Alpha Me Not

by Jianne Carlo

  “Gas. I smell gas. Are you sure you turned off the tanks?” He met her stare full on.

  She resisted the urge to smack him. Gas? She’d all but asked him to screw her, and he asked about gas? She inhaled and smelled nothing but the metallic aroma of asphalt baking under a semitropical sun.

  He shook her. “Think. Did you lock the tank?”

  She dashed his hands away. “Of course I did. I am not some simpering female. We’ve had a gas stove all my life. I know the rules. I disconnected the old tank, screwed the valve shut, and took it to the laundry room. I never even opened the valve on the new one because—”

  “Crap. It is gas. And damned if it’s not going to blow any minute.” He’d turned around, poised to take off.

  Susie backtracked. “I disconnected everything when I couldn’t figure out how to switch the tanks around. And how in heck can you smell gas from here?”

  The boom thundered between them, an explosion so loud and so unexpected they both jumped.

  “Jesus!”

  He took off like a horse taking the final curve in the Belmont.

  Susie sprinted after him. Raced to catch his wide-legged stride, panting to keep up with his pace, until, until…

  Shit. Terri’s house had blown up.

  Her arms plopped to her sides. She stood there following the leaping blue and yellow plumes, watching the points flare and sizzle, her mouth hanging open, too stunned to move an inch.

  Terri’s cute little bungalow was on fire.

  Correction—the house was consumed by fire. The porch was ablaze, the quaint milk cans with their nostalgic petunias and ivies charcoaled and crumpled in a slow dance of destruction. A conflagration of vaulting flames attacked the front door, the walls, the charming carved white window frames, as she stood there unable to budge.

  This couldn’t be happening. She shook her head. No way.

  Just a few weeks ago she’d left Chabegawn, Michigan, on the first real adventure of her life—college, and being on her own. Claiming her own space, doing all the college stuff she’d always dreamed about: sororities, football games, and intellectual challenges. Okay, she was older than most of the other students, but not by decades. This was her chance to spread her wings, to seek out new experiences, to push herself to the max, to throw out all the nasty small-town restrictions she’d dealt with for twenty-five years.

  It wasn’t supposed to begin with a fire.

  Everything she owned was in there.

  The five hundred dollars she’d withdrawn from the bank to shop for groceries and other household items. She’d left the money in the drawer in the laundry room.

  Maybe the back was better than the front.

  Susie took off.

  She hadn’t run far before Joe corralled her, crossed his arms around her, and hauled her tight against his chest. “Where in hell do you think you’re going?”

  She elbowed him. “To the back door. Let me go.”

  “Don’t be stupid.”

  She wriggled and kicked at him, but he held her fast.

  “The whole property’s a fire trap. It’s—”

  The howling of multiple vehicles drowned his voice.

  An ambulance, a fire truck, and a couple of patrol cars pealed around the far bend, zipped toward them, and screeched to a halt. Uniformed men swarmed out of the vehicles like ants fleeing a fired nest. No one paid any attention to Joe and Susie. Hoses unfurled, ladders emerged, and stretchers appeared. All in the blink of an eye.

  The sky remained blue.

  The sun continued to shine.

  The ever-present spring breeze didn’t pause.

  A flock of geese detoured around the smoke billowing high in the air. And all the while every possession she had, save for the clothes on her back and her purse and its contents, was wiped out, erased, gone, reduced to ashes.

  A void centered in her stomach had her paralyzed. A sickening hopelessness, mired in the blaze dancing happily amid the water streaming from the multiple hoses trained on it, sucked the fight out of her. She didn’t protest when Joe locked his hands around her waist, never uttered a word when he gave her a little squeeze, and couldn’t have responded if he shook her again when he crooned, “It’s going to be okay. I promise you. It’s going to be okay.”

  “Everything I own is in there.” The words sounded hollow and empty.

  “I know, sweetheart. I know. It’s going to be okay.” He rubbed her shoulders, kissed the cusps, spun her around, held her chin between his fingers, and forced her to focus on him. “It’s going to be okay.”

