The Bones She Buried: A completely gripping, heart-stopping crime thriller(40)

“Can I see them?”

“Sure, I guess.” He pushed one of the file bins toward her and she opened it, digging out the two small weekly planners. She paged through them but didn’t find any unusual entries. Nothing that stood out to her, just church, her children’s visits and a few doctor’s appointments.

Her cell phone sounded. She pulled it from her pocket. “It’s Mettner,” she told him. “I’ve got to take this.” Pressing the answer icon, she said, “Quinn.”

“Boss,” Mettner said, sounding slightly out of breath. “Beth Pratt’s house is on fire.”





Twenty-Seven





Mettner and Josie stood along the side of the road, across from where Denton firefighters fought the blaze that used to be Beth Pratt’s home. The night was alive with flashing emergency lights, and the heat and light from the fire made it feel like an afternoon in August. Beads of sweat formed along Josie’s upper lip and she swiped at them with the back of her shirtsleeve. “Where’s Mason Pratt?” Josie asked.

“He’s home. I’ve checked with the unit three times already.”

“I want someone inside the house with him.”

Mettner raised a brow. “Not sure he’ll allow that, but we can try.” He took out his phone and made some calls.

Josie watched the firefighters dragging more hose from a second truck that had pulled up right onto Beth Pratt’s front lawn. Flames shot out of the windows and ripped through the roof. Glowing orange embers floated above the entire area, and Josie felt a thin slice of fear, hoping they wouldn’t set the surrounding trees on fire.

Mettner hung up. “We’ll have two units on Mason Pratt, and one of the officers who is already there is going to wake Pratt up and see about getting one of our guys inside at least for tonight.”

“Thank you,” Josie said.

A blast of gray smoke whooshed in their direction, and as they both coughed and wiped at watery eyes one of the firefighters yelled at them to get back. They walked a little further up the road, out of the direction of the wind, where the cooler air was a relief.

A dark-colored four-door sedan rolled down the road, slowing in front of them. Josie was getting ready to tell the driver that he or she couldn’t make it through right now, but when the driver’s side window opened, she saw it was Chief Chitwood. “Beth Pratt’s house? Are you shitting me?” was all he said.



* * *



Chitwood swiped at his thinning hair. “I had to come by and see it for myself. For the love of all that is holy, this is a disaster. I’m not going to be able to keep this out of the press. You realize that, don’t you? This is gonna be a real shitstorm. You put extra units on the other Pratt kid?”

“Yes, sir,” Josie said.

“Why the hell is Beth Pratt’s house burning down, Quinn?”

“I don’t know, sir. Maybe the killer didn’t find what he was looking for the last time he was here and thought torching the entire place would get rid of it once and for all.”

Chitwood said, “You think Beth Pratt had something the killer didn’t want anyone to see? Like what?”

“We don’t know, sir,” Mettner said.

“Maybe, whatever it was, Beth Pratt didn’t realize it was important,” Josie suggested.

Chitwood opened his mouth to speak but Mettner’s cell phone rang, interrupting them. “Mettner,” he answered. Then, “Oh shit. Yeah, we’ll be right over.”

Josie and Chitwood stared at him as he ended the call. He said, “Mason Pratt was attacked in his home about twenty minutes ago.”





Twenty-Eight





Mason Pratt sat in the back of an ambulance in his driveway, an ice pack pressed to the side of his head. The moment that Mettner and Josie arrived they had all emergency units turn off their lights; the attention that Beth Pratt’s murder and the arson of her home would bring was bad enough, they didn’t need the attack on Mason to become more grist for the neighborhood rumor mill. Mettner ducked into the back of the ambulance and sat on the vinyl bench next to the gurney that held Mason. Josie climbed in behind him.

“I was asleep,” Mason told them before they even had a chance to ask questions. “I thought I was dreaming at first.”

“What happened, exactly?” Josie asked. “What do you remember?”

“I sleep on my stomach. So I started to kind of wake up to this pressure on my upper back and then my head. When I got fully awake, I realized someone was on top of me, pushing my head into the pillow. I could barely breathe.”

Josie felt a tiny shiver. “Did he say anything?”

Mason brought the ice pack down, shook his head, and placed it back on the side of his skull with a wince. “No. He never said a word. As soon as I realized that it was real, that it was really happening, I started to fight. It felt like it took forever. He was really strong. Like, even for me. I used to wrestle in high school, but still this guy was everywhere at once. I managed to get him off me and then I rolled off the bed and hit my head on my nightstand.”

He brought the ice pack down again and turned his head, using his fingers to brush back some of his hair. Josie could already see a large purple lump rising from beneath his locks.