Chapter 55 - The Carriage Yard
We tumbled out into the freezing November mud behind the carriage house, gasping, retching, and choking on the bitter, cold air. The contrast was shocking. The sky above was a bleak, overcast gray, spitting sleet, while behind us, a column of thick black smoke billowed into the heavens from the collapsing roof of the private chapel.
Sirens wailed in a deafening chorus. Four sheriff's cruisers and two fire engines were already swarming the circular driveway, their tires churning my manicured lawn into a sea of brown mud. Firefighters in yellow gear were already deploying high-pressure hoses, rushing toward the flaming breach of the chapel.
Tyler was lying on his back in the slush, his chest heaving, staring blankly at the burning estate. His expensive clothes were shredded, his hair singed to the scalp on one side, and his hands were caked in soot and his own blood.
Sheriff Vance ran toward us through the rose garden, his sidearm drawn, followed by three heavily equipped deputies.
"Mrs. Mercer! Julian! Are you hit? What happened down there?" Vance shouted, skidding to a halt before dropping to one knee beside me.
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"Arson," I whispered, my voice completely wrecked, sounding like grinding pebbles. I raised my hand and pointed a soot-stained finger straight at Tyler. "Attempted murder. Destruction of historic property. And grand larceny of the Mercer estate."
Tyler rolled over, lifting his face from the mud. "She's lying!" he yelled, though his voice cracked into a pathetic squeak. "It was an accident! The lantern broke! She tried to trap me down there! She's crazy—she's eighty years old and out of her mind!"