  “Fine for you to say. I brought so much with me. Pics, mementos, so much stuff.” She curled her fingers into her palms. “I bullied Melanie into letting me take it, and now it’s gone.”

  “It’s going to be okay.”

  She walloped his chest. “It’s not going to be okay. The house is burning. Burning!”

  “I know. I know. The house is burning. But it is going to be okay.”

  Not believing a single platitude he uttered, she squirmed out of his embrace and put a good couple of feet between them. Hugging her arms, she couldn’t stop staring at the fire, tracing the thick curls of blue-black smoke willowing over the tops of the birch trees behind the collapsing roof.

  Poor Terri. She’d lost her home. Thank goodness Terri’d put most of her personal possessions into storage. But she’d left all her lovely antique furniture for Susie to use: the four-poster bed, an amazing footed bathtub, not to mention the stunning paintings on the walls. All gone.

  Vehicles crowded the narrow cul-de-sac.

  The police had blocked access to Birch Crescent from Champion Avenue and cordoned off the approach to the cottage. None of the occupants of the other eight houses of Birch Crescent had ventured forth, but she glimpsed old Mr. Arnold peering through the closed front window of the bungalow next door to the burning dwelling. Shouldn’t the police be evacuating everyone? Maybe she should go over and offer to help.

  The wind changed direction, and a cloud of acrid heat washed over her face. Her eyes stung, and tears streamed. She swiped at the moisture, but the density and acerbity of the smoke intensified. Her lungs burned, and a choking grime coated her throat. She coughed. One hack led to another, and soon she was in the grips of a coughing fit.

  Joe urged her to the corner of the cul-de-sac.

  She didn’t resist but couldn’t drag her gaze from the inferno. “Joe, Mr. Arnold’s in a wheelchair and he’s still in his house. Shouldn’t we do something?”

  Two police officers glanced their way, then at each other, and headed in their direction.

  “Evening. You two live on this street?” The policeman gave Susie a head-to-toe, one-second assessing glance, tipped his hat back a tad, and focused on Joe. He pulled out his ID, showed it to Joe, and introduced himself.

  Irritated at his blatant dismissal, she leveled her chin and narrowed her eyes. “I’m Susan White, and I’m renting the burning house. Aren’t you going to evacuate the neighbors?”

  “Happening as we speak, ma’am.” The man’s jaw worked, and he squinted at her.

  “Are they going to be able to save anything?”

  “Sorry, ma’am, we haven’t been updated yet. Right now they’re concentrating on containing the fire to just the one house. You said you’re renting the place?” He had the kind of carrot hair she associated with Opie Taylor and The Andy Griffith Show but, instead of the requisite smattering of nose and cheek freckles, boasted a perfect bronzed tan.

  “Yes. I moved in three days ago.”

  “The owner is Terri McGowan. She’s on an archaeological dig in Ireland. I spoke with her today, and she verified Ms. White as her tenant.”

  Susie flexed her fingers, glared at Joe, and folded her arms. He’d checked up on her? After barging nude into her backyard sporting nothing but a striped towel and an enormous erection? The gall of the man.

  “You have Ms. McGowan’s contact information?” Opie pulled a notepad from his shirt po
cket.

  A whining noise drew Susie’s attention. The ladder they’d used to douse the roof—not that it had made any difference—was retracting. She couldn’t see much through the lingering dense smoke curtain but knew the scene would be one of near-total destruction once the wind cleared the smoldering ruins of the cottage.

  What was she to do now? Was her ATM card in the purse? Before Joe rang the doorbell, she’d been in the midst of organizing her laptop and briefcase in preparation for the meeting with her thesis chairman tomorrow. Crap. Her PC was gone. The suit she’d bought to wear for the event was gone. Burned. Ashes. All the prep work dissolved. But she always e-mailed her work to herself, so at least she had backups.

  Joe nudged her. “Detective Sands asked you a question.”

  Couldn’t he have repeated it, for cripes sake? “Sorry, Detective, I wasn’t paying attention.”

  “I asked if you’re certain the tank was empty?” Opie’s half-hooded perusal didn’t exactly shout respect.

  “I’m positive,” she said through gritted teeth. “And before you ask, I’m also positive that both the old and the new tank valves were closed.”

