A Firefighter's Ultimate Duty

by Beverly Long

  Stacy wrote that she’d met her husband Carl at the Spring Spectacular. He’d stepped in after her original date to the event had gotten drunk in the parking lot and thrown up on her coat. Carl, who was part of the band, had witnessed the event and then helped her pour the idiot into the back seat of a friend’s car. He’d then escorted her inside. Every time the band took a break, Carl had come to find her. And once he’d even ducked out of his playing responsibilities and danced with her. They’d been married six months later. That was over ten years ago. They hadn’t missed a Spring Spectacular since. She’d attached a photo of the band.

  It was a good story, but Daisy made a note to check on security for the parking lot.

  Patrice Reynolds had sent a note that the Spring Spectacular was the only time, outside of funerals, that she remembered her father willingly put on a suit. She’d attached a picture of her mother and father. It was dated February 12, 1981. It appeared to have been taken at the event.

  Daisy made a note to make sure there was a photographer booked.

  She kept reading, not just because the stories were adorable, but she also wanted to make sure there was nothing offensive in either the emails or the photos. Once she did that, she copied everything over to the social media sites in hopes that it would motivate others to get in on the action. Then she made sure she sent a short personal note to everyone who’d sent something in, to let them know that their submission had been received and was appreciated.

  She was halfway through her afternoon when her cell rang. She looked at it. Blade Savick. She ignored the little flip in her stomach. “Hi, Blade,” she said.

  “Hey,” he said. “How’s it going?”

  “Great. We got fourteen more Remember This responses.”

  “That’s great,” he said.

  “You seem surprised.”

  “Well, I knew it sounded like a really good idea, but I just wasn’t sure about how the good people of Knoware would respond. I’ll take a look online.”

  “At least half of them mentioned the photos I put online yesterday. One of them sent a recipe for white bean chicken chili.” She paused. “Several made very specific comments about being grateful for the brave Knoware firefighters.”

  “Now you’re making me blush,” he said, trying to brush off the comment.

  “It’s going to be hard to top those photos,” she said.

  “Well, bring your camera tomorrow,” he said. “That’s why I was calling. We’ve got a training assignment set up. We’re drilling on chemical spills, and Floyd Manufacturing Company has given us some space. I was going to text you the address, but thought it might be helpful for you to have some explanation, too.”

  “I appreciate that. I’ll watch for the text.”

  “No problem. By the way, did you find out who sent you the gift basket?”

  “Uh...no. I mean, I tried. I went to Tiddle’s Tidbits and Treasures. Morgan Tiddle is a delight, and she remembered the sale because she had to make the basket up rather quickly. However, it was a cash sale.”

  “She couldn’t tell you anything about the person who bought it?”

  “It was a man.”

  “Well, that eliminates about half of the world’s population,” he said, his tone teasing. “But it was somebody she didn’t know?” he asked.

  She really didn’t want to talk about this. Why was he so interested? “Yeah.”

  He was quiet for a minute. “Not that many strangers in Knoware this time of year.”

  Should she tell him? No. She immediately dismissed the notion. She did not want anybody in Knoware to know about Jacob Posse and what a fool she’d been. “Well, I guess it remains a big mystery,” she said lightly.

  “Could she describe him?” he asked, evidently not good at reading the clues that she was done with this conversation.

  “Late thirties, early forties. Brown hair, cut short. Six feet. On the slim side.”

  “That could be me. Although clearly on a bad day since I just turned thirty-six.”

  Blade Savick was funny. She liked that. “Could be a lot of people,” she said.

  “Right,” he said. He was silent for a minute. “I guess that’s it, then. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  She hung up. A minute later, she got a text with the address. Chemical spill. Yikes. That didn’t sound fun at all. A second later, her cell phone dinged again. This one was a text from Sophie, saying that she was home from school.

  She would have to tell her daughter that the basket sender’s identity was unknown. She didn’t want to scare her, but she also wanted her alert. It was a balancing act. Tipping too far over on either side could easily do more harm than good. She didn’t want her daughter to be afraid of men or relationships; she also wanted her to be very wary of Jacob Posse and his posse, no pun intended, who hung on his every word and likely wouldn’t hesitate to get their hands dirty if it earned them an approving nod from Jacob.

  * * *

  Blade carried a tray of cheese, meat and crackers in one hand and a twelve-pack of beer in the other. He kicked the door with his foot and it swung open.

  “Evening,” Marcus said, reaching for the beer.

  “Smells good,” Blade said.

  “Twice-baked potatoes in the oven,” Marcus said. “T-bones on the grill.”

  Blade walked into his friend’s house. It was a two-story, too big for a single guy, but Marcus liked to work with his hands and he was slowly remodeling the whole place. He’d done the kitchen first because he was also a good cook.

  He’d be a hell of a catch for some nice woman except that he had no interest in settling down. That likely had something to do with the fact that his father had been married four times.

  “Where’s Jamie?” Blade asked.

  “Covering for a sick ER physician.”

  “Good night to have an emergency,” Blade said.

  “Right. If I ever get shot on the job, I hope he’s the one to patch me up.”

  Blade opened a beer. “You’re more likely to get shot by a jealous husband.”

