Dead as a Door Knocker Page 6

  I felt along until my fingers reached the inside edge of the door. Would I find the left door closed, too?

  When my hand moved into an empty gap, I knew the left door was open. Thank the stars!

  I crawled forward and—BAM!—promptly smashed my face against the door. Looked like it had only been open a few inches.

  BEEP-BEEP-BEEP!

  I swept the door open and reached my arm into the closet to feel around.

  Nothing.

  Nothing.

  Nothing.

  Fur!

  CHAPTER 11

  CRY OF THE DEMONS

  SAWDUST

  BEEP-BEEP-BEEP!

  Sawdust could see nothing through the smoke, but he could hear the ceiling demons’ piercing war cry. He hunkered down in the corner of the closet, shrinking back, trying to make himself as small as he could.

  BEEP-BEEP-BEEP!

  Though he could see nothing, he heard an odd sound coming toward him. It wasn’t quite footsteps, but similar. Had the demons grown paws? Were they coming for him now? The smoke made it impossible for him to see or smell, and he had only his ears to rely on. He pricked them up as high as he could. Out of the smoke came something unseen, something that grabbed him in its cold, wet clutches. It’s got me!

  Sawdust whipped out his claws like little switchblades, ready to slash at the demon. But it had him by the middle and, no matter how hard he squirmed, he couldn’t get into position to swipe at the beast. He did the only other thing he could. He bit into the demon’s flesh with all the force his fangs could muster.

  CHAPTER 12

  SMOKE SIGNALS

  WHITNEY

  In his terror, Sawdust sank his fangs into my hand. The puncture wounds would probably hurt like the dickens later—assuming I survived the fire, that is—but, thanks to approximately fifty gallons of adrenaline flowing through me, I felt no pain at the moment. I clutched the cat in my grip, thankful the runt was small enough to be grabbed by one hand, and pulled him to my chest. He hissed and spat and wriggled like his life depended on it. Ironic when, in actuality, his life depended on me keeping hold of him.

  Keeping low, I crawled out of the bedroom, through the small hallway, and into the living room. Fortunately, I bumped into Sawdust’s carrier along the way. I pushed it along until it banged into what I hoped was the front door.

  I stretched my hand up to feel around for the dead bolt. The windowsill told me I was several feet to the right of where I’d thought I was. Luckily, though, I was able to feel my way along the ledge and reach out until I found the door hinges. I felt for the dead bolt and turned it.

  Click.

  That sound is the sound of life.

  Grabbing the doorknob, I turned it and pulled the door open. The porch light was out, too. I fell across the dark threshold, still clutching Sawdust to me. At least he’d stopped struggling, seeming to realize now that it was me who’d grabbed him out of the closet and that I was his only hope. Reaching back into the house, I felt for the handle of the carrier and dragged it out behind me.

  On the porch, I opened Sawdust’s carrier and shoved him safely inside. Smoke poured out the open door behind me. I slammed it closed, remembering that oxygen feeds a fire. This one could starve to death as far as I was concerned.

  The night was cold, but like Sawdust’s bite, I scarcely felt it. Putting a hand to the porch rail, I pulled myself to a stand, grabbed the carrier, and tripped my way down the steps.

  Now that we were out of the house, I needed to call 911. But with my cell phone inside the burning house, I’d have to find another phone to use. I ran next door, jostling poor Sawdust around in his cage as I went.

  I banged on Patty’s door so hard it was a wonder I didn’t break every bone in my hand.

  Bang-bang-bang!

  “Help!” I screamed. “My house is on fire! Help!”

  Why was Patty always watching my house, except when I needed her to be?

  Bang-bang-bang!

  “Help!”

  Seeing the lighted doorbell, I tried that, too, pushing the button in such rapid succession the dongs never got a chance to follow the dings. Ding-ding-ding-ding-ding!

  “Help!” I hollered again. “Call 911! My house is on fire!”

  Patty finally opened the door, wearing a flannel nightgown and a startled expression. “What’s wrong?”

