“No,” I said, searching my memory. “Grant woke up early, around five thirty. He said he wanted to double-check his presentation slides in his home office before his drive. I stayed in bed until seven, when I woke Lily up for breakfast.”
“Did you hear any activity near the patio between five thirty and seven?”
“I heard the back door open once,” I admitted, the realization surfacing like a cold weight in my stomach. “I assumed Grant was checking the weather or picking up the morning paper from the driveway.”
Fraser nodded once, making another brief entry on her device. “Thank you. I’m going to have our arson investigator take a closer look at the shut-off valves near the main tank. It’s standard procedure for any sudden structural detonation involving liquefied petroleum gas.”
While Fraser walked back toward the fire engines, I finally sat down next to Lily on the bumper of the emergency vehicle. I took her small, cold hand in mine and rubbed her knuckles gently.
“Sweetheart,” I said softly, making sure no one else was within earshot. “Dad is on his way back. You don’t have to be scared anymore, but I need you to tell me truth. How did you know not to turn on anything in the kitchen?”
Lily looked down at her red sneakers, her voice barely a whisper against the background hum of the engine generators. “I saw him, Mom.”
My breath caught in my throat. “You saw who?”
“Dad,” she said, her chest heaving as she held back tears. “Last night, after you went to sleep, I got up to get a glass of water. The light in the backyard was on, but it was really dim. Dad was kneeling by the big metal box near the fence with his flashlight. He had a big silver tool in his hand.”
“Did he see you?” I asked, my heart pounding against my ribs like a trapped bird.
“He came back inside through the kitchen,” Lily whispered, clutching my sleeve tightly. “He saw me standing near the hallway. He grabbed my shoulders and said I was having a bad dream. He told me that if I touched the stove or turned on the exhaust fan in the morning, the house would break, and it would be my fault for waking up. Then this morning, when he was leaving, he stared right at me from the door and pointed at the kitchen.”
A wave of nausea washed over me. The piece of the puzzle that hadn’t made sense suddenly fell into place with chilling clarity. Grant hadn’t just been careless; he had crafted a scenario that relied on routine household actions to trigger a catastrophic failure after he was safely miles away down the interstate.
I looked across the lawn toward Deputy Fire Marshal Fraser, who was currently talking to a plainclothes detective who had just arrived in an unmarked sedan. I stood up, keeping Lily’s hand wrapped tightly in mine, and walked straight toward them.
“Marshal Fraser,” I said, my voice steadying with a sudden, ferocious clarity. “My husband told you he was driving toward Charlotte Douglas Airport, correct?”
“Yes,” Fraser said, turning to face me. “He mentioned he was on Route 74.”
“I need you to check the traffic cameras on Route 74,” I said firmly. “And I need your investigator to examine the safety release valve on that propane line immediately. Grant never intended to catch that flight, and he isn’t on his way back from the airport.”
The detective exchanged a swift, serious look with Fraser before pulling out his radio. The afternoon sun beat down on the smoke-filled air, but inside, I had never felt colder. The investigation was no longer about a mysterious gas leak; it was about uncovering how far the man I married was willing to go to burn our life to the ground.
