“What can you tell me about our fire, young man?” the chief asked.
Was the man joking? How the heck would he know anything at this point based on the chief’s inadequate report? “I was hoping you might remember more details to help me reconstruct it. Did the blaze start inside or out?”
“Inside’s my guess,” Pratt said, hands in his pockets. “When we got here, flames were shooting out the windows and flaring from the roof.”
Wyatt noted there were no trees adjacent to the former restaurant. The woods were forty feet away from the west side of the building. A tidal creek ran along the east side of the property. A grassy parking lot and the road bounded the other sides. “Good thing the fire didn’t jump. Once it got in those pines, you’d have had quite a wildfire on your hands.”
The chief’s brow furrowed. “My men responded quickly, and they knew what to do. We take fires seriously around here.”
Definitely not joking. Maybe a bit testy. Tough. “Did you conduct a primary search?”
“Didn’t reckon we needed to, not with this place shut down for years. I wouldn’t have sent a search team inside this place anyway. The Beast had too big of a head start on us. It wouldn’t have been safe.”
“How did you locate the body?”
“We came out the next morning to poke around the embers. I found Brown myself under a bit of wall. Not much left of him, God rest his soul. We notified the coroner immediately.”
The coroner’s report listed smoke inhalation as the cause of death. “Show me where the body was.”
Dinterman took the fire chief’s arm as he walked around the charred mess, stopping near a big chipped porcelain sink. “This is where the back door opened into the kitchen,” the chief said. “Seems like Brown could have walked on out of there, but he didn’t.”
With a fracture to his skull, he could have been unconscious or immobilized. “Tell me about the candles.”
“Found them in three different hot spots. At two places not all the drier sheets burned.”
Everything tracked with what he expected to find so far. “Was this place gutted before the fire?”
Chief Pratt snorted. “The MacMillan estate sold off everything that wasn’t nailed down to pay the old man’s funeral expenses. Even the dishes.”
He was used to seeing more items in the ashes. “What about the stove? Did they sell that?”
“I don’t rightly know,” Pratt said. “Laurie Ann, you know?”
“I haven’t been out here since I was a kid,” she said. “I missed the yard sales when Mr. MacMillan closed the restaurant. That was about the time my grandpop went in the nursing home. I wasn’t paying attention, and then I never had reason to come back out here.”
Wyatt made a note to check about the kitchen appliances. “To reiterate, there were no items worth stealing in here, except maybe an industrial stove and some refrigeration units. We have a man with smoke in his lungs and a bump on his head that perished in the fire. We don’t know if the fire started with Brown in the kitchen or elsewhere.”
“That sounds right,” Pratt said.
Wyatt snapped photos of the blackened spoils. He noted the V of heat on two of the restaurant’s wall fragments. “You’re right. This fire had multiple starting places. The arsonist certainly did his homework. What’s the square footage here?”
“Lemme see,” Buford tapped his cheek with a finger. “The eating part was thirty by sixty and the cooking part plus restrooms were about thirty by ten.”
“A little over 2,000 square feet then,” Wyatt said, though he’d measure it to be exact. “And the entire building burnt to the ground. I’ll gather soil and wood samples to confirm use of an accelerant. Like you, I’m betting the arsonist doused this place with gasoline.”
Buford Pratt glanced at his watch. “You have more questions for me? I’ve got a three o’clock appointment.”
Wyatt extended his hand to the chief. “I should be fine. Thank you for making the trip out here.”
The chief shook his hand and nodded at Dinterman. “I’ll leave you young people to it. Take care, Laurie Ann.”
“Bye, Uncle Buford,” Dinterman called out as the chief climbed in his truck and drove off.
“Your uncle?” Wyatt asked.
Her cheeks darkened to a near-crimson shade. “Small town. Uncle Buford lost his wife six months ago at exactly three o’clock, and every day at three he goes to sit with her in the cemetery.”