  I gestured frantically with my free hand. “The house!” I cried. “It’s on fire! We need to call the fire department!”

  She glanced over at my house. Flames had erupted from the roof over the back bedroom. If only it was a big birthday candle, then I could blow it out and make a wish. I’d wish that the fire had never started.

  On seeing the flames, Patty shrieked. “Oh, my!” Leaving her door ajar, she turned and ran through her den for the landline on her end table, jabbing at the buttons on the cordless receiver. “The house next door is on fire!” she cried into the phone. “Send help! Quick!”

  With my neighbor summoning first responders, I ran back down her steps, once again tossing Sawdust around in his carrier. I dropped the carrier on Patty’s lawn and grabbed her hose, turning the faucet until it could turn no more. I ran back to my burning house, yanking the hose along behind me.

  I aimed the stream into the air, but there was no nozzle attachment on the end and all I managed to do was douse myself. Putting my thumb to the end, I created more force and sent a streaming arc of water up to the roof. By then the flames had spread, engulfing what had been the smallest bedroom. The single stream of water was powerless against the inferno. All I could do was stand there, hopeless, blinking my eyes against the acrid smoke and coughing to clear my lungs as the house I’d had so much hope for made the same noises as a bowl of Rice Crispies.

  Snap.

  Crackle.

  Pop.

  Within minutes, several of the street’s residents had joined me outside with their hoses. But instead of aiming the water at my house, they wetted down their own roofs to keep stray embers from taking their houses down, too. I supposed I couldn’t blame them. Besides, from the looks of it, my house was already a goner.

  WOOOOOOOO!

  The wail of the fire truck grew louder as the vehicle turned onto the street and approached the house. I dropped the hose and raised a hand to wave to them, though with flames shooting from the roof they’d have an easy time spotting which structure was in need of their services. It wasn’t until then that I noticed the blood oozing from the puncture wounds on my right hand. I pulled the sleeve of my rubber-ducky robe down over the wound and applied pressure to stanch the bleeding.

  The truck braked to a stop in front of the house. A broad-shouldered firefighter in a hard hat threw open the passenger door and hopped out, while several others emerged from the truck and swarmed like bees across the lawn.

  “Is anyone in the house?” he demanded as he approached me.

  I wrapped my hands around myself, embarrassed by my wet and whimsical attire. A duck smiled up at me from my sleeve. If I didn’t know better, I’d think the bird was laughing at me. “No,” I told the fireman. “My cat and I escaped. We were the only ones inside.”

  “Good.” He whipped out a radio. “Any idea what caused the fire?”

  I shook my head.

  “Is there anything unusual inside the house?” he asked. “Any chemicals or gases? Anything flammable or explosive?”

  “No.” Buck and I had moved the leftover paint into the attached garage, and none of the cleaners I’d been using were flammable.

  The guy pushed a button on his radio and spoke into it, informing the other firefighters that they were good to go. In seconds, they had a much bigger stream of water aimed at the house, courtesy of the fire hydrant at the curb two houses down.

  A female firefighter wrestled an axe from the truck and glanced over at me, noting me pressing on my hand. “Are you injured? Do you need medical assistance?”

  “My cat bit me when I grabbed him.” Feeling the ne
ed to apologize for Sawdust’s bad behavior, I added, “He was scared to death. But I’m okay.”

  She gave me a nod and dashed off with the axe.

  I retrieved Sawdust’s carrier and made my way across the street to get out of the way of the firefighters. Alerted by the earlier sound of the siren and the shouts among the first responders, more of the residents had ventured out and we huddled together to watch.

  Did I leave a candle burning? No, I hadn’t lit a candle while soaking in the tub.

  Had I left a tool plugged in? One that might have overheated? I had my doubts. All of my tools were in good working order and I didn’t remember plugging any of them into an outlet. Besides, the tools were in the living room and the flames seemed to be concentrated in the small bedroom at the back left corner of the house.

  Could that flickering light have had something to do with it?