  She squinted at Joe. Figured he’d volunteer the information about the tanks, and from their twin yeah-right-as-if-a-woman-knew-about-valves-and-gas expressions, neither of the two men believed a word she’d said. Asswipes.

  Could she be charged with some offense? She had checked the tanks twice, hadn’t she? She must have. Dear God, what if she hadn’t and this was all her fault? Doubt and dread mingled with guilt swarmed her insides. She studied the cracked asphalt road, balled her hands, and prayed the fire wasn’t her fault, that she had closed the valves on both tanks.

  “Did you notice any strangers hanging around?” Opie’s hazel eyes widened when she gave him her patented say-a-word-and-you’re-dead-meat scowl.

  “I’ve only met three of my eight neighbors, Officer. Everyone’s a stranger to me. But no, I didn’t see anyone who seemed even vaguely suspicious.” Fatigue descended in a shroud, coating her limbs with an acute heaviness that had her shoulders slumping and her knees wavering.

  What were the odds of the first place she could call her own, even if it was a rental, going up in smoke? Definitely not the day to be buying a lottery ticket.

  She dreaded making the phone call to Terri to tell her the news. Gawd, how did she tell Mama, Gray, Lizzie, and Melanie about this? Her overprotective siblings were liable to fly or drive down from Michigan to check on her.

  That’s all she needed.

  Heck, she didn’t have to say a word.

  It wasn’t as if it was national news. What her family didn’t know couldn’t hurt them. And there was no sense worrying everyone.

  “Can you walk me through your day?” Opie had a pen poised over a spiral-bound minipad.

  She’d seen enough Law and Order episodes to know this was the rule-the-perp-out routine. “I woke at five thirty, went for a run, came back, showered, and finished unpacking the rest of my stuff. That took me to noon. I swam in the pool. Suntanned for a while.”

  Heat scaled her cheeks, and she refused to glance Joe’s way but knew from her peaking nipples he was staring at her.

  Right then the other cop suddenly appeared next to Opie. He handed Opie a printout attached to a clipboard. Opie studied the document, raised a rusty brow, and addressed Joe. “You neglected to mention the incident that occurred earlier today.”

  Joe shrugged. “A simple misunderstanding. I’m sure the details are in the report.”

  “Helluva coincidence. Two incidents in less than four hours.” A gust whipped the papers to a light crackling, and Opie clamped the clipboard to his side.

  “Ms. White and I settled our misunderstanding over dinner at Mama Maria’s. We arrived there at approximately four fifteen. There are dozens of witnesses who can verify that. We left the restaurant at six thirty and were on our way back here when we heard the explosion.”

  “Did you see the house blow?” Opie’s partner embodied the California surfer dude with his sun-bleached hair, walnut tan, and piercing blue eyes. She knew the type only too well. Not that Chabegawn boasted ocean access, but the ka-dozens of hot-dog water skiers fell into the same category.

  “No. We were on the way home as Mr. Huroq just said. We turned onto Birch Close a few seconds after we heard the explosion.”

  A strong breeze cleared a swath of the smoke curtain, and the fading sun cast a gold hue over the burning cottage. Sections of the wooden building had been razed, and with a sickening crack, the tattered panel of the front door shattered.

  The rigid control she’d exercised to that point fissured. Moisture brimmed to overflowing in her eyes, but she chewed the insides of her cheeks, dug her nails into her palms, swallowed hard a few times, and sequestered her careening emotions. Later. She would cry later.

  “We’ll need you to make an official statement—”

  “She’ll do it tomorrow. What time’s your test?” Joe turned to face her and effectively blocked Opie and Surfer Dude, and she wanted to hug him for the slight reprieve. “Not that you’ll be taking it, but we’ll have to cancel, and that might take some doing.”

  “It’s at nine.” Crap. All her notes had been incinerated, not to mention all the textbooks on which she’d spent a small fortune. “I’ll have to go in early.”

  Joe dragged a hand through his disheveled, chin-length ebony curls. “Why don’t we go back to Mama’s?”

