“Next door!” she said, running out again.

Jillian and her dad put coats and boots over their pajamas, and hooked Candy up to her leash. It was exciting. Jillian had always wanted to see a fire up close—but next door? It was so near you could feel the heat of it from the yard.

The White Elephant was burning.

The firefighters ordered everyone across the street, away from the flames, away from the fire hoses and spraying arcs of water. The trucks were loud and there were bright lights on the house, like it was a movie set. It felt like Halloween and the Fourth of July all at once, but with an air of unpredictability that neither of those holidays had.

People ran out from their houses to see. Mr. Cox was yelling, directing the firefighters. Jillian felt as though she’d been put under a spell. A terrible, gorgeous spell. “Is our house going to burn down?” she asked her father.

He put his arm around her shoulder. “No.”

They stared at the wonder of it. The trucks and speakers were loud. Her mother was taking pictures. Jillian watched how the fire poured. It really did pour. And it stank. It wasn’t like the smell of a fire in a fireplace.

Mark and his mother arrived. “Awesome,” he said.

“Can you believe it?” she said.

“Think Lindy set it?”

“She must be loving it,” Jillian said. She hated Lindy for what she’d done today. Accusing Uncle Terrance of kidnapping her? What a mean and selfish person she was to do that to someone so innocent and good. Jillian looked around for her, idly, cautiously.

“Good no one was living there,” Jillian’s father said.

People speculated about whether it was the wiring or if someone had set it deliberately or what. “The second house to be gutted in just a couple weeks,” someone murmured.

“Where is she?” Jillian said.

“Who?” Mark said.

“Lindy.”

Mark looked around.

Jillian’s heart, beating a little quickly already, began to gallop. “Where is she?” She said it louder, her voice reedy.

“Who?” her father said.

“Lindy. Lindy!” she yelled.

“Lindy!” Mark called.

Jillian called her phone. Lindy’s message was simply, “You know what to do”—but she didn’t know what to do. She called the Coxes’ landline. No one answered. “Lindy!” Jillian shouted. Flames were continuing to gather, to reach and climb into the night.

“Where’s Lindy?” Other people picked up her cry. Where is she? People called for her. Lindy, Lindy.

“Where is she?” Lindy’s dad yelled, sounding mad, Kaye next to him, a look of misery on her face, Jakey’s hand in hers. They all looked at Jillian as if she knew the answer.

And she did. Or, she was afraid she did.

“I think she’s in there,” Jillian said. She said it quietly at first, then louder, screaming, “She’s in the house!”