LITMIR.BIZ

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to her past and locking it tight. But she still loved her mother, and despite Janine’s plea that Harmony never call again, she believed that her mother still loved her, at least whatever part of Janine Stoddard’s heart and soul were still alive and functioning. Trying to forget her was a betrayal, and Harmony’s mother had already been betrayed much too often.

      She wished Lottie would wake up to stop her, or the front door would slam and Rilla and her sons would entice her into the kitchen to chat while Rilla made dinner. But the house remained silent, and with a sigh she typed in the URL and once the right page was on the screen in front of her, she typed “Stoddard” into the search box and waited.

      No matter how pessimistic or realistic she was about her mother’s future, the headline that came up in response stole the breath from her lungs.

      “House Fire Still Smoldering After Devastating Propane Tank Explosion.”

      For a moment she simply stared at the screen as the words she had read out loud blurred. Was this a mistake? Was the name “Stoddard” mentioned elsewhere on the page and that was why she had been led here? Surely that had to be the explanation. There were other stories in the sidebar, advertisements at the top and at the bottom a site menu.

      But even while she tried to avoid reading the article, she knew.

      Time passed until she realized she was only making things worse by waiting. She steeled herself and read the article out loud, as if pronouncing the words would somehow make sense of them.

      “Topeka Fire Department crews were called to the site of a fire in Pawnee Parkland after an underground propane tank exploded on Saturday, about three a.m., rocking the rural neighborhood and triggering more than a dozen phone calls, said fire investigator Randy Blankenship.

      “The first crew to arrive at the scene established a safety perimeter that prevented immediate investigation, and only after three hours was the department able to control the blaze. A long-standing drought coupled with the powerful explosion of the tank contributed to the difficulty. By nine a.m., the worst of the fire was extinguished, but by then the house had been destroyed.

      “The cause of the blaze is under investigation, and there is no information about the fate of the owners, Rex and Janine Stoddard, who have lived at the address for more than two decades.”

      The house Harmony had grown up in. Gone? Just like that? And her parents?

      She stared at the screen, and only then did she notice that the article was a week old. A week had passed, a week in which she had spread manure, rocked Lottie to sleep and canned two dozen quarts of apple butter.

      A week in which her mother hadn’t been alive in faraway Kansas.

      Only then, as tears flooded her eyes, did she realize the article was linked to another more recent one.

      She forced herself to click, but she couldn’t look at the screen, not yet. Not when she felt sure she knew what it would say.

      The front door slammed, and she heard the shrill voices of little boys heading through the front hall. She had only moments before she was interrupted. She forced her eyes open and stared, scanning the synopsis of information she already knew at the beginning of the article. Then she focused on silently reading the update.

      Investigators are still trying to determine if anyone died in the blaze. Cadaver dogs have been brought in and continue to search, but the home’s residents, Rex and Janine Stoddard, remain unaccounted for at this time.

      “You doing okay, Harmony?” a voice asked from the doorway. “Taylor’s not here yet?”

      Harmony wiped her eyes with the back of her hand before she turned in the desk chair. “Rilla, I think my mother’s dead.”

      If someday Hollywood scouted the Asheville countryside for the perfect farm wife, Rilla Reynolds, clothed today in overalls, would easily be chosen. She was stocky but not overweight, easy to look at without being either plain or pretty. Her face was rectangular, her nose snubbed, and her brown eyes searched for answers even when she was engaging in small talk.

      This wasn’t small talk.

      “Did you get a phone call?” she asked, coming to stand beside Harmony and placing her hand on her younger friend’s shoulder for comfort. Then, before Harmony could answer, she shook her head. “Of course not. Nobody in Topeka knows you’re here.”

      “I found this on the internet.” Harmony got up, as much to put distance between herself and the computer screen as to give Rilla a chance to read it.

      Rilla took the chair, slowly bending her knees until she was finally sitting. From some distant point in her mind, Harmony realized that Rilla had already been on her feet too long today and would pay the price when she tried to sleep tonight.

      Rilla silently read the article. Then she swiveled to face Harmony. “That’s the house you grew up in?”

      Harmony nodded, thankful that Rilla hadn’t called it a home.

      “They haven’t found a body yet. You saw that part?”

      Harmony nodded again.

      Rilla never danced around anything. “I guess it’s possible the fire was so extreme they never will, but it’s also possible nobody was home.”

      “My parents don’t go anywhere except a cabin up north where my father can fish, and my mother can wait on him. They always do that during the first week in June, not September. If my father has to be away for work, it’s usually only for a night, and he never takes my mother. She’s always in that house unless she’s making a quick trip to the grocery store.”

      “You haven’t been home in how long?”

      Harmony shrugged, because doing math right now was impossible. “I’m twenty-three. I left right after high school graduation.”

      “That’s years, Harmony. And you don’t talk to your parents. Maybe things have changed.”

      “Sure, maybe my father found Jesus.” Harmony paused. “Or a different Jesus than the one he claimed he found years ago. You know, the Jesus who insisted that he beat my mother into submission if she planted petunias when he preferred marigolds.”

      “People can change.”

      Harmony considered that, but not for long. “He likes himself too much to think there might be a reason to.”

      “No family they might be visiting?”

      “My mother has no family, and my father only has distant cousins. They stay far away from him, which shows there might be good sensible people on the Stoddard side and my genes aren’t complete poison.” She heard the bitterness in her voice, but she didn’t care. She would deal with her father’s death if she had to, but right now her only concern was for her mother.

      Rilla was assessing the situation, looking past Harmony’s shoulder as her mind whirled. Harmony could see it in her eyes. Rilla was compassionate and empathetic, but right now Rilla-the-problem-solver was in play.

      “I think we ought to call Brad at the office and get him to make inquiries. You don’t want to give yourself away, and Brad will know how to go about doing it so the call isn’t traced back to you.”

      Harmony wasn’t sure what to say. Brad Reynolds was a lawyer, and a good one. She needed answers. She just didn’t feel ready for them.

      “It will take him some time,” Rilla said, reading her expression. “You’ll have time to prepare.”

      “He could have killed her. Finally. He could have set the fire and locked her inside to die, or killed her first and set the fire to cover what he’d done.”

      Rilla grimaced. “Don’t jump to conclusions. It’s not going to help if you make up scenarios.”

      Harmony knew Rilla was right. And could her father do something that horrible? Abuse was one thing, but murder? Yet wasn’t that the path abusive men took? Especially

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