A Bolt from the Blue. Maggie Wells

She tossed the useless phone back into the house and wrapped her arms around herself. Rain poured from the sky. Water gushed from clogged gutters and ran in rivers down the circular drive. The car she rented at the airport sat parked outside the three-car garage. Her sister hadn’t thought to give her a remote control to open one of the bays. Or, maybe Diana had thought about it, but decided the domestic model wasn’t deserving of shelter. Her baby sister certainly hadn’t liked the idea of Hope staying in the house as they prepared to place it on the market.

      Eying the car, she tried to remember if she’d pressed the button to lock the vehicle. She had no idea. But she had to move or she would either get soaked or burn up. Gingerly, she ran a cautious hand over the sole of her left foot, flinching when she touched at least three bits of ceramic embedded into the skin. She sucked air between clenched teeth as she plucked two from her heel. The one in the ball of her foot warranted a yelp, two more merdes, and a compound expletive that made her want to wash her own mouth out with soap. She gave her right foot similar treatment before she could chicken out.

      Once she was certain she had extracted the worst of them, she rose as gingerly as she could. Biting her lip, she moved back to the front door and sniffed. The acrid scent of melted plastic and smoldering wood greeted her. The scent of ozone filled the air. The next flash of lightning highlighted a faint haze of smoke filling the house. Time for an outdoor shower.

      She dashed out into the rain. The air was warm and heavy with electricity. Each drop of rain felt like a tiny icicle burrowing into her skin, though the cuts on her feet made her feel like she was running across hot coals. The jersey was soaked through in seconds. Worse, the goddamn car was locked. Desperate times called for measures sure to set the North Shore tongues wagging.

      Without allowing herself a moment to think the better of the plan, she raced down the driveway toward Sheridan Road. Her heart leaped into her throat when she saw rotating red lights bounce off the stone privacy wall. Police, fire, ambulance, she didn’t care. As far as she was concerned, she had need for one and all.

      “Ah-ah-ow-ow,” she chanted as she picked her way closer to the road. Despite the late hour, a surprisingly steady stream of cars zipped by, windshield wipers shushing at high speed. Swiveling, she scanned the road in both directions, praying she hadn’t imagined those magical lights. Arms hugged tight to her sides, she swung back and forth until she caught a glimpse of them again. Seconds later, a fire truck crested a rise in the road. “Oh, thank God.”

      Raising her arms over her head, she waved her hands in broad arcs, hoping the driver could spot her through the deluge. She blew out a long, relieved breath and dropped her arms when the massive truck downshifted. Then, the damn thing cruised right past.

      “No!” Her jaw dropped as she watched the rig roll by. She ran after the truck, heedless of the gravel and grit grinding into her battered soles. Two firemen hung off the back of the truck, in spite of the driving rain, but she didn’t feel the least bit sorry for them. At least they had hats. And pants.

      “Come back!” she cried, but when the truck hooked a sharp left and headed away from the lake, she knew the chase was futile.

      Breathing hard, she eyeballed the subtly played reflectors marking the next driveway. She was halfway between their drive and hers, and since there was no going into her house, she had no option but to forge ahead. Pants or no pants.

      Once upon a time, the house to the north of the Winston’s had belonged to a family named Mason, but she was sure the property had changed hands in the last twenty years. Mrs. Mason’s prized English garden had been replaced by a swimming pool with an infinity ledge that made it look as if one could swim right into Lake Michigan. The landscaping lights were on. Her neighbors had both power and a pool. But she wasn’t up for a dip. At the moment, Hope harbored nothing more than a fervent wish never to be wet again.

      Teeth chattering, she turned to go up the drive, only to find herself faced with an imposing pair of wrought iron gates.

      “Come on. Seriously?” She scowled at the discreet call box. “You afraid of those thugs from Winnetka invading?” she muttered, jabbing at random buttons in the box in hopes of rousing someone to action. “Quick, hide the silver! They’re coming in from Lake Forest by the busload. There’ll be looting and—”

      “Yes?” a disembodied voice boomed through the speaker.

      Tucking her sodden hair behind her ear, Hope leaned in close to the box. “Yes! Hello! My name is Hope Elliot and my parents owned the house next door?” For some reason she turned the statement into a question. Clearing her throat, she forged ahead. “I think there’s an electrical fire. I’m sorry to impose, but I have no phone…or shoes…” She paused, impatience with her situation overtaking the manners drilled into her as a child. “Do you think you can open the gate?”

      There was a long pause, but she couldn’t make out any click or buzz indicating her neighbors were in a mood to be neighborly. At last, the speaker crackled and the man’s voice came through again. “Who is this?”

      Throwing her arms up in surrender, Hope drooped when they fell back to her sides. “I’m your neighbor to the south. Would you mind calling 9-1-1? My house is on fire.” When they didn’t respond, she added a smartassy “Please and thank you, neighbor!” before turning on her heel and marching back toward her smoldering abode.

      Maybe the rain would stifle the blaze. If the place wasn’t engulfed in flames by the time she got back, she would throw caution to the wind and run upstairs for her mobile phone. After all, how fast could a house burn when rain was coming down in buckets?

      Limping back to the house, she tried to assess her situation and her options rationally, but rational thought was damn hard when she was barefoot and pantless on a public roadway and her teeth were chattering hard enough to cause enamel damage. Flames weren’t shooting from the roof. A good sign. With any luck, she could dash in and snag her phone and some shoes. She wondered if her mother’s trusty Burberry trench still hung in the hall closet. Diana would come unhinged. Not only over the possible fire, but the whole thing. The tree, whatever damage there might be to the exterior of the house, her pantlessness.

      She stepped off the squishy grass and onto the paved drive. A siren blerped behind her, and Hope managed to land a jump-whirl move she hadn’t attempted in more than a decade. Pain sang up her legs. Rain ran down her forehead and into her eyes, blurring her vision. But the whirl of blue lights was unmistakable. Exhaling with a whoosh, she sagged against one of the stone pillars marking the entrance to the estate as a patrol car turned into the drive. The officer behind the wheel shone an unspeakably bright spotlight in her direction before lowering his window enough to call to her.

      “Ma’am? Can I help you?”

      Shielding her eyes from the glare, Hope sighed wearily. “Thank God you stopped.” She pressed her palm to her chest. “Lightning,” she murmured, but the single word was all she could manage. The events of the evening combined with the jet lag she hoped to beat and the mild sleep aid she gulped ‘just in case’ turned her tongue into a slab of cement. She managed a wave in the direction of the house. “A tree came down, but I think lightning hit the house. There was smoke and I smelled burning wires.”

      He lowered the light a fraction of an inch. “This is your house, ma’am?”

      “Yes,” she answered, impatience and exhaustion giving her one last boost of energy. “Well, my parents’ house. This was their house. They’re deceased now.”

      An unexpected wave of grief washed over her. While she had her differences with her parents—about everything—that didn’t mean she didn’t love them. She simply didn’t want to live with them. Or near them. Or anyplace she might possibly find herself under their thumbs once again. Knowing her parents and the extents they’d go to in order to get their way, Europe had seemed like a perfectly reasonable choice all those years ago.

      Straightening her shoulders, she squinted at the fresh-faced young police officer, prepared to defend every single one of her life choices if she had to. “I’m staying here while my sister and I settle