Free Fatal Identity by Joanne Fluke Page A

it blazed brightly, almost leaping up to lick his face.
    He stumbled back awkwardly, catching himself as he began to fall. Then he got to his feet by the flaming pyre, and glanced up toward the windows. A woman had come in the night. He’d seen her arrive with the lawyer, but it had been too dark to see her face. She was staying in his love’s room, something he found disturbing, but perhaps she was only an overnight guest.
    No light spilled from her window, and he breathed a deep sigh of relief. No one could know that he was here, inside the locked gates. His presence was a secret that had to be kept.
    The fire was dying now, fading to a flicker and then to darkness. He stared down at the small pile of ashes the ancient element had left in its wake, and gave a shaky smile. No need to sweep the patio. The morning breeze would lift the ashes and bear them away. He would have time to get to a place of safety, before the blackness closed in and made him sleep.

CHAPTER 4
    Marcie awoke to sunlight streaming through sheer sea green curtains. Very pretty. It was a lovely color that reminded her of spring, and tiny green shoots of early-blooming irises peeking up through the cold, white snow. But the curtains in her bedroom weren’t green. They were harvest gold!
    The shock made Marcie sit bolt-upright in bed. She blinked in confusion at the array of perfume bottles and jars of makeup on the white wicker dresser. She didn’t wear makeup, and this wasn’t her dresser. Her dresser was an antique oak piece she’d taken from her parents’ house. She turned her head, blinked at the enormous walk-in closet, the white wicker chaise lounge in the corner with its peach and green cushions, and finally . . . the waving palm tree outside the window.
    â€œMercedes!” Marcie closed her eyes as the pain washed over her in a crashing wave. She was in her twin sister’s bedroom. And Mercedes was dead.
    Marcie sat there for a full minute, blinking back tears. But it was against her nature to dwell on tragedy. She had to get up and get busy. Rosa and the twins would be home today, and they would need her. And Brad would need her, too. She had to hurry and dress.
    One glance at the clock on the white wicker bedside table, and Marcie let out a groan of remorse. It was almost ten in the morning. How could she have slept so late? And so soundly? She’d expected her dreams to be full of painful memories, perhaps even a nightmare or two. But she’d slept very peacefully. The sheets weren’t twisted up in a ball as they usually were when she was upset, and the blanket was still tucked in. She felt almost guilty for sleeping so well on the night after her sister’s death.
    Marcie stood up and stretched. She felt rested and ready to cope with the day. Then she remembered that she had nothing to wear. Had her suitcases arrived while she was asleep?
    She padded, barefooted, across the deep pile rug and opened the door. The hallway was deserted. No suitcases. She was sure Brad would have brought them up if they’d been here when he’d left for his golf tournament. She remembered how apologetic Brad had been last night, when he’d mentioned the tournament. He’d told her he’d tried to cancel, but he hadn’t been able to find a replacement on such short notice. Marcie had urged him to go. His partners were depending on him, and the tournament was for charity. It would do him good to get out of the house and be with his friends. She’d promised him that she’d take care of things on the home front so he needn’t worry. Sam was coming over to help with all the arrangements, but they’d wait with any final decisions until Brad got home.
    Poor Brad. When she’d mentioned the arrangements, he’d confessed that he just couldn’t face making them. Anything she wanted was fine with him, as long as it was private. Could Marcie please take care of it for him?
    Of course,