by Vicki Delany
She drove carefully, hoping that Luke would have shoveled his driveway. He hadn’t. She couldn’t even tell where the driveway was.
Joanna sat in the car, the cap on her lap. It seemed like an awful lot of trouble to try to wade through hip-high snowdrifts in the middle of the night just to return a cap. She could see the outline of the cabin from the road, no lights were on. Wouldn’t want to wake him up.
Placing the car into drive she caught saw a quick flash of red light flickering through the coal-black night. Then it was gone. She narrowed her eyes and peered into the darkness. There it was again. This time the red light didn’t disappear.
Joanna wrenched the gears back into park and leapt out of her car. She ran to the edge of the road. Tongues of flame leapt into the sky behind Luke’s cabin.
Chapter 6
“Fire!” she screamed, “Fire!” But there was no one around to hear. She grabbed her cell phone and started to punch the buttons before she remembered: there was no 911 in this godforsaken part of the world and she didn’t know the fire department or police phone number. They were pinned to the cork bulletin board over her desk. Fat lot of help that was now. She dialed the only number she knew. Fortunately Maude Mitchell’s number was an easy one to remember.
“Please be there,” she whispered while the phone rang on.
Someone picked it up. Joanna didn’t even wait for them to say hello. “Fire,” she shouted, “at Luke Snelgrove’s place. Call the fire department. Hurry.” She threw the phone back into her car and ran.
Her heart was pounding with enough strength to burst through her chest. Thick, heavy snow pulled at her legs, trying to slow her down. Before she took ten steps she was out of breath. The flames were higher now, long red tongues reaching up into the night sky. Joanna couldn’t tell if the cabin was on fire, or something behind it. She ran on.
“Fire, fire.” She pounded at the front door, gasping for breath. “Luke, Luke, are you there?” There was no reply. The curtains weren’t drawn. Hands forming a cup around her eyes she peered through the window. The only jacket she had ever seen him wear was tossed over a chair. He must be inside, she thought, trying to control her rising panic. He wouldn’t go out without a coat.
She kicked the door furiously, screaming Luke’s name all the time. Luke’s cabin was even smaller than hers. She could see right through it and out the back window. The fire was still confined to the outside, but she could see the flames licking hungrily against the window, seeking a way in.
The wood in the old door gave way under her foot. Joanna pushed at the broken panels and cleared a space large enough to squeeze through. The moment she crashed into the cabin, the flames broke through the back wall. The shack was filling up with smoke fast. She stumbled into the room.
“Luke,” she cried, “for God’s sake where are you?”
Then she saw a foot sticking out over the edge of the old torn couch in the middle of the room. The old man lay on his back, covered in a rough blanket, snoring as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
Joanna pounded on his chest furiously. “Wake up, Luke, wake up. Your house is on fire.”
She would never be able to carry him. The whole back wall was now a sheet of flame. If Luke didn’t wake up NOW, she would have to leave him.
She almost cried with relief when he groaned and tried to push her away.
She grabbed his arm and pulled. “Get up, Luke. Now. Fire!”
His eyes opened. “Jesus H. Christ,” he screamed at the sight of the back end of his home consumed in a wall of flames.
Luke stumbled to his feet. He was dressed only in a set of dirty, torn long underwear. Joanna grabbed the blanket and tossed it around his shoulders. She supported his arms and together they dashed through the smoke. She pushed Luke across the broken door and then stumbled after him. Staggering into the middle of the clearing in front of the cabin Joanna felt safe enough to collapse onto her stomach. She rolled over and lay in the snow, sucking fresh, clean air into her lungs. It tasted so good.
Luke sat down heavily beside her. “Jesus, my place. Look at my place.” The old man began to cry.
Joanna rolled onto her back. The silence broken only by Luke’s sobs and the crackle of flame, they watched the cabin burn. “We’d better move,” she said when she could speak again. “The trees might catch.”
