The Stranger Next Door by Peg Kehret Page A

going to untie Alex and let him go?
    Wishful thinking turned to dread as the smell of gasolineseeped under the door. Footsteps ran away; the front door slammed shut.
    Because the other two fires had been started around the perimeters of the houses, Alex had assumed Mr. Woolsey would do that again, and that it would take some time for the flames to reach this bathroom. Instead Mr. Woolsey had poured gasoline inside the house, next to where Alex was confined.
    He heard a muffled curse from outside the bathroom window, followed by the sound of something hitting the wall.
    Alex sat on the edge of the bathtub, swung his legs up and over the side, then stood in the tub and peeked out the window.
    Mr. Woolsey was pounding on the wall with his gasoline container, trying to shake out a few more drops. Mr. Woolsey had not intended to start a second fire tonight; maybe he had emptied the container at the gray house, and now there wasn’t enough gasoline left to set fire to the tan house.
    He saw Mr. Woolsey strike a match, then toss it toward the base of the house. Alex couldn’t see if anything caught fire, but Mr. Woolsey gave a satisfied nod, then ran off.
    Alex stood helplessly in the bathtub, listening for the sound of sirens.
    Minutes later, fingers of flame gripped the bottom edge of the door, then crawled upward.
    Water, Alex thought. I’m in a bathroom. If I can turn on the water, I can stay wet, and keep my clothes from catching fire. He sat down in the tub, facing away from the faucet.
    He scooted backward until his hands touched the front of the tub. He groped for the faucet, found it, and turned it. Nothing happened. He yanked it as far as it would go; still nothing.
    The main water valve to the house must not be open. Probably the water didn’t get turned on until people were ready to move in.
    Thick smoke oozed under the door and rose, curling around Alex’s head. He looked at the small window over the tub. He could probably squeeze through it if he could get it open, but with his hands tied behind him, he couldn’t reach the latch, and there was nothing in the bathroom that he could stand on.
    “Help!” Alex screamed. He hadn’t heard any fire trucks arrive, so he didn’t think anyone was near enough to hear him, but he shouted anyway. “Help! I’m trapped in here!”

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    P ete flattened himself on the tree limb. He watched as the man approached Alex. He saw Alex get in the man’s car. He watched the taillights disappear down the street.
    Pete clung to the branch and howled. In his terror at the sound of the gunshot, he had climbed higher than he had ever gone before. The branch beneath him, already bent downward from Pete’s weight, dipped lower when he tried to turn around.
    Behind him, he heard Mr. and Mrs. Kendrill call Alex’s name again and again.
    “Out here!” Pete shrieked. “Come out here and look. There’s another fire!”
    But the people did not come. He would have to climb down by himself.
    The branch was too narrow for him to turn around on, so Pete backed cautiously toward the tree trunk, his claws digging into the bark. He had gone only a few feet when hesaw headlights race toward the burning house. Pete lay motionless, his blue eyes wide.
    Peering through the leaves, Pete saw the man take rope from the trunk. He saw Alex get out of the car, then run toward the tan house. The man followed him inside.
    Soon the man came out alone, without the rope. He got a gasoline can from his car. He ran inside the house, then returned and went to the rear of the building. Pete couldn’t see him then, but he knew what the gasoline was for.
    Alex is in there! Pete thought. He hasn’t come out. That horrid man is starting another fire, and this time Alex is inside the house.
    Hoping that the man would not see his white fur, Pete backed quickly toward the tree trunk. In his haste, he was not as cautious as he should have been, and his hind feet slipped off the narrow branch.
    Pete dangled, his body