That sounded like something his mom would do. She never gave up on any family member. Including him. “Are you from a large family?”
She shook her head, her hair reflecting glints of sunlight. “Only child. My mother died when I was three, and my dad never remarried. How about you?”
He didn’t talk about his family on the job, but she’d shared a bit of her history. It might encourage her to open up more if he reciprocated. Having a local liaison was his best chance at getting insider information about this community. “There are six of us, though I haven’t seen my siblings in a while. I’ve been too busy to get home in the last few months.”
“You should make the effort,” she said. “Life is short. You wouldn’t believe the people I come in contact with that would give their right arm to have one more conversation with their loved ones.”
“I’m working on it.” Wyatt turned his attention from the mini-lecture to the ashes. “Has anyone been out here salvaging material from the site?”
“I don’t know for sure, but this is how the place looked yesterday when I came out to refresh my memory. Is something missing?”
“Without knowing more details, I can’t say, but something about this place feels wrong. I can’t put my finger on it yet, but it’ll come to me.”
He sampled the burnt sand and sealed it in his paint cans. He hacked out a chunk of deeply alligatored wood that smelled like gasoline, made notes about what was visible, and snapped photos. He noted the wood paneling and floors had been tongue-in-groove construction. They’d sealed the fire for awhile, allowing it to superheat inside the restaurant.
From the destruction of the structure, the lack of artifacts in the ashes, the smoke inhalation victim, the candles and dryer sheets for fire starters, and the isolated location, this felt very much like his arsonist. Since Wyatt had arrived three days after the fire, chances were slim the man was still in the area.
But by God, if he was, Wyatt would nail him, no matter what it took.
Chapter 6
After walking through the ashes with the arson investigator, Laurie Ann felt confined in his midsize pickup. Her heart beat a little too fast, and she was very aware of the man beside her. He smelled like wood smoke, ocean breeze, and testosterone. The perfect trifecta for her tastes, which was a crying shame, given her policy of not dating her colleagues.
No one should smell that good.
It didn’t help that he met her height criteria either. At six-two, he was neither bone thin nor packing forty extra pounds. He looked … just right. Better yet, he was all business. No teasing. No flirting.
No sad puppy dog eyes because she didn’t fall all over him.
His commanding attitude, which had seemed abrasive over the phone, still chafed, but she understood he had a job to do. She was merely the tour guide. Focused and forthright, he’d complete his investigation in short order.
The surprise was that Wyatt had opened up to her about his family. With his many siblings, he had a gaggle of relatives. They came from different worlds.
When he cranked the motor, she turned to him. “Where to next?”
“I’ll drop you at the station. I need to mail my samples for analysis immediately. Do you have the contact information for the owners?”
Erlene at the Tax Commissioner’s office had given her the Foxworths’ phone number. “It’s in my report. Ellie and Glen Foxworth live in Jacksonville. Investigator Rusty Rawson spoke with them after the fire. They have a solid alibi.”
“How do you explain the b
ody in the fire?” he asked.
Good question. Brown’s gaunt face flitted through her memory and stirred her emotions. “James Brown did odd jobs around town, but he had no fixed address and spent every penny he came across on booze. Most of his life he was a quiet drunk, but lately, we received plenty of drunk and disorderly calls on him.”
“Lately, as in the last week?”
“More like the last three months. Seemed like he was angry about something, so we locked him up, he slept it off, and he’d be back out on the street the next day.” A memory flickered at the edge of her mind. “At one time...oh, never mind.”
He glanced her way before halting at the four-way stop. “What?”
She waited until he cleared the intersection before answering. “We had some break-ins a while back, and we could never pin them on a single suspect. James Brown was seen in the vicinity of each burglary, but he never had stolen property or flashed a lot of money, so we had no proof of his involvement.”
“Did he have a firebug history?”
“Not that I know of. Brown lived from one bottle to the next. He didn’t expend any extra effort, just the minimal amount to get by. I’ve never seen him at any fires until this one.”
