Chapter 18 - Fire in the Snow
By the time I reached Reed Recovery, fire trucks blocked the county road.
For one horrible second, I believed I was too late.
Then I saw the warehouse.
Still standing.
Wet from fire hoses.
Smoke drifting across the roof.
A blackened line ran along the back wall where flames had climbed twenty feet before the sprinkler system and volunteer fire department stopped them.
Richard stood near an ambulance with soot on his coat.
I ran toward him.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“What happened?”
“Motion alarm went off at four-fifty. I was already awake.”
Of course he was.
Dad had slept above that warehouse for two years.
He smelled smoke, came downstairs, saw flames along the rear wall, and pulled the emergency alarm before calling 911.
“You went outside?”
“To shut the propane isolation valve.”
I stared at him.
“You ran toward a burning building?”
“It was feeding the repair heaters.”
“You could’ve died.”
“So could twenty firefighters if that tank cooked.”
There was no arguing with that.
I hugged him anyway.
He froze.
Then wrapped both arms around me.
We had never been a hugging family.
Apparently attempted arson changed habits.
Marcus Bell arrived with federal financial investigators who had joined the case after reviewing Cynthia’s hard drive.
By sunrise, investigators found two gasoline containers beyond the fence.
One carried a partial fingerprint.
The other had been wiped.
A camera at a neighboring farm captured a dark pickup leaving at 4:41.
Bell showed me the image.
“Lawson?”
“Vehicle registered to his brother.”
“Close enough.”
“For me, maybe. Not for court.”
Bell’s phone rang.
His expression changed while listening.
“Where?”
He walked away.
Harper arrived twenty minutes later.
Then Eleanor.
Then Adam and Milo.
Mom stood staring at the burned siding.
“This family really doesn’t know how to have a quiet year.”
I laughed despite myself.
Even Richard smiled.
Milo looked at the fire engines.
“Uncle Nolan, did bad guys burn your shop?”
Adam crouched beside him.
“We don’t know exactly what happened yet.”
Milo considered that.
Then he held up the toy tow truck I had given him.
“You can use mine.”
That nearly broke me.
I took the little truck.
“Thanks, buddy.”
Harper stood several feet away.
She had been crying.
“I’m testifying.”
I looked at her.
“At the civil hearing?”
“At everything.”
“Melissa told you not to make decisions while emotional.”
“I’m not.”
She wiped her face.
“I spent my whole life making decisions based on fear. Fear people wouldn’t think I was rich enough. Pretty enough. Successful enough.”
She looked toward Richard.
“Fear Dad would stop loving me if I wasn’t his perfect daughter.”
Richard stepped closer.
“I never should’ve made love feel like a reward.”
Harper nodded.
“And I never should’ve used your love like a credit card.”
Nobody knew what to say after that.
Bell returned.
“We found Lawson.”
“Where?”
“Hospital in Logansport.”
I frowned.
“What happened?”
“He wrecked the pickup.”
“Running?”
“Looks like it.”
Lawson had lost control on an icy county road less than an hour after the fire started.
His injuries were not life-threatening.
Police found gloves in the cab.
Bolt cutters.
A gasoline receipt.
And a disposable phone.
One outgoing call had been made at 4:36 a.m.
To Glen Mercer.
By noon, Mercer was arrested.
Not convicted.
Not defeated.
But arrested.
His attorney immediately claimed Lawson acted alone.
Then MidState filed another motion.
They argued Mercer’s criminal investigation had nothing to do with their lawful ownership of the debt.
The civil case would continue.
Melissa called it “aggressive nonsense.”
But the judge scheduled an emergency hearing anyway.
Monday.
Three days.
If we lost, MidState could potentially place a receiver over the disputed property and disrupt business operations while the case continued.
That evening, I stood in the damaged warehouse with Vern.
He ran his hand over a charred support beam.
“I built this place in 1989.”
“Still standing.”
“Barely.”
“So are we.”
Vern smiled.
Then his expression changed.
“There’s something I should’ve told you.”
I turned.
“What?”
“When I bought this land, there was a dispute over the southern boundary.”
“So?”
“I had a special title policy written.”
My heart began beating faster.
“Where is it?”
“Safe-deposit box.”
“Vern.”
“I forgot.”
“You forgot a title policy while we’re fighting a fraudulent deed?”
“I’m seventy-four.”
“That’s your excuse?”
“It’s a damn good one.”
He smiled.
May you like
Then he became serious.
“If that policy says what I think it says, Mercer’s whole property claim may collapse Monday morning.”
