Trial by Fire by Terri Blackstock

out to change my tires. My insurance doesn’t cover tires, so it’s going to cost a small fortune, which I don’t have at the moment.” She groaned and dug through her bag for her keys. “I’ve got to get a better-paying job.”
    â€œYou can do like me,” he said, “save lives one day, sell smoke alarms the next.”
    â€œYeah, I’ll have to consider that,” she said without much enthusiasm. “Thanks again.”
    She got out of the car and trotted up the steps to the apartment on the second floor. She put her key in but found that the doorknob turned too easily. Normally it took a little effort unless it was unlocked.
    She turned the doorknob and pushed inside, quickly flipped on the light, and looked down at the knob again. Had it just been her imagination, or had the door really been unlocked? That wasn’t like her. She never left it without locking it. Maybe the stress of the day had distracted her into forgetting.
    She locked it now, then dropped her purse on an end table and headed for her bedroom. She kicked off her shoes toward the closet as she rounded the corner.
    Then she saw it. Written in red spray paint across her wall were the words, “Ignorance is bliss.”
    She gasped and stepped back, and quickly ran for the gun that she kept hidden in her closet. Her hands trembled and her heart raced as she tried to load it, then she went around the apartment from room to room, looking in closets and behind doors and under things. Someone had been in her apartment, and they had left her a message. What did it mean, ignorance is bliss? What kind of ignorance? Ignorance from what?
    She had no idea what it meant, but as shivers coursed through her, she realized that it had something to do with the four slashed tires.
    She got to the bathroom, turned on the light, pulled back the shower curtain. There was no one there. She was sweating now, and she stumbled out of the bathroom, still holding the gun, and grabbed the telephone next to her bed.
    She picked it up and started to dial 911 when she noticed a small lump under her comforter. Aiming the gun at it as if it was a live thing that would jump out and grab her, she pealed her comforter slowly back. She screamed as she saw the dead cat, brutally slain.
    The sight backed her against the wall, and she stayed there, pushing against it as if it would let her slip through. She saw a note attached with a rubber band around the cat’s torso. Still holding the phone and the gun, she forced herself back to the bedside, pulled the note out from under the rubber band, and unfolded it.
    â€œTell the police about anything you’ve seen and you’re as dead as this cat.”
    There was no signature. No need of one. The message was clear. Issie didn’t know what things she knew or what they were referring to, but the fact that she had picked up the phone to dial 911 reminded her that someone was looking in on her thoughts, figuring out her moves just before she made them.
    She slammed the phone down. It was those kids with Jake, she thought. He and his friends were worried that she was going to tell something.
    Did it have anything to do with the carpet that she’d seen them burning in the bonfire? Was this about the church burning? Had they killed Ben?
    She was shaking so hard she could hardly grab the phone again, but she picked it up and dialed her brother’s number. He answered quickly. “Hello?”
    â€œMike, it’s me,” she said, her voice wobbling. “Some weird stuff is happening around here and—can I come and bunk at your house tonight?”
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” he asked.
    â€œI’ve just got to get out of here. Somebody slashed all four of my tires, so I don’t have a car. I’ll need you to come get me.”
    â€œSlashed your tires?” he asked. “Who would do that?”
    â€œThe same person who’d put a dead cat in my bed and