“Could he have been staying in the building?”
“It’s possible, but not too probable, not unless he had laid in a supply of booze. Pirate’s Cove is too far from town and people who might line his pockets with cash to get rid of him.”
“Smoke inhalation killed him, even though he had a bump on his head. He wasn’t murdered elsewhere and dumped here. He was alive until the smoke got him. He was either a willing accomplice to the arsonist or collateral damage.”
Air whistled between her clenched teeth. “You’re certain about the arson part?”
“My samples will provide the proof, but yeah, I’m certain. Your uncle’s analysis of the fire was spot-on.”
His words boosted her pride. He didn’t think they were a bunch of uneducated hicks. “Do you catch many arsonists?”
He appeared to be studying something in the sky. “Not as many as I’d like. Sooner or later they get sloppy, though, and that’s when I make my move.”
She ducked forward to follow his gaze. Everything looked ordinary: the two-lane county road, the tidy houses with wheeled trashcans by the mailboxes. She glanced over at him. No doubt about it, the man saw something.
He rolled down his window and sniffed in a lungful of air. “Fire.”
She studied the sky again. Nothing. But she smelled smoke. “Where?”
“West of us. Is there a road nearby?” He flipped on his red and white flashing lights.
“Evinrude Drive is the closest route. It’s the next right.” She pulled out her cell phone and called it in. “You think this fire’s a coincidence?”
“I don’t believe in coincidences. Any homes in that direction?”
“The paper company owns that tract. Their pines are a valuable timber crop. With the drought we’ve had for the last five years, a woods fire would be catastrophic.”
She directed him to turn right on Evinrude. The smell of smoke thickened. “We’re close.”
“You good with a fire extinguisher?”
“I’ve used a few.”
“I’ve got two in the back. Call in the coordinates when we stop. I’ll grab one extinguisher and try to quench the flames. Then I’ll use the backup. You stay put.”
The warning her boss gave rang in her ears. Fires were dangerous. “Maybe we should both wait in the truck. The chief gave me strict orders to make sure nothing happened to you.”
He laughed. “I’ve done this before.”
Misgivings crowded her thoughts, but he was out of the truck before she could think of a way to dissuade him. She reported the small wildfire and carried the twenty-pound extinguisher out to North. He handed her the spent one.
What she wouldn’t give for a broom right now to beat the fire. But maybe the cloth tarp in his truck would smother the flames.
The fire had spread in a line about twenty feet across, and it was still burning grass and weeds. That extinguisher wouldn’t last for very long. Manually beating the flames was the only way she could help Wyatt.
Sweat beaded in her hairline. She found it hard to take a full breath. At least she could see the total involvement of the fire.
No chance of a body turning up out here.
The only bodies here were hers and Wyatt’s, and she’d make damn sure nothing happened to him.
Chapter 7
Wyatt didn’t question his need to fight the fire. He went at it with the fury of a man scorned. He dispatched the pin from the ABC extinguisher and made sweeping motions over the small ground fire. Heat from the flames seared his face, ears, neck, and hands, triggering unwanted memories of the first fire he’d ever fought with Bobby.
The small kitchen fire was hotter than they’d thought. They were making a final sweep when his buddy stopped moving. Bobby’s gear gapped, and he couldn’t breathe. Wyatt had sealed the opening, and Bobby had performed the same service for him.
Rookies.
Hard to believe he’d been that young and green. From that day forward, he’d double-checked his equipment. A few skin grafts for each of them, some time off, and they were back in business.
He’d vowed never to get burned so badly.
Wyatt shook off the memories and paid attention to the fire before him. His extinguisher sputtered and there was Dinterman with the spare. He pulled the pin and kept going, pushing in from the tip of the fire into the black, that demarcation where the fire had already burned, knowing it was dangerous, but wanting to contain the fire.
The foaming spray sputtered and stopped.
