Samantha hesitated a moment in the window, gathering the courage to leap from the bedroom. She landed on the porch roof, stumbling but keeping her feet. The roof sagged and creaked, preparing to dump her to the ground at any moment. She circled around to the front of the house, where she found a group of men in overalls and pajama tops manning an ancient fire truck.
She dropped the woman to one of the firemen, two others helping her down to the ground. "Is there anyone else?" one of the firemen asked.
"I didn't see anyone," she rasped and then broke into another coughing fit. One of the men helped her over to the fire truck and held out an oxygen mask. She breathed deeply, letting the pure air fill her lungs.
"She's dead," another of the firemen said. He came over to stand in front of Samantha. "What happened?"
"I don't know," Samantha said. "I found her like that."
"I don't remember seeing you around here before," the fireman said. "Do you know Mrs. Coleman?" Samantha shook her head. "Then what are you doing here?"
She reached into her jacket, pulling out her FBI badge. "I received an anonymous tip someone was going to be murdered here. By the time I got here, the house was already on fire and someone had stabbed her."
"Jesus Christ," the fireman said. "Why would anyone want to do that to Mrs. Coleman?"
"I don't know," Samantha said. She got up, wobbling a step before steadying herself. She went over to the woman's body, pulling aside the comforter. She stumbled back, landing on her rear at the sight of the woman's face.
"What do you think?" she asks. She holds up an Iowa driver's license with the name Judy Metzler, aged twenty-one. With her braces, freckles, and tiny breasts Judy doesn't look any more than fifteen.
"I think we're going to get caught," Samantha says.
"You're such a pessimist," Judy says. "Let's see yours."
Samantha reaches into the black purse on her lap and reveals the license for Samantha Young, also aged twenty-one. One eye is half-closed in the picture as if she was in the middle of winking and her lips are locked in a wince. "I look drunk," she says.
"Very soon you shall be, my dear," Judy says with a flourish. She checks her face in the rearview mirror, teasing the hair she had done yesterday. "Don't worry, this is going to work. Just promise me after we find a couple cute boys you'll stop moping around."
"I'm not moping," Samantha says. "I only said I don't know why we couldn't stay in town. I have to turn in a paper for Euro Lit tomorrow and I haven't even started."