“No chance of that,” he said through his tears. “They’re full of snow.”
For a long time the only sound to be heard was the roar of fire. Then cars came to a screeching halt on the road and doors slammed as men leapt out and ran toward them. In the distance Joanna could hear the piercing cry of the fire truck.
“Goddammit, Luke, what’s happened here?”
“Are you okay, Miss?” Tight with concern, the face of one of her neighbors peered into hers. She could only nod.
The volunteer fire department ran up, dragging equipment, stumbling through the snow. They turned their hoses on the blaze but it was too late. With a crash and shower of sparks that had them all hiding their eyes, the roof collapsed.
She didn’t look up again until a warm mug was pressed into her hands.
“Here you go, dear. I think you need this.” Maude Mitchell crouched in front of her clutching a battered thermos. Joanna accepted the mug gratefully. Steam drifted into the night air and the welcome warmth soaked into her frozen fingers. Maude pulled another cup out from her pocket and poured hot chocolate for Luke.
“You two had better get to the hospital,” Maude suggested. “I’ll drive.”
Joanna and Luke both refused her offer.
“I’m fine, really,” Joanna said. “Just a bit shaken up.”
“So you must be,” Maude replied. “Come back with me to my place anyway. We better get you warmed up. Luke, I still have some of Harvey’s old work clothes in the shed somewhere. You can’t wear that blanket the rest of the night.”
Gratefully Joanna allowed herself to be lifted to her feet and led to Maude’s car. It was so nice to be taken care of, like a child allowed to stay up late to watch the Canada Day fireworks but then too sleepy to make it home without aid. One of the men assured her that he would look after her car.
Maude settled Joanna in front of her stone fireplace with a hand-knitted afghan wrapped around her knees and a glass of brandy in her trembling hand. Maude also managed to find a pair of men’s pajamas about three sizes too big for Luke and tried to pack him off to bed. But he would have none of it, and instead paced up and down the living room. Rocky walked in rhythm with every restless step.
“Quite a night.” Maude threw another log on the fire and went to answer the knocking at her front door.
The Volunteer Fire Department, representatives of the Ontario Provincial Police and assorted helpers and hangers on filed in, stamping their feet and spreading snow all over Maude’s immaculate hardwood floors. Rocky rushed about the room, frantic with delight at all these unexpected visitors.
Maude tossed a towel to the youngest of the men. “Mike, you wipe up that mess. The rest of you come and stand by the fire and warm yourselves.”
In no time Maude produced gallons of coffee and hot chocolate and plates of sandwiches and cookies for her midnight visitors.
The man who had offered to drive Joanna’s car home handed her the keys. She smiled her thanks.
The chief of the fire brigade sat down beside Joanna. “You’re a lucky man, Luke,” he said. “Lucky Joanna here was passing by.”
Luke stopped walking and collapsed into a chair with a grunt, embarrassed at being the center of attention.
“I just wanted to return his cap.” Joanna shivered at the memory.
“Any idea what caused the fire, Chief?” Maude asked, bringing in yet another plate of cookies. Joanna wondered where they all came from. Did Maude have an entire supply of food ready for any old time about 30 neighbors would show up needing to be fed?
“Not yet,” he replied. “But it started for sure in the tool shed out back. T
hat was a rotten old building anyway, it’s burnt right to the ground now.”
“Goddamn Roy McMaster.” Luke leapt from his chair. “He set my place on fire, he tried to fry me.” He shook a bony finger at a man rubbing his hands in front of the fire. So disheveled, he obviously had been dragged from a warm comfortable bed and out into the snow to the site of the fire. “He’s been telling everyone he’s gonna kill me for years. Now he tried to do it. You arrest him, Roy McMaster’s the one.”
“Who’s that?” Joanna whispered to Maude.
“Bob Reynolds. Ontario Provincial Police.”
“Now, Luke,” the OPP officer said, turning reluctantly from the fire. “Don’t go saying things like that. Not unless you have proof.”
