Fires of Revenge

Fires of Revenge

By Ruth Ann Hixson

Copyrighted by Ruth Ann Hixson 2013

All rights reserved

Published by Ruth Ann Hixson at Smashwords

This novel is fiction and all the names and locations are from the author's imagination. If actual locations are used, they are used in a fictional way. The names are all creations of the author and are not from any real person, living or dead.

Cover image by Dreamstime.com

Cover text by Betsy Riley

This ebook is licensed for your enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it or it was not purchased for your use only, please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Ruth Ann Hixson

I have lived my entire life in Central Pennsylvania. I have been making up stories as long as I can remember. I always had a story going on in my head. At age 40, I began writing them down. I knew I needed to build a portfolio of my writing so I went to college at age 42. They didn't have a credit course for creative writing so I studied journalism. After I graduated, I worked as a newspaper journalist until I had to quit because of health issues. I began writing in my spare time but I didn't try very hard to get published. Then along came the internet and self publishing. It was just what I needed to jump start my freelance writing career.

Chapter 1

Amy Hollister sat in her car shaking uncontrollably. She didn't know how she had missed hitting the car that cut her off out on the four lane. It was a blue car, was all she could tell the state trooper who stopped when he saw her car against the guardrail. She had managed to drive home and now sat in her driveway.

No sense in sitting here, she breathed as she undid her seat belt and pushed herself to her feet dragging her purse after her. She walked around to look at the damage to her vintage dark blue Mustang. She tried the passenger side door; it wouldn't open.

Fumbling for her house key, she walked up the steps to her front door. All she needed to do was grab her grocery list and be on her way. She unlocked the door, stepped inside and froze. Papers and books littered the living room floor. The cushions from the couch were sliced open. It was happening again. She thought she'd left it all behind in California. Panic enveloped her as she backed out the door and yanked it shut. Her heart was beating double time as she ran for her car. She locked herself inside and dug her cell phone from her purse to dial 911.

She could hardly speak when the man answered. Someone, she began. Someone t-trashed my house. Please send the police. She gave him her location. I'm in my car. I was afraid to go any farther than the door.

That's good, he assured her. The police should be there in a couple of minutes. Just take a deep breath and give me as much information as you can until the police arrive. He kept her talking until the police cruiser pulled in her driveway ten minutes later.

The police parked behind her car and two uniformed officers got out. She put down the window and told them, I didn't lock the door back. I was too scared. Do you want me to go along in with you?

Stay put, the cop said. His blue shirt had corporal stripes on its long sleeves. You go around back, he told the other cop.

Amy watched him as he walked up the porch steps, pulling his gun before he opened the door. He moved with such self assurance, such confidence.

Sam Elliot noted that there was a scarcity of furniture as he passed through what should be a dining room to the kitchen. He wondered why there was so little furniture. He unlocked the back door to let the other cop in.

No sign of forced entry. The other cop said as he came through the French door. Sam retraced his steps and they went through the house checking all the rooms.

Look at this, Rookie Marty Radcliff said as he stood at the doorway to Amy's bedroom.

Sam came to look. An inflatable, life-size doll hung from the ceiling fan over the bed. The doll was dressed in a white tee shirt and plaid boxer shorts with glasses taped to its head which was topped by a dark brown wig.

Sam pressed the button on his shoulder mike. Send a crime scene unit and a detective to 4-3-9 W. Nelson Avenue. This looks like more than a random break-in.

Sam said, I better go get some information from the victim. You keep an eye on the scene.

Sam approached the car where Amy waited. I need to ask you some questions, he said. Would you mind coming back to the squad car? He opened the door for her.

Why don't we just go inside?

Not yet. Wait until the crime scene unit and the detective get here.

W-why? Amy thought she sounded like a scared kid.

Sam took her elbow and guided her to the passenger side of the cruiser on which the red and blue lights flashed. She slid onto the seat as he closed the door and went around to the driver's side. He took a yellow legal size tablet from the dash. I'm Corporal Sam Elliot. He wrote the date and time at the top of the page. Name?

Amy Hollister.

Do you live here alone?

Amy answered, Yes.

He wrote the address below her name. Phone numbers. House and cell.

Amy gave him both numbers. Did you find anyone in the house?

"No. Nothing seemed to be out of place in the kitchen, bathroom and the rooms used for storage. How long have you lived here?

Two weeks.

Where did you live before that?

The Star Budget Motel.

Before that.

Amy gave him her California address. My brother lives there now.

He nodded. Employer?

The federal government.

That opened his blue eyes wide. What department?

FBI.

Are you an agent?

No. Support staff. I have low-level classified clearance. I just transferred here from the west coast. Amy sat with her hands clasped tightly together.

A van pulled in behind the police car and a young woman came up to knock on his window. He put it down. You can go on in. Radcliff's in there.

Elliot went back to his questions. Do you have any enemies?

Why? What did you find?

Just calm down. Please answer the question.

Not in Pennsylvania.

In California?

I wouldn't call them enemies. We just didn't agree. I thought it best to leave so I asked to be transferred east. So now I work in Philadelphia.

What was the subject of your disagreement?