  That got her attention. She snorted, scrubbed at her cheeks, and said, her tone scathing, “If you think I could go back there and have a glass of wine and pretend that nothing’s—”

  “Give me a fricking break. There’s nothing we can do here, and we’ll only be in the way if they need to bring in more equipment and men. My home’s in danger too, and I could stand around and watch and worry, but how’s that going to help? You’re going to have to reschedule not only the test, but everything else you’ve got going and plan out the rest of the week.” His stoic expression hadn’t wavered for a millisecond. Not even a hint of panic.

  She disliked him in that instant.

  Couldn’t he have shown some concern, some emotion? Her whole world had just fallen apart, and he wanted her to sit down and be logical. Every single molecule in her body burned in silent, frustrated rage. Her jaw ached from the constant clenching, and her palms stung from the pressure of her nails.

  An explosive thwack rent the very atmosphere. The concrete sidewalk below her slippered feet juddered.

  She slapped a hand over her mouth. An earthquake? Now?

  A wall of flames whooshed skyward. The fire, which had seemed to be contained a moment before, had exploded into the line of trees separating her house from Mr. Arnold’s.

  Tearing her stare away from the conflagration, she shuttered her eyes and took a deep inhale. Focus. Joe was right. Better to concentrate on what had to be done than stand there and fall apart.

  Susie nodded. “Let’s go.”

  “Detectives Sands and Johnson, this is my contact information. Can you keep us updated?” Joe handed Opie and Surfer Dude each a business card.

  “You’re Joe Huroq?” Surfer Dude wore a jaw-dropped expression.

  Was Joe well-known locally? Susie frowned but lost the rest of the conversation when a woman shrieked. She glanced in the direction of the scream. Mr. Arnold’s daughter and his caretaker were objecting to being evacuated, which was inordinately stupid of them as their house was less than two hundred feet from the blazing birches.

  Joe slid a hand under her elbow. Their gazes met.

  “Let’s go. They’ll call us once everything’s under control.”

  “I hope your house survives, Joe. It doesn’t look good for Mr. Arnold’s place.”

  He urged her into a brisk stride. “You said you couldn’t move in earlier because Mr. Arnold fell and broke his hip?”

  “Yeah. I’m surprised he’s back home so soon. His daughter, Gemma, poor thing, was going nuts what
with the hospital, her job, and her son. I’d arranged to stay in one of the empty dorms for two weeks, figuring that’s how long it would take me to find a place. So when she contacted me about having to cancel the meeting to turn over the keys, I told her not to worry and call me when things settled down.”

  “How’d he break the hip?”

  She shrugged. “Dunno. And I didn’t ask. I only met her very briefly on Thursday morning at the hospital to pick up the keys. I guess you know them well?”

  They cleared the bend onto Bonaventure, and the stench of smoke and bitterness receded a tad. The street was mercifully silent after the deafening noise of the cul-de-sac. The dull roar of engines and equipment drumming their duties ebbed.

  Tears welled again.

  How could the sun still set, the wind still rustle leaves in the gutter, and the swallows crowding the electric wires overhead still chirp? The world should stop spinning. Why had she insisted on taking all those mementos? Thank God her mother had refused to surrender her baby pictures and high school yearbooks.

  Crossing her fingers, Susie prayed Terri’d put her photos and memories in storage. But the poor woman had lost everything else. Everything.

  Heck, how selfish of her to think of all she’d lost?

  Terri was thousands of miles away, her house was burning down, and there was nothing she could do. Was it morning in Ireland?

  “Susie.” Joe halted, snagged his arm around her waist, and laid a warm palm on her cheek. “Look at me.”

  If he so much as even sniffed at lecturing her, she’d wallop him again.

  “What?”

  “No.” He fingered her chin. “Not at my neck. At me.”

  Their glances met.

  “Whatever you need—you have it. Don’t for a second worry about a roof over your head or where your next dollar’s coming from.”

  He pressed a thumb to her lips when she opened her mouth and shook his head.

  “No strings attached. One human being to another. I may not seem it, but I make a damned good living and I own a cabin not far from here. Worse comes to worse, we can always stay there. You good with all that?”