Trial by Fire (17 page)

As I walked back to my bike, I made a phone call. Twenty minutes later I stepped
into the bank and announced to the woman at the information desk that I had an appointment
with Deirdre Parker.

“Riley Donovan,” I said in answer to Deirdre’s puzzled look. “I just called you about
an appointment.”

“You’re much younger than I expected,” she said. “What can I do for you? Not a loan,
surely.”

“Well, sort of,” I said.

Her puzzlement deepened. “Please, sit down. Are you a young entrepreneur? An Internet
whiz, perhaps?”

“It’s about Mr. Goran,” I said.

Her body tensed. “I’m not sure I can—”

“He applied for a loan here,” I said.

“Even if that were true,” she said, “I certainly can’t discuss it with you. Our privacy
policies—”

“I know it’s true. I have a copy of the email you sent him, turning down his application.
It was on his computer hard drive, and now it’s on mine.” Not to mention on my
ISP
’s
server and probably still on IT’s computer. “Did he tell you why he wanted the money?”

“I can’t discuss that with you.”

“Is that why you left that plant for him at the hospital? Did you feel bad about
turning him down?”

Her face was crimson. She stood up abruptly.

“Now see here—” she began angrily.

“Is there a problem, Deirdre?”

We both turned to look at the man who had spoken.

“No, Mr. Kincaid,” Deirdre said. “No problem. This young lady just wants some information,
and I’m doing my best to help her.”

“Well, as long as you don’t keep any real customers waiting.”

“I won’t, Mr. Kincaid.”

He was the same man I’d seen shaking hands with Donald Curtis the last time I was
in the bank. He gave me a stern look before moving on. Through the glass, I saw him
head for the bank’s main door.

I turned back to Deirdre Parker.

“About Mr. Goran,” I said.

“I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

“He didn’t need a loan to keep his farm going,” I said. “He needed it for something
else. But you turned him down. I was just wondering why. He has a valuable piece
of property, and you could always sell it if he wasn’t able to make the payments.”

“The bank is not in the real-estate business. And any decisions we make about a client
are confidential, which means I can’t discuss them with anyone.” She stood up. “I
have to ask you to leave. You’re putting me in an awkward position.”

I remembered what Sharon and Carol had said. “I know you need this job. I know you’re
a single mother. And I know you feel bad about turning Mr. Goran down. No one else
sent him an expensive plant. Just you.”

To my astonishment, she sat down and started to cry.

“Please don’t ask me any more questions about this. Don’t tell anyone anything. If
Mr. Kincaid found out, he’d fire me for sure.”

“If he found out what?”

She stood up again.

“You have to go.” Her face had hardened. “If you don’t, I’ll have security escort
you to the door.”

She wasn’t going to tell me anything else. She was clearly nervous. She jumped when
her phone rang. “Mr. Kincaid.” She looked rattled.

There was nothing else I could do. I left.

I walked back to my bike. I knew now that Mr. Goran had applied for a bank loan and
that Deirdre Parker had turned him down. Was that why she had sent him
that plant?
Did she think she had driven him to arson? Or was there more? She had seemed so shaken
by my questions. Had she been enlisted by Ted Winters to try to force Mr. Goran to
sell his farm? Was she nervous because I had proof of her involvement that I might
show her boss, Mr. Kincaid, not to mention the police? Or was there something else
going on?

No matter what her role had been or why she had denied his loan, it didn’t make Mr.
Goran
look
any better. In fact, to a lot of people it would make him look worse.
If people knew about the loan, it would only solidify their conviction that he had
burned down his barn to collect the insurance money.

There was a pickup truck in the driveway when I got home. I figured it was probably
the washing-machine repairman Aunt Ginny had finally hired.

My cell phone pinged again. A text from IT.
Check your email.

I dropped my bike at the bottom of the porch steps and raced up to my room.

FIFTEEN

Halfway up the stairs, I heard something. Probably the repairman.

“I’ll be down in a minute,” I called.

Silence.
Whatever.

I continued up the stairs.

I walked down the hall to my room.

As soon as I crossed the threshold, I got a weird feeling, as if the hair on the
back of my neck was standing up. But everything looked exactly as I had left it.
I sat down at my desk and turned on my computer. A moment later I was in my email
and reading with amazement what IT had been able to find out.

Things happened fast after that.

I heard another sound. Thumping.

I started to turn.

Something was pulled over my head. A sack or a pillowcase. I couldn’t see.

Someone grabbed me from behind and lifted me off my chair. I was half-carried and
half-dragged across the room and thrown like a sack of dirty laundry into my closet.

The door slammed shut and something scraped across the floor.

Something heavy.

My trunk.

Even the movers had complained when they had to carry it upstairs, and they were
big guys.

I waited a few seconds to make sure that whoever had pushed me in there wasn’t still
standing outside, and then I threw myself against the door. It didn’t move. Not right
away. I pushed and kicked and pushed some more, moving it inch by inch.

Footsteps thundered down the stairs.

I pushed again and made just enough room to squeeze through.

My computer was gone.

Footsteps thundered down the stairs.

I didn’t stop to think. I raced after the intruder. I was hoping it was Mike. I was
afraid it might be Aram.

I reached the top of the stairs and heard the intruder in the kitchen below. I yelled
for him to stop. Don’t ask me why. It wasn’t like he was going to obey.