“Don’t need no proof,” Luke mumbled, but he settled back into his chair. “Ain’t he always been saying he’s gonna get me some day?”
One of the men who had simply wandered in hoping to be part of the excitement elbowed the man beside him. “No more than Luke’s been promising to get Roy,” he whispered.
“Well, we’ll look into it. I’ll go and talk to Roy tomorrow,” Reynolds said.
Maude interrupted, “Luke, you’ve had one heck of a night. Why don’t you get off to bed and we’ll go over it all tomorrow? Ain’t no one going to do nothing tonight.” Carefully she raised the old man to his feet. In the huge pajamas he looked like a large, wrinkled baby. All the fight went out of him. He wilted before everyone’s eyes as he allowed Maude to guide him down the hall to her spare room.
The men watched him go. When they heard the bedroom door shut someone spoke up. “Do you think Luke took a lamp out to the shed, then forgot about it when he went in?”
“Maybe,” the fire chief said. “But that don’t seem likely to me. Luke may be old, but he’s not careless.”
The men all nodded in agreement.
“He was awfully hard to wake up,” Joanna said. “I was wondering if he might have been drinking.”
“That’s possible. Luke’s been known to go on a bender now and again. But I still can’t see him being careless.”
“He doesn’t keep anything in that shed that would just go up in flames,” one of the firemen said, a reasonably young and handsome one. As he spoke he tossed a cookie to Rocky. The dog caught it in midair and swallowed it in one gulp, then innocently looked about for more. “I was in it a few months ago, returning a hammer my father borrowed. No paint, or oil rags-nothing like that. Just his tools and some firewood.”
“Don’t you be feeding any more cookies to that dog,” Maude chided, reentering the room and settling into a scarred old rocking chair that claimed pride of place in front of the fire. “He’s getting much too fat and lazy as it is.”
The cookie-thrower lowered his head. “Yes, ma’am,” he mumbled.
“The fire inspection people will be nosing around tomorrow,” the chief said. “We’ll know more then.”
The front door opened with a crash and Tiffany flew in with a gust of wind. Eyes wild, she searched the faces in the crowded living room until she found her grandma sitting in her rocking chair. The girl settled back into her regular sneer. “What’s going on? What are all you people doing here?”
“Luke’s cabin burned down,” Maude told her.
“Oh.” Tiffany shrugged. This didn’t affect her. She took the last cookie on the plate and started to walk out of the crowded room.
Bob Reynolds of the police stepped in front of her. “Where were you tonight, Tiffany?”
“Out,” she replied.
“Out where?”
“What’s it to you?” she demanded.
“Maybe nothing,” he replied. “So where were you tonight?”
“Just hanging with some friends.”
“What friends?”
“No one you know.”
“I know most people around here.”
“Well, my friends aren’t from around this stupid town.”
Joanna looked around the room. Every eye was on Tiffany. The pain etched into Maude’s face was palpable.
“Were you down the road earlier? Say, near Luke’s place?”
“No, we weren’t down the road. Who would want to go near Luke’s shack anyway? What a stupid question.” She snapped her fingers and Rocky rushed over for a scratch.
Tiffany bent to rub the dog’s ears. Reynolds tried to look into her face, but she gave all her attention to Rocky. “Were you and your friends taking drugs tonight?”
“No, we weren’t taking drugs, not that it’s any of your business. You can’t ask me that.” Dog at her heels, she stormed out of the room. They could all hear the bedroom door slam.
An uncomfortable silence hung in the air, people shifted in their chairs.
“Now Bob, you can’t go accusing Tiffany of anything,” Maude said, her voice high and anxious. “She goes out lots of nights, people’s houses don’t burn down just because some teenagers are out having fun.”
“Girl’s all drugged up, Maude,” he said. “Her pupils are the size of saucers.”
Maude stood. “I’m very tired, and I’m sure Joanna is too. I think it’s time you boys were all leaving.”
