Perfect Alibi. Melody Carlson

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       THREE

      As she took a quick shower—the first one she’d had since Kestra’s murder—she couldn’t keep her mind from replaying the events of the past few days. Would she always be haunted by fear? Mallory hurried to redress in the same work outfit she’d worn the past two days. It was what she used to call one of her “grown-up” ensembles, part of a limited wardrobe her mother had helped her to acquire when she’d gotten hired as an intern for the Channel Six News. “Dress for the job you want,” Mom had wisely advised. Mallory had done so...and she’d eventually landed a fantastic job...but where had it gotten her?

      She frowned at her pathetic reflection. A worn-out looking brunette in a rumpled linen suit and a pale green blouse that was anything but fresh. As she pinned her still-damp hair into a messy bun, she wondered why she’d told Mom to donate her old clothes to the resell shop last spring. Did she really think she’d never need her small-town wardrobe again? Plaid shirts and denim jackets were suddenly appealing. Comfortable and practical and much better than a bright orange jumpsuit. Not that she’d done anything criminal, although everyone seemed determined to pin something on her. Even when she’d told Detective Doyle she wanted to go home, she’d been warned not to leave the state.

      Curious about the state of the fire, she went back outside to check. Although it was barely five, the western horizon was gray with morning light—and she still hadn’t slept a wink. And felt pretty sure she couldn’t sleep now. Or ever. A dozen or so firefighters were still at work and although there were various chimneys of smoldering smoke, no flames were visible. Mallory sat down in a front porch wicker rocker, staring down at a large metal pot of pale pink geraniums and trying to remember a time when life had been good. But nothing came to her. All she felt was a bone-deep sort of numbness.

      She considered calling her dad. Chances were they’d reached Iowa by now—unless they were still on their way. But she had a feeling that if she heard his voice she would fall apart—and he would turn around and come back home again. Of course, that’s what she wanted...but she knew it was selfish. Her parents rarely took real vacations, rarely traveled anywhere outside of the state. And as soon as they found out about all of this...first Kestra...then this fire...well, she knew that would be the end of their big trip.

      Hearing footsteps, she looked up to see Logan McDaniel strolling purposefully toward her. To her surprise, her spirits lifted ever so slightly as she watched him approach. It was as if his mere presence breathed a spark of life back into her. Or maybe it was hope. Whatever the case, she was grateful.

      It was interesting to see him by the light of day. Still as tall as she remembered from high school, he appeared a little more filled out now. Dressed in his firefighter gear, he looked ruggedly handsome, and his long slow stride suggested a steady sort of confidence. This man was comfortable in his own skin. While a part of her admired this trait, another part of her was disturbed by it. It was this same quality that had first drawn her to Brock and a frightened little voice inside her head warned her to watch out.

      “It’s a hundred percent contained,” Logan announced as he came up to the porch. Leaning against a post he peered down at her. “It should be completely out in a couple of hours.”

      “That’s great news.” She forced an uneasy smile. “Thanks.”

      “Just doing my job.” He gave her a handsome grin, revealing even white teeth. “You clean up nicely.”

      “Thanks.” She slowly stood, folding her arms in front of her.

      “Are you okay?” he asked with a slight frown.

      She bit her lip, unsure of how to respond. Okay? That was not how she would describe anything related to her life right now. Definitely Not Okay.

      “I don’t mean to intrude, Mallory, but you seem uneasy or upset, like something’s СКАЧАТЬ