I took the stairs two at a time, clinging to the banister to keep from falling.

I heard a crash.

I ran through the kitchen to the back door.

The intruder was sprawled facedown on the gravel. He’d tripped over my bicycle, at
the bottom of the steps. My computer lay on the ground a few feet from him. There
was no way to tell if it was okay.

The intruder, who was definitely not Mike or Aram, groaned, untangled himself and
sat up. He had a gun in his hand. It was pointed at me.

I started to back away.

The intruder cursed as he got to his feet. His knee buckled, and he let out another
groan. In that nanosecond, while he was distracted, I ran back into the house and
slammed the kitchen door. I tried to lock it, but he was already forcing it open,
and he was much stronger than I was. I ran for the stairs.

I heard his uneven footfalls behind me.

I raced into Aunt Ginny’s room, dove into her closet and dug my cell phone out of
my pocket.

A floorboard creaked nearby. He was in the bedroom. I held my breath.

I heard another sound downstairs.

“Riley?” Aunt Ginny was home. “Riley, for Pete’s sake, do you have to leave your
bike right in the way?” Silence. Then her voice again, more impatient now. “I know
you’re here. Riley. Answer me.”

I didn’t dare.

I heard footsteps again, running this time but still uneven. A voice barked, “Freeze!”
and then, “Drop it.”

Something clattered to the floor.

I snuck out of the closet and into the hallway. The intruder was standing halfway
down the stairs, with his hands in the air. Aunt Ginny was at the bottom, her gun
trained on him. Her eyes flicked to me, but only for a second.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes.” Other than shaking all over, I was fine.

“Call 9-1-1. Tell them there’s an intruder.”

I did as she said. Aunt Ginny ordered the intruder to make his way slowly down the
stairs and lie facedown on the floor.

He complied.

“He tried to steal my computer,” I told Aunt Ginny. “He locked me in my closet.”

She kept her gun trained on him.

“What else did you take?” she demanded.

“I want a lawyer,” he said.

“He works with Donald Curtis,” I said.

“Who?”

I told her about my encounter with Curtis at Mr. Goran’s farm. “He was asking about
buying the place.”

“Don’t say anything else, Riley,” Aunt Ginny said. “We’re going to wait for backup,
and then I’m going to charge him with break-and-enter, assault and forcible confinement.
That ought to put him out of action for a few years.”

“Now wait a minute,” the man said, looking alarmed. “I never hurt her.”

Aunt Ginny didn’t respond. She held her weapon steady on him and demanded his name.

“Johnston. Tom Johnston. I’ve lived in this town all my life. Used to have a job
at the feed store before it closed down. Now folks have to drive close to two hours
to get their feed.”

Aunt Ginny was not moved.

“I got kids,” Johnston said. “I want them to have a future.”

“What they’re going to have is a father in jail,” Aunt Ginny said.

“How about a deal? How about I tell you who sent me here?”

“You’ll have to do better than that,” Aunt Ginny said. “You broke into my house.”

He blanched “
your
house?” I don’t think he’d realized until then that he had burglarized
a police officer’s house.

“You have a weapon. You threatened my niece with it.”

“It’s not even loaded,” he whimpered. “I didn’t want the darned thing, but he insisted,
said I might have to throw a scare into someone.”

“He? Who’s he?” Aunt Ginny demanded.

“Curtis.”

Aunt Ginny glanced at me.

“Did he pay you to break into Mr. Goran’s house too?” I asked.

“Riley!” Aunt Ginny shot me a warning glance. But she couldn’t help herself. “Did
he?” she asked.

“He said there was no one there. But someone pulled up not long after I got inside.
As soon as I heard that, I ran. No one was hurt.”

“What were you supposed to do in Mr. Goran’s house?”

“Just take the computer, that’s all.”

“What computer?” Aunt Ginny asked.

“Mr. Goran didn’t have a computer.”

“Yes, he did,” I said. “But Mr. Johnston didn’t take it. Did you?”

“I got scared when I heard someone coming. I dropped it. Then I stomped on it.”

“Why did Curtis want the computer?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t tell me. I swear. He said to make it look like kids had
broken in, trashed the place and stolen the computer.”

“The letter,” I said. I remembered Deirdre Parker’s phone call from Mr. Kincaid as
I was leaving. Had she told him I had a copy of her letter on my hard drive? “Is
that why you broke in here? To steal my computer?”

“Your computer? What would anyone want with your computer?” Aunt Ginny asked. “And
what letter are you talking about?”

“It’s a long story, Aunt Ginny. And I think”—actually, I was positive—“that it has
something to do with the fire. I think Mr. Curtis and maybe Mr. Kincaid know something
about it.”

For sure Deirdre Parker was involved too, but I didn’t want to mention her name yet,
not if I didn’t have to.

“Kincaid?”

“The bank manager. Both the email with the bank letter and the email from an extremist
group came from the same server. The bank’s secure server.”

“Extremist group? I don’t care how long your story is, you’d better start talking,
young lady,” Aunt Ginny said.

“I think Mr. Kincaid and Mr. Curtis tried to trick Mr. Goran into thinking he needed
money to pay a ransom to an extremist group if he wanted Aram to be released. They
made sure he couldn’t get that money from the bank. I have proof. They wanted to
force him to sell the farm.”

“But instead Mr. Goran found another way to get the money he needed,” Aunt Ginny
mused.