One by one the men filed out, muttering thanks for the coffee and cookies. Bob Reynolds was the last to go.
“Think about it, Maude,” he said.
Maude turned to Joanna, a frozen smile pasted on her face. “You are welcome to spend the night, dear. With Luke in the spare room I can only offer you the couch, but it should be comfortable enough.”
Joanna struggled to her feet. “No, thank you. I will be more comfortable in my own bed. I can walk, it’s not far.”
Maude snorted. “I’ll drive you. And not another word.”
They drove the short distance through the snow-wrapped, dark forest. It was as silent inside the car as out. Joanna was relieved to see her car safely parked in her own driveway. She hesitated before getting out. “I think that Mr. Reynolds was way out of line. He virtually came right out and accused Tiffany of starting the fire. Right there in front of half the county. You were right to stand up for her.”
Maude grimaced. “There’s a lot of folks in this town what don’t like Tiffany much. She’s a difficult girl. She’s led a hard life in so few years and she doesn’t have much reason to trust people. But she’s not dishonest and she would never try to hurt anyone.” Maude looked Joanna in the eye. “She’s a good girl, if people would only give her a chance.”
“Good night Maude. And thank you very much for the coffee and brandy.”
“Good night, Joanna. Sleep well.”
Chapter 7
Joanna groaned awake in a haze of aching muscles and thick thoughts, a persistent buzzing sounding in her ears. She recovered her senses just enough to reach for the phone. The receiver slipped out of her hands and clattered to the floor. She hauled it up by the cord.
“Hello?”
“Mom, where on earth are you? I sat up until two AM waiting for you, then fell asleep on the couch. Fred Blanchard’s call woke me up.”
“Oh, God!” Joanna was suddenly awake. She fumbled with her watch. “What time is it?”
“Ten o’clock. He said you were supposed to be at the office at nine for a morning meeting. What on earth are you doing still in bed?”
Joanna sunk back into the pillows. “It’s a long story, Wendy. But there was a fire last night. Not here, the house down the road. I was up half the night.”
“A fire. Are you all right? Were you in it?”
“Don’t worry, dear. I’m fine. It was just all the excitement. Half the town driving up and down the road. Fire engines, police cars, the whole story. No one was hurt, but the house was totally destroyed.”
“Well, I’m sorry about that. But really, Mom. Surely you can see by now how dangerous it is for you out there all by yourself. What if it had been your house to catch fire?”
“Well, it wasn’t. Good-bye, dear. I must call Fred now. Talk to you later.”
Jo
anna pretended not to hear Wendy’s cry of “Listen to me, Mother!” as she set the phone down. She looked up at the ceiling and exhaled. In all the excitement the meeting with Fred and the company directors had slipped her mind completely. Fred was an incredible stickler for being everywhere on time. For always following the rules, the perfect Company Man. She smiled grimly, remembering how it was with Fred. Tall and dark, with a Tom Selleck-as-Magnum P.I. moustache, she had been attracted to him at one time, and always thought that he felt the same way about her. Just as she was getting ready to make her move, to ask him out to dinner or perhaps to a see a play, he engaged in an incredible temper tantrum (privately, of course, it would never do to make a scene) over a colleague who arrived late to an important meeting. Joanna realized that he would never be able to fit in, no matter how peripherally, with her chaotic schedule and rowdy family life. So she did nothing. Six months later Fred married a department secretary, twenty-five years old, and the stars still fresh in her eyes.
She mentally prepared herself for the fireworks to come and dialed Fred’s office.
“Blanchard.”
“Fred, it’s Joanna here. I…”
“Joanna, good heavens, are you all right? Where are you? When Wendy told me that you hadn’t arrived last night…”
“I’m fine, Fred. Thank you for worrying. But I’m afraid that I won’t make it in today.” She explained about the fire with as little detail as told to Wendy. She was still braced for an explosion.