  Of course the cause of the fire wasn’t the only question running through my mind. Many others were, too. Will the house be a total loss? If not, how long will it take to repair the damage? Would Buck and I manage to make the mortgage payments in the meantime? Will the fire impact the resale value?

  I knew I’d have to give Buck the news, but I saw no point in ruining his night. He’d learn about the fire soon enough tomorrow. Besides, there wasn’t anything either of us could do about it for the moment.

  As the firefighters extinguished the fire, leaving only smoldering remains, my neighbors ventured back to their homes. Satisfied there’d be no flare-ups, the firefighters packed up and returned to their truck.

  I stepped over to thank them. Putting out fires might be their job, but they risked their lives and safety doing it. “Thanks to all of you. I appreciate what you’ve done to save the house.”

  “Happy to help.” The driver opened his door, but before climbing back up into the truck, he said, “The department will send out an inspector tomorrow to take a look, see if the cause can be determined.”

  Good. Maybe the fire inspector could discover what had gone wrong. Houses don’t just go up in flames for no reason.

  I wanted to know what that reason was.

  CHAPTER 13

  BETTER THE DEVIL YOU KNOW

  SAWDUST

  Even though there’d been three of them—a pack—the ceiling demons didn’t move about. And after that first time they’d made noise, they’d been absolutely silent, content to simply keep an eye on the world with their single eye. Sawdust had decided that the ceiling demons were far less scary than the floor demon.

  Until tonight.

  Tonight they’d somehow filled the house with dark, choking air as they screeched their hunting cries. Thank goodness Whitney had found him before the demons did! He felt bad for biting her. He didn’t realize it was her hand that had seized him. Not until he bit into her anyway. But he knew she’d forgive him.

  He and Whitney were back in their small house now. The floor demon lay quietly in the corner. Sawdust eyed the beast, pulling back his lip to show off his fangs. I’m not scared of you anymore. I’ve faced much worse and survived.

  CHAPTER 14

  A FLICKER OF RECOGNITION

  WHITNEY

  I tossed and turned in bed for what remained of the night. Not only was I worked up about the fire and what it might mean for Buck and me, but the hand Sawdust had bitten began to throb and feel hot. Not a good sign.

  Did that flickering light have something to do with the fire? Jackson, the former tenant, had threatened me. Was the fire his doing?

  When the sun came up Saturday morning, I dragged myself from the bed and forced myself to face the day. I reached down to run a hand over Sawdust and gasped. My hand had swollen to half again its usual size and looked like an oddly shaped potato. But there was no time to deal with it now. The fire inspector was due at the house in just over an hour.

  After taking a shower and getting dressed, I walked across the backyard and let myself into my parent’s house to use their phone. The pool house didn’t have a landline and my cell phone had disappeared last night. A fireman had brought my wet purse to me once the fire was out, so at least I’d been able to get my keys and drive back here.

  My mother looked up from the kitchen table, where she sat with Yin-Yang on her lap. She held a mug in one hand and stroked the adorable bug-eyed dog with the other. She cocked her head, confused. “I thought you went to stay at your new property last night.”

  My father stood at the stove, flipping pancakes. Before I could respond to my mother, he asked, “Can I interest you in some breakfast?”

  “No, thanks,” I told him. “I’m not hungry.” The anxiety twisting my insides made it impossible for me to have an appetite this morning.

  “Have some coffee, at least,” Mom said.

  “Can you put it in a travel mug? I’ve got to get going.”

  “Anything for you, dear.” She set the dog on the floor and rounded up a plastic to-go cup. “What time did you come back last night? Your car wasn’t here when we went to bed at ten.”

  “Two or so,” I told her.

  “Two?” She paused, holding the coffeepot aloft, her face drawn in concern.

  Dad likewise looked over at me. “What were you doing out so late?”

  “Nothing much,” I said. “Just fleeing a burning building.”

  “What?!?” Rather than pour the coffee, my mother set the carafe back down.

  Dad turned off the burner and rushed over.

