Chapter 11
Craig Harding arrived at Cabin Country in the first truck. He brought the truck as close as he could to the burning log cabin. Two units of four men each got out of the back.
“First unit to the south side,” he said to his men, “second unit to the west side.” He didn’t say anything else. These men were experienced enough to know what they needed to do.
The second truck pulled up and stopped. Harry Madsen drove in behind it in his Explorer as units three and four got out.
“You’re on fire control to the north.” He waited for Harry to get to him. “No Kelly?”
“Randal told me it was a small fire.”
“And our new sheriff?”
“I’ll call her back if she’s needed.”
Craig pointed to the cabin. “It’s intense but contained.”
A chubby man in his fifties came to them. He wore a Hawaiian shirt splashed with mostly yellow and shades of blue to go with knee-length khaki shorts. Tan lines were clearly visible on his arms and legs. “I’m Dennis Hetherington. I made the call.”
“When did you first notice the fire?”
“There are only a few of us left up here now. The Harpers went home on Thursday. The Cartwrights and Semples leave a week from Wednesday. Then it will be just me until the end of the Labor Day weekend. I drew the short straw this year.” He pointed out each cabin as he named the families.
None of the cabins were close to the one on fire, which would likely be out before Hetherington ever got around to answering the question.
“I was on my rounds when I heard what sounded like a hive of wasps swarming above me. That’s all I’d need, I’m allergic. I started running for my cabin, but then, bang,” he clapped his hands, “the noise is gone and I hear a pop.”
“A pop?” He looked at Harry, who just shrugged.
“Like something fell, like a glass container full of liquid fell to the ground, that kind of pop. Next thing I know, the cabin’s on fire.”
“Whose cabin is it?”
“That one belongs to the Taylors, a nice older couple from Salem, but they haven’t been here for years. Keith was in pretty poor shape the last time I saw him. He’d had his hip replaced and then suffered through a bout of septicemia. He looked very frail while they were up here. I heard he died that winter.”
Harry asked, “How long ago was that?”
“Three, maybe four years; yeah, I’d say four years ago.”
“No one’s been in it since?”
“I’ve been here every year, though not for the whole summer. I haven’t seen anyone.”
“Squatters, maybe.”
“I haven’t seen any. The others would have told me if they had. You’ve probably heard the rumors of motorcycle gangs using the cabins in the off season, but none of us have found any evidence. What do you think the chances are that motorcycle gangs would clean up after themselves?”
Craig, as he watched his crew at work, said, “Thank you for your help.”
Hetherington pointed to his cabin near the entrance to the grounds. “I’ll be over there if you need me.” He returned to his cabin, his legs revealing flashes of pale skin as he walked.
“He’d keep an eye on anyone coming and going,” Harry said.
“But he’s not here the whole summer, probably none of them are. And squatters could sneak in late at night easily enough.” He looked up and around the compound. “I don’t see any CCTV.”
Hetherington came back to them. “You’re the sheriff, aren’t you?”
“For two more days.”
Hetherington, about six inches shorter than Craig’s 6’2”, looked up at him. “Are you from city council?”
“No, why?”
“You can see there are about a dozen cabins here. Three of them, including that one on fire, have been abandoned for at least three years. We’ve been trying to get something done about them to prevent exactly what’s just happened.” He pointed to the fire, which was under control and going out quickly now. “There should be some mandatory upkeep rule for empty cabins.”
Harry said, “These grounds are under state jurisdiction. Nonetheless, I will make some calls to get someone up here to listen to your concerns.”
“That’s all we ask.” He returned to his cabin, this time to stay.
“If there are no squatters or fastidiously neat motorcycle gangs, do you think a mob of swarming wasps knocked something over when they landed?”
At least he hadn’t started on his poacher theory again.
“It would most likely be a squadron of kamikaze fireflies to get a blaze that hot going.” He looked over to the fire. “I know these things. I’m a veterinarian.”
Harry cocked his head. “Randal’s finally here.”
The Bell 407 helicopter hovered briefly over the compound before setting down in the middle of it. Randal Vance, African-American, from Oregon’s Department of Forestry, exited and came to them.
Harry greeted him with, “Horse is gone and barn door’s been closed.”
“It’s almost out.” Craig shook hands with his army buddy.
Randal, 6’ tall and about 220 pounds, his playing weight when he was a running back at Oregon State, said, “Only saw the cabin and three trees that suffered damage; nothing serious.”
“There’s no wind this morning. We caught a break with that. And yesterday’s rain left everything soaked, which helped with fire suppression.”
The four units took about another hour to make sure the fire was completely out. Hetherington, the Cartwrights and the Semples were out on their porches watching the crew clean up.
Randal asked him, “Want to have a quick look?”
“I have to get back to the farm. I’ll leave the second crew until you’re sure you don’t need them anymore.”
“I called Kyle’s team in for a look. We’ll drop by later and let you know what we find out.”
“It will make Hetherington happy. He’ll have someone else to complain to.”
Harry said, “I’ll call Kelly and ask her to brief the new sheriff in case she has to follow up with anything.”
“I thought you talked to her already.”
“I promised to keep her in the loop.”
Was the new sheriff temperamental? If she was, how would that affect his investigation of Colter?
“We’re having barbeque tonight. Two of our Oregon State group officially graduated. You’re both invited.” He said to Harry, “If you’re not too busy keeping the new sheriff in the loop.”
“Me miss a barbeque?” Harry rubbed his protruding stomach. “Not a chance.”
Randal said, “If the guys don’t keep me too long, I’ll try to get there.”
Craig confirmed his first and second units had completed packing up, returned to the truck with them and left Cabin Country wondering how a squadron of kamikaze fireflies could possibly set a fire hot enough to gut a solidly built log cabin.
Wear Something Red Page 11