He started stamping out the edges of the fire with his boots. He saw a movement out of the corner of his eyes. Dinterman. To his horror, he saw she had followed him into the fire. She’d folded his tarp and was beating flames in a very hot section.
“Drop it,” he shouted over the crackling flames. “Step back!”
She didn’t respond. He’d seen guys act like that before. So absorbed they couldn’t hear a spoken word. They didn’t last long as firefighters. If you weren’t aware, you were a liability.
With her hearing offline, Dinterman crossed into the liability category. Flames separated them. That smoldering blanket could flash any second now and she’d be a goner. God, what he’d give to have a full set of turnout gear on. But by the time he went back to the truck, it would be too late.
The ground near his feet flashed again.
Fool. You know better. Move. Save the girl.
Feeling the heat everywhere, he backed up and hurried toward Dinterman.
“Dinterman!” he yelled.
Still no response.
Only a few more steps.
He grabbed her and tugged the cloth tarp from her hand. The fabric ignited, and he rolled them both on the ground away from the roaring flames.
Adrenaline rifled through his veins, and he felt alive in a way he hadn’t in a long time. God, he’d missed the rush of fighting fires. In the distance, he heard the wail of approaching sirens. Help was on the way.
The woman beneath him trembled. Probably shock. “It’s okay,” he murmured with sympathy. “I’ve got you.”
“Yes, you do, and I don’t want to be on the ground when the fire guys get here.” She shoved hard at his chest. “Get off me.”
“I saved your life. Cut me a little slack, here.”
Her face paled. “At least show me the courtesy of not crushing the breath out of me and not ruining my reputation in front of the guys.”
The look of panic in her eyes got to him. Immediately, he levered himself up and reached for her. She tried to bat his hand away, but he hauled her to her feet and guided her back to the safety of his truck.
“Thought I told you to stay put,” he said.
“I’m not a sit-on-the-sidelines kind of person.”
Dried grass poked out of h
er hair. He suspected he sported grass in his hair, too. Anyone coming on the scene would think the worst, but he couldn’t bring himself to brush the grass off either of them. He knew it was childish, but if she had a beef with the local guys, let them think they had some competition.
The engine rolled up, laid out the hose, and doused the flames like clockwork. He told himself he’d kept the fire manageable. Soon, even the fiery heat had dissipated.
Chief Pratt nodded as he approached. “North. Laurie Ann.”
“Chief.” Wyatt returned the man’s stiff nod. Should he apologize for dragging the chief away from his cemetery visit?
The chief turned to his niece, ignoring Wyatt. “What happened here?”
While Dinterman narrated the story of their actions, Wyatt realized the double-edged nature of the chief’s question. He wanted to know why they’d gotten dirty together.
“We haven’t had a small brush fire like this in months,” the chief said. “Thanks to your eagle eye and quick action, the fire stayed small. Without your intervention, it would have burned for days.”
“It wasn’t me,” Dinterman said. “North spotted the smoke as we drove back to town. We detoured to check it out. You know the rest.”
Pratt offered his hand. “Thanks. I owe ya.”
Wyatt shook the man’s hand, knowing he’d made a friend. “Glad to help out.” And he was. For the first time in a very long time, he felt like himself again. The fire, the woman, the rush of adrenaline had hit him like a speeding train. And Lord, he’d missed the thrill.
“Looks like you’ll need some new trousers,” the chief said to Wyatt. “I hope you have an expense account.”
Wyatt shrugged. “I’m glad it turned out so well.”
Chief Pratt reached for Dinterman’s chin and held it, staring into her dark brown eyes. “You sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine, Uncle Buford.”
“Wait here,” Pratt said.
As the fire chief hurried off, Dinterman leaned over and spoke in a soft voice. “What’s he up to?”
“Not a clue.”
Laurie Ann held his gaze. “I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful back there. I’m glad you pulled me back when you did. I thought I’d see the flames before it caught.”
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