When You Call My Name

Glory froze. Without realizing it, he’d read her thoughts and answered. And as she let herself draw from his strength, she faced the fact that she’d given more than just blood to this man. It seemed impossible, and it shouldn’t have happened, but it was the only explanation that made sense.

A dog ran across the street in front of the car as Wyatt turned a corner in Larner’s Mill, aiming for the local police department down the street. He knew where it was. He’d been there yesterday when asking directions to the Dixon home. The people were friendly enough, but he wasn’t sure if one small-town police chief and two part-time deputies were going to be up to finding a killer. When they’d driven out of the yard earlier that morning, no one had even bothered to stop them and ask why they were near the scene. On the surface, they seemed geared more toward drunks and traffic violations than tracking criminals. He hoped he was wrong. As he pulled to the curb and parked, Glory’s nervousness was impossible to ignore any longer.

“It’s going to be all right,” he said.

Her eyes were wide and on the verge of tears, her mouth set. He could tell she was hovering on the edge of panic.

“They’re not going to believe me,” she said, but when Wyatt slipped his hand over hers and squeezed, the fear receded.

“It doesn’t really matter whether they believe you or not, as long as they proceed with some kind of investigation. Besides, don’t forget Lane’s coming.”

Glory nodded, remembering their earlier phone call to Wyatt’s brother-in-law.

“Having a U.S. marshal on our side isn’t going to hurt,” Wyatt added, then glanced down at his watch. “In fact, I’d lay odds that he’ll be here before dark.”

Glory bit her lip and then looked away.

“You have to trust me, girl.”

She turned, and Wyatt found himself looking into her eyes and fighting the sensation of falling deeper and deeper into a place with no way out. And then she blinked, and he realized he’d been holding his breath. Muttering to himself, he helped her out of the car.

Glory took heart in the fact that as they walked through the door, he was right beside her all the way.

“God Almighty!”

Anders Conway jumped to his feet and stumbled backward as the couple came in the door. He’d been police chief of Larner’s Mill for twenty-nine years, but it was his first time seeing a ghost.

Wyatt felt Glory flinch, and instinctively slipped a hand across her shoulder, just to remind her that he was there.

“Chief Conway, I came to report a murder,” Glory said softly.

He was so shocked by her appearance that her remark went right over his head. “We thought you were dead,” he said. “Where on earth have you been, girl?”

“Hiding.”

“Whatever for? No one’s gonna hurt you.”

Glory looked to Wyatt for reassurance. The glint in his eye was enough to keep her going.

“The fire at my house was not an accident. Someone deliberately turned on the gas jets. I saw them. When Daddy and J.C. walked in the back door with our groceries, it was nearly dusk and the house must have been full of gas. Wyatt says that one of them probably turned on the light, and that was what sparked the explosion.”

Conway frowned. Apparently, none of this was making much sense. “If you saw someone turning on the gas, why didn’t you tell your family? Why would your father knowingly go into a house set to blow?”

This was where it got rough. Glory braced herself, readying for the derision that was bound to come.

“I didn’t actually see what had been done until the house was already burning, I just knew that something was wrong. I tried to stop them from going inside. I called out, but it was too late. They were already there.”

The look on Conway’s face was changing from shock to confusion. Afraid that he’d run her out before she got a chance to explain, she started talking faster, anxious to get it all said.

“I know it was a man who did it. I could see him in my mind. I saw the back of his hands as he turned on the jets on the stove. He even broke one of them so that it couldn’t be turned off. I saw the back of his pant legs as he ran through the other rooms, doing the same to our heat stoves. One in the living room…and one in the bathroom, too.”

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