  “Never a husband,” Marcus said. “Don’t date married women.”

  “True,” Blade said. “Although I do recall a couple of women who were very recently divorced.”

  “Rebound sex can be very rewarding,” Marcus said. “Speaking of ladies, how’s Daisy Rambler?”

  “Okay, I guess. Although something kind of weird happened.”

  “Weirder than finding her on a ledge in Headstone Canyon or chasing her runaway daughter across the state?”

  “Point made. Raven and her daughter connected at school. Both are interested in the school play. Raven went to Daisy’s house after school yesterday. I picked her up.”

  “And Daisy answered the door dressed in plastic wrap and nothing else.”

  “That’s your world, not mine,” Blade said. “No, while I was there, she discovered a gift basket on her doorstep. A nice one. I was sure it had come from Tiddle’s.”

  “Who sent it?”

  “That was the issue. There was no card. And it freaked Daisy out. I could tell. She was trying to hide it but...well, she’s not very good at it.”

  “She should check at Tiddle’s,” Marcus said. He was chopping romaine lettuce with a big knife.

  “She did. Morgan remembered a guy ordering the basket, but he was a stranger. Paid cash.”

  Marcus put the knife down. “Did she say what the guy looked like?”

  “Why?”

  “We had another break-in in the business district last night. Feisty Pete’s. Almost the same situation as at Gertie’s. They kicked in the back door. Got away with almost a thousand bucks that the bartender hid in a coffee can in the back room.”

  “Camera?”

  “No. But the bartender said that there was a stranger in the bar that night. A man. Brown ha
ir. Nothing special about him. Had a beer and left. But once I heard that, I went back to Gertie’s. She remembers that the morning of her break-in, there was a strange guy at her counter eating sunny-side-up eggs and rye toast. She said she remembered because hardly anybody wants their eggs sunny-side up. And when he ordered, he said I want them looking at me. The waitress evidently repeated the phrase about ten times that morning.”

  “Tiddle’s is between Gertie’s and Feisty Pete’s,” Blade mused.

  “Yeah.”

  “I imagine all strangers in town are getting an extra special look,” Blade said.

  “Always good to make people feel welcome,” Marcus said. “It occurs to me, however unfortunate this fact may be, that Daisy Rambler is also a stranger.”

  Chapter 11

  “She is.” Blade paused. “You think she brought trouble to our town?”

  “I don’t know. But because you apparently have a fondness for Ms. Rambler, I’m willing to give her the benefit of the doubt.”

  Have a fondness. So formal. “I saw her face. If the brown-haired man followed her here, she isn’t happy about it.”

  “Then ask her.”

  “I did. Gave her an opportunity to tell me the truth. She didn’t take it.”

  “Perhaps she just doesn’t like you,” Marcus said.

  “I’m going with another theory,” Blade said. “Brown-haired stranger is a threat. I’m not sure if he’s a serious threat or just a pain in the ass. I’m going to work on getting her to trust me enough to explain it to me in better detail.”

  “Good plan,” Marcus said, picking up the remote control. “Come on. The game’s about to start.”

  “You’ll let me know if anything else pops up on a brown-haired stranger,” Blade said.

  “That’s what friends are for.”

  * * *

  The next morning, Daisy plugged the address Blade had given her into her GPS. It said it was a twelve-minute drive. She glanced at her watch. She was early. She passed a bakery, slowed on impulse, and made a sharp right-hand turn to go around the block. Another couple turns and she pulled up in front of the cute little bakery. It had red-and-white gingham curtains in the windows and a lovely hand-painted sign. Knoware Bakery and Café.

  The other firefighters had, thus far, been good-natured about her questions and her photo taking. She wanted to keep it that way. Plus it wouldn’t hurt to placate Charlie some. He’d been downright chilly in his approach after the fire at the orphanage.

  Sometimes refined sugar was exactly the right peace offering.

  She opened the door and the scent made her smile. It smelled delicious, just like a bakery should. There was a scattering of tables, and most of them were full with singles and couples enjoying a cup of coffee and a morning treat. The tables all had fresh flowers in slim vases. Daisy hung back and watched a customer at the glass counter pick out a pastry and carry it to an empty table.

  A woman, maybe midthirties, was behind the counter. She had short spiky blond hair that was tinted pink at the ends. She wore lots of makeup, but she knew how to put it on. Her smile was genuine when she greeted Daisy. “Good morning. What can I get you?”

  “A dozen—no, make that two dozen—pastries to go,” Daisy said. She had no idea how many people would be at the training this morning, and she wanted to have plenty. She had no doubt that the treats would get eaten.

  “Of course.” The woman grabbed a box, and Daisy started picking out a variety of scones, muffins and jelly-filled rolls. When she was finished, she pulled a credit card from her purse. “This is such a lovely place,” she said. “I’m glad I stumbled upon it.”

  “Are you new in town?” the woman asked.

  “I am. My daughter and I just moved here. She’s in high school.”

  The woman behind the counter looked at Daisy’s credit card. “Is Sophie your daughter’s name?”

  That surprised Daisy. “Uh...yes.”

