—I was trying to get her to listen to me, he said slowly. I didn’t plan to do anything to her. I wanted to explain that it wasn’t me doing it, the window and the tires, but she wouldn’t listen, so I—I grabbed her hands and— He stopped himself. Maryl watched as he swallowed, pressing his lips together before plunging ahead. I—pushed her against the wall, and, I, well, it just sort of happened— Again he stopped, and stared resolutely out his window. I had a, you know, reaction, and one thing just sort of follows another, and—

Okay, Derek.

Sharply, he shifted his gaze towards her. What?

"I don’t mean it’s okay, it’s not okay—I mean okay I don’t want to hear anymore, that’s what I meant!"

His frown deepened.

Aside from which, this is a stop sign, not a red light, she added.

Oh. Removing his foot from the brake, he nosed the sports car through the intersection. No other vehicles moved along the narrow asphalt and brick streets. Streetlights drew a lonely picture of guardianship against the encroaching darkness.

At the next stop sign, he turned left onto a shaded lane sided by closely-aligned homes and several family-owned businesses, one of which boasted a neon sign reading O’Donnell’s Appliances. As he pulled to the curb in front, Maryl remarked, We should stay open later. I wouldn’t mind coming here after practice instead of going home.

A lightless streetlight hung down from the telephone pole between O’Donnells’ Appliances and Lakeview Gardens, the apartment building next door. The lake, as well as the garden, were strictly in the imaginations of the owners. Aside from Cedar Creek, the only water of any volume in the area belonged to the Weston Water Authority and could hardly be considered a lake. The garden consisted of unkempt hedges and two flower pots hugging the steps. One renter’s window emitted the local pop-rock station’s deejay happily predicting rain the next day.

Maryl stared out her window at the newest pane; unlike its older neighbors, it clearly reflected the shiny finish on Derek’s car. Inside, a small tube light illuminated the area behind the counter, leaving in shadow most of the refrigerators, stoves, washing machines, and other domestic equipment.

It looked quiet and unharmed, yet Maryl felt an inexplicable chill.

It looks okay to me, Derek said, as if reading her mind.

She reached in the back seat and retrieved her jacket from her duffel bag. Slipping into it, she said, There’s a fire escape that leads to the second floor, where there’s a room full of old furniture. The previous renters sold used furniture, took off when they could no longer afford the rent, and left it there. My parents can’t seem to figure out what to do with it. She turned to him. We could take a look around the back, and if everything’s cool, we’ll just go home, okay?

His broad shoulders rose and fell. Okay.

They alighted and closed the doors nearly in unison. On the sidewalk, they stopped and listened, but heard only the latest pop music from the renter and the distant sound of a train. Maryl started towards the dark passage between the brick buildings, stopping at the corner. She whispered, There’s also a big metal door for deliveries, but it can only be opened from the inside. A cool wind whispered through the passage, kicking up a few leaves and bits of trash. Maryl gazed up at the electrical wires wavering in the night air, then looked at Derek, who pushed ahead of her. "Come on," he said impatiently.

Pausing to glance behind her, Maryl followed him.

By the time they reached the end of the building, the wind’s gentle murmuring had ceased. Directly in front of them, the small cinder lot gave way to the alley, which lay in shattered-glass, pot-holed abandonment, with deep shadows and nameless brick structures that blocked the nearest light.

Warily, they peered into the murkiest corners of the lot. It was blocked in on three sides by low-slung garages and the back of the store; narrow metal stairs led to the appliance store’s second floor.

His athletic shoe crunching on the cinders, Derek turned