My husband's death. I don't think the police investigated it thoroughly enough. They called it suicide and closed the case. I think he was murdered. The case stayed closed and I argued with Mark's family and mine. They told me to accept it and let it go. I can't. Mark and I had some problems but we were working through them. I won't believe he killed himself. I won't!

Someone rapped on his window. He put it down. Radcliff's inside, was all he said.

His next question was like a kick in the stomach. What was your husband wearing at the time of his death?

A tee shirt and boxer shorts.

Glasses?

No. He wasn't wearing his glasses and I never found them in the house. Why?

Were they rimless glasses?

Yes. Why?

Someone hung an inflatable doll in your bedroom. It is attired in a tee shirt and boxer shorts with rimless glasses taped to its head and a brown wig.

Amy felt the blood drain away from her face. He grabbed her behind her neck and forced her to lean forward. Keep your head down until the dizziness passes, he ordered.

I'm okay, she said when the dizziness left and she could think rationally again. When he moved his hand away from her neck, she sat up and said, I want to see those glasses.

You can't go in there until the crime scene unit is finished.

The hell I can't. It's my house. She opened the car door and headed up the walk to the front door.

He came after her and grabbed his arm to spin her around. You can't...

Take your hand off me, she ordered. I'm the victim here not a person of interest. Besides, if I can't stay here tonight, I need to pack a bag.

He let her go and followed her inside.

Sgt. Shawn Albert turned around when he heard the door. Ma'am, you can't come in here now. The crime scene unit isn't finished.

Sergeant Albert, Sam said, meet Amy Hollister, the owner of this house and she will let you know it.

Ms. Hollister, your house is now a crime scene...

"That's Mrs. Hollister. I'm a widow. This is my house and I have a deed to prove it. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to pack a bag so I can go to a motel until I am allowed back in my house." She stalked off to the bedroom where she found a woman with blond hair standing on the bed which was devoid of its comforter. She was taking pictures of the inflated doll's head.

Amy stared at the glasses; Mark's glasses. She was sure of it. She choked back tears and asked in a husky voice, May I see those glasses?

The woman looked around. Who are you?

"I could ask that question, too, seeing that you're standing on my bed."

I'm Amanda Carroll with CSU. I can't let you handle the glasses until they've been processed. You aren't wearing gloves.

I'm Mrs. Hollister. I live here. Those look like my late husband's glasses. I'd like a closer look at them. I want to look through the lenses to know if they're really his.

Amanda stepped down and pulled gloves from her kit. Handle them by the edges so as not to mess up any residual evidence.

Sgt. Albert burst into the room. Mrs. Hollister, you have to leave. You'll mess up the crime scene.

Amanda looked around at him. You're messing it up worse than she is. She's being careful.

Amy looked through the lenses and sat down on the bed. They're Mark's. She gave the glasses back to Amanda. Now I know what happened to them. Whoever killed him took them and they show up here, three thousand miles away. Tears began to trickle down her face. Why? Why did someone kill him? He was a good man.

Elliot! Albert yelled. Take her to the station until we get done here.

Amy stiffened when Sam came into the room. She didn't like these men messing around in her bedroom. I need to pack a bag; you can wait in the living room.

Amanda winked at him. I'll keep an eye on her. Actually I could use a little help getting this creature down.

Sam looked at the dangling doll. Deflate it. Then you can roll it up and bag it. You'll want to lay down a cloth to catch anything that drops from it.

Thanks, Elliot, for telling me how to do my job.

He grinned. Always glad to help a lady.

Amy wiped away her tears and hauled a suitcase from the closet and set it on her bed. When Amanda wasn't watching, she slipped her 9 mil into a suit jacket pocket and put it in her suitcase. She had a permit to carry anywhere in the United States. She had taken shooting lessons when she worked for the ATF in L.A. After she packed enough clothing to last a couple of days, she went to the bathroom for her toothbrush and other toiletries. Stuffing them in her bag, she zipped it shut. All ready. I'll need to take my car so I can go to the motel.

Sam straightened from where he leaned in the doorway. I'll drive it for you. Marty can drive the squad car back to the station. Right now he's putting up crime scene tape. Some cars will have to be moved.

No they don't. You can drive through the car port and right across the lawn to the alley.

With the owner's permission. He picked up her bag and went to the living room with Amy following him. He explained to Albert what he planned. Then he escorted Amy to her car.

His hand on her arm felt so strong. An incongruous thought zipped through her brain. She wished he would hold her in his arms to comfort her. It had been so long since she's had someone to care for her.

After he stowed her suitcase on the back seat, Sam held the driver's door for Amy. Scoot over, he said after she sat on the driver's seat. He slid behind the wheel and reached down for the lever to move the seat back. Why did you park back here instead of under the car port?

I forgot to put my grocery list in my purse this morning. I just stopped by to get it. She went on to tell him about the near miss out on the four lane.

Did that trooper have a name? Sam put the car in gear and drove through the car port.

His name tag said Evans.

Okay. I know him. I'll talk to him tomorrow.

I thought Albert is in charge of this investigation. Amy looked across at his handsome profile in the fading light.

Albert is an arrogant asshole. You didn't hear that from me. Sam angled the car to make the turn onto the narrow alley. He jammed on the brake and shoved the car in reverse as a blue car shot out of the