  “She’s all I’ve been hearing about. My daughter is Raven. Raven Savick.”

  Daisy was grateful that the pasties were still resting on the counter because if she’d have been holding them, she might have dropped them. This had to be Blade’s ex-wife. Now that she knew the connection, she could easily see the resemblance between Raven and her mother.

  “I’m Sheila Rice. I was Sheila Savick.”

  Daisy extended a hand. “Daisy Rambler. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “You’re cochairing the Spring Spectacular with Blade.”

  “Yes.” Sheila seemed to know a great deal about Daisy. She felt at a disadvantage. And wasn’t sure what to say next. She settled with, “So, have you worked here long?”

  “My parents opened this bakery more than forty years ago. I grew up here. Literally. I was working behind the counter when I was thirteen. I was gone for a few years when I was married to Blade and Raven was little, but after the divorce, it just seemed like the right place to come back to.”

  So what prompted the divorce? That was the question she really wanted to ask. Blade seemed nice and normal as did Sheila. “It was a pleasure to meet you,” she said. There was no need to know more. It wasn’t as if she was interested in a relationship with Blade. She didn’t want a relationship with anybody. “And especially nice to meet Raven’s other parent. I know our daughters don’t think it’s necessary for us to know their friends’ parents once they’re in high school, but I have to tell you, it gives me some comfort.”

  “With you a hundred percent there.” Sheila picked up a pen and grabbed a business card from a holder on the counter. “This card has the bakery number and you can usually reach me here, but I’ll put my cell phone number on the back.”

  Daisy pulled out a business card and did the same. She passed it across the counter and picked up her pastries. “I guess I’ll see you later,” she said.

  Once she was out of the bakery and back into her car, she sat for a minute before driving away. She supposed, in a town the size of Knoware, it wasn’t that unusual that she might have encountered Blade’s ex-wife. But it still felt as if it was an unexpected peek into Blade’s life.

  In ten minutes she was at the factory. Her first surprise was that she saw trucks from fire departments other than Knoware. She counted. At least eight other towns. Maybe she should have bought three dozen pastries.

  “Hey,” Blade said, walking quickly in her direction. “I thought that was you.”

  “This is like a convention of firefighters,” she said.

  “We generally pool our resources for hazmat training. It can be expensive to set up, and quite frankly, in a big hazmat situation, which most of them can get big in a hurry, we’ll be coordinating with other fire departments. It’s good if we all have had similar training. Most of the departments here are physically located within seventy-five to a hundred miles of Knoware.”

  She held up the boxes of pastries. “I got some treats. Maybe not enough.”

  He looked at the boxes. “This will be plenty. We’ve got a bunch of other stuff on the break table already.” He started walking toward the big concrete building. “Let’s go inside. I’ll show you some of the equipment. Maybe you can get some photos.”

  “You’re starting to think like a marketing person.”

  He smiled. “No need to be insulting me this early in the morning.”

  “Fighting words,” she said, punching him lightly on the biceps. Why had Sheila ever let Blade Savick go?

  They deposited the pasties on a long white table in a small break room. “You might want to keep your coat on.”

  Indeed. While it was warmer inside than out, it certainly wasn’t warm. Maybe fifty degrees. She suspected that whoever owned the building kept just enough heat going so that the pipes didn’t freeze.

  He led her into the main part of the building. “What was this place?” she asked. There were the r
emnants of a few machines or partial machines. A saw. A vise.

  “Furniture factory. At one time, if you had a Floyd table, you were something. They opened in the early 1900s but closed their doors over ten years ago. Couldn’t compete with furniture that wasn’t as nice but cost the consumer a whole lot less. They’re still trying to sell the space, but in the meantime, they let us use it for lots of training when we want a big indoors space.”

  “How often would you do hazmat training?” she asked.

  “At a minimum, every other month. Because we don’t run into these situations every day, it’s important to keep our skills fresh.” He pointed at a corner of the building. “Today we’re wearing Level A PPE.” He smiled. “PPE is personal protective equipment. That’s the highest level. All one piece, it protects everything from your toes to your nose. The responder wears his breathing apparatus inside the suit.”

  It sort of looked as if the firefighters were stepping into a big blue tent.

  “It’s absolutely airtight. Nothing is getting in. There is a release valve to let out air that is expelled as the responder breathes. Otherwise the suit would blow up.”

  “And they might float away like a blimp?” she asked.

  “Something like that. These babies are heavy, they slow a responder down and they generally can’t be worn for more than twenty to twenty-five minutes.”

  “This is fascinating. Is it okay if I take photos now?”

  “Yeah. I already told everybody here what you’d be doing, and everybody gave permission.”

  The firefighter closest to them looked up. “Just get my good side, would you?”

  “She doesn’t have that much time,” said the guy next to him.

  She pulled out her phone and started snapping.

  Twenty minutes later, the actual training started. By that time, Blade was in his Level A suit, looking as if he was ready for a moon walk. The scenario was a chemical spill and associated fire in an enclosed space. It included everything from the initial call to 911 from a scared secretary in the office, played quite convincingly by one of the firefighters, to the very end when the fire had been extinguished. It took hours, but she didn’t get bored watching.