  As the enormity of the situation struck me, warm tears welled up in my eyes. I supposed until then I’d been in shock. “The house that B-B-Buck and I bought,” I blubbered, breaking down into a sob. “It c-c-caught fire!”

  My mother’s mouth fell open. She stepped forward and enveloped me in her arms. My father, in turn, enveloped both of us in his. With my head resting on my mother’s shoulder, I told them the whole story. How the fire alarms woke me from my bath. How Sawdust had run off and how I’d had to crawl through the smoke to find him. How I’d left my cell phone behind in the house and had to run next door and ask the neighbor to call 911.

  Mom stroked my hair like she’d been stroking the dog’s minutes earlier. “Oh, honey,” she murmured. “Oh, honey.”

  Dad released us and pushed me back to arm’s length, looking me up and down “Are you all right?”

  “I’m okay,” I reassured him. “So is Sawdust. But the house will need a lot of work.”

  Mom tried to console me. “Well, maybe it won’t add too much to the cost of the renovations you were already planning.”

  I snagged a napkin from the holder on the counter and dabbed at my eyes, trying not to smear my mascara.

  Remembering what she’d been doing before I’d dropped this bomb on her, my mother retrieved the coffeepot. “What caused the fire?” she asked as she filled the travel mug.

  “I have no idea. I guess I’ll find out when the fire inspector comes out this morning.” I took the warm cup from her.

  Alarm sparked in her eyes when she saw my wounded hand. She reached out, but stopped herself before touching it, seeming to realize the contact might cause me pain. “You’re not all right. You’re hurt!”

  Dad rushed over to take a closer look.

  “It’s nothing,” I said. “Sawdust bit me is all. He was terrified by the smoke alarms.”

  “Poor thing.” She sighed. “That bite looks awful, though.”

  “Sure does,” Dad agreed. “I’m calling in a prescription for you.” Dad pulled his cell phone from his pocket to call the pharmacy. He was an ear, throat, and nose specialist, not exactly the kind of doctor a person thought of when they had an injured hand. Nonetheless, he had seen minor, routine injuries like this when doing his rotations back in medical school. Besides, even without medical training, I knew a round of antibiotics should clear things up.

  “Can I use your landline?” I asked my mother.

  “Of course.” Mom retrieved the receiver from the cradle on the wall and handed it to me.

&
nbsp; The first person I called was Buck. He answered with a groan. Clearly, I’d woken him.

  “Any chance you can meet me at our house at nine?”

  His voice was raspy with sleep and his tone was suspicious. “Why?”

  “There was a small fire at the house last night.” Calling last night’s conflagration a “small fire” was a total understatement if not a downright lie, but I didn’t want him to get freaked out and rush over, risk an accident on the road.

  “Unbelievable,” he snapped. “We own the house a matter of hours and already there’s a problem.”

  Guilt joined the anxiety puckering my gut. “It’s nothing that can’t be fixed,” I replied. At least that part was true.

  As I ended the call and turned to go, my mother put her arms around me a final time and whispered into my hair. “I don’t even want to think—” She stopped herself and released me. “I’m not going to let my mind go there.” She fluttered her hand. “You go on now. Shoo.” She turned away, but not before I saw her eyes grow misty, too.

  “Pick up your pills as soon as they’re ready,” Dad said. “Take the first one right away.”

  “I will,” I promised, giving him a peck on the cheek.

  After dropping a couple dozen doughnuts at the station as a thanks to the firefighters, I drove to the house and waited outside as I’d been instructed. The worst of the damage was on the back slope of the roof, but the front bore telltale signs of last night’s events, too. Ruts appeared here and there in the lawn. The WHITAKER WOODWORKING sign lay in the yard, dirty and dented. I picked it up and stashed it in the cargo bay of my SUV, trading it for my hard hat.

  Buck pulled his van up to the curb, took one look at the house, and shook his head. He climbed out, hard hat in hand, and slammed the door. “I thought you said the fire was small.”

  “I was only looking out for you. If I’d told you the truth, you’d have driven over here like a bat out of you-know-where.”

  He frowned, but didn’t disagree. He knew I was right.