Gathering String (24 page)

“Owww!” For a second she sat there, shocked and speechless, several of the townsfolk around them either laughing, or jumping forward to help. She saw Jack’s hand reach down as the cold wetness seeped into her jeans, and she slapped it away, bounding up, her chin jutting forward, her blue eyes narrowed by the smoke, but full of outrage. “What are you trying to do to me?” She gave him a hard shove, which barely moved him, but almost caused her to fall again.

“You were getting in there way too close!” he shouted against the roar, and saw her shake her head furiously, her face streaked with sweat and soot.

“You didn’t see …” Whatever else she was saying was lost in the roar of the west wall of the building falling in on itself, the blast of heat causing the firefighters to move back even more, and the spectators to avert their faces, their noses and eyes streaming from the smoke.

Silently they all stood and watched as the frenzied display consumed itself. With surprising speed, the flames lost their brilliance, starving from lack of fuel and the relentless water from the freezing rain and the fire hoses. In the waning light and diminishing warmth, the bitter wind made them all shiver. With the tide turned, the first small group of firefighters detached and headed for the nearby parsonage of the Baptist church. The minister’s wife was offering hot coffee, steam heat and a place out of the wind for calling anxious families.

Jack’s eyes followed them, and he said, “I’d better find out what they can tell me.” He faced her, obviously trying not to smile. “And I want to post the video still tonight. Maybe you’d better head home. You’re soaked through, and I doubt Mrs. Crenshaw wants you dripping on her carpet.” Tess had been trying to pull the clinging, icy denim away from her legs. As her snapping eyes swung up at his words, Jack took a few steps away, now grinning openly. “Go ahead and take the Jeep. Rover’s old blanket is in the back. You can sit on that. I’ve got Dad’s pickup parked in back of the
Journal
. It’ll get me home.” He hurried off to the sound of muffled swearing.

The wind pushed him up to the parsonage door, and once inside the dimly lit hallway with its clanking radiator, Jack unzipped his wet coat to let in the warmth. From the kitchen, he could hear the excited babble of voices, rising higher and higher to be heard above each other. He shook his head as he listened, realizing it was various spectators who were talking. The actual firefighters could only sit and drink coffee, too exhausted to follow, let alone join, such lively conversation.

Thurman McPaul came out of the study, where he’d been using his cell phone. In his stocking feet, he was much shorter than Jack and looked up with a tired smile.

“Well, we sure had our work cut out for us tonight. I just got done calling my wife to tell her not to look for me till morning. A few of the guys and I will stay on to keep the water going and make sure the wind doesn’t kick up any sparks from what’s left out there. Boy, I thought we had some serious trouble on our hands. We’re lucky we only lost the one building with the wind as strong as it is.”

The acrid smell of smoke was so strong on the fire chief’s clothes that Jack’s eyes watered just standing next to him. “You did a hell of a job, you and all the volunteers. I don’t envy you being out there for the rest of the night, especially in this weather. But every shop owner on the block will appreciate it. Come on, you’ll need some coffee.”

In the brightly lit kitchen, Mrs. Crenshaw poured two more steaming mugs. When Jack pulled a notebook and his digital recorder out of his pocket, voices quieted so they could hear Jack and the older man talk, knowing there were privy to an “official” interview that would be part of the story on the website and in tomorrow’s paper.

“Any thoughts on the cause, Thurm?”

“I have got no idea. That fire was so hot by the time we got there, I knew right away the building was gone. It’ll be a while yet before an investigator from the state fire marshal’s office can get in there to look around, and until then, I can’t tell you anything for sure. I talked to the fire marshal himself before I called home, and told him it might be suspicious, but I can’t say he seemed too interested.” At this, a volunteer from one of the neighboring towns roused a bit.

“That guy always acts like he just doesn’t have the time for you. We had a sticky fire two years ago when the movie theater burned down. A few people got hurt, and there were lawsuits to settle, but those state boys had to be nagged to hell and gone for every damn thing. When the report finally did come out, it was just poor. You ask me, the fire marshal’s got one pretty screwed-up outfit.”

“You know, Walt Hayslett had a run-in with those folks a while back,” piped up Rev. Crenshaw. “You probably remember, Jack, when those kids set fire to his machine shed, and a lot of his farm equipment burned?” Jack nodded, unconsciously brushing his fingers over the well-healed scar buried above the hairline over his left ear. “Well, the state inspectors took way too long about getting out there to look things over. Walt told me that the bad thing was, when the insurance company got the report it said that because of the length of time between the fire and the inspection, no conclusive evidence was available. They were that brazen about not doing their jobs.”

The men talked on, the conversation turning to the red tape of filing insurance claims, but Jack and McPaul finished their coffee and headed back toward the front door.

“I’m sorry, Jack. I know folks would like some idea of what happened, but I just don’t want to make any guesses. That’s what the experts are for.” Thurm spoke as he pulled on his fire jacket and Jack clicked off the recorder.

McPaul fished out his sodden leather gloves from his pockets, his lips a thin line of consideration. “Well, a fire that goes bad that fast is always suspicious. But, so long as you don’t quote me, I’m thinking we’ll find an accidental cause, probably wiring or maybe a space heater. Hell, someone might have just forgotten to shut off the coffee pot. It started after the office closed, so it could have been smoldering for a long time before it took off. And like I said, the wind was really what did us in. Still, I’ll be anxious to hear what the inspector says.”

“If we can get him out here.” Jack jerked his head back toward the men in the kitchen. “It sounds like that office has some real problems.”

“Could be.” Thurm sighed and bent to jerk on his tall, muddy boots. “Much as I’d like to stay in here where it’s warm, I better get out there and give some of the other fellows a chance to get a rest. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear something.”

The two men went out the door together, Thurm tossing a wave over his shoulder as he hurried carefully down the icy walk toward the watchful men and glowing ruins.

The wind hadn’t calmed one whit. Jack flipped the hood of his coat up against it, and pulled on his gloves as he hurried to the
Journal
. It didn’t take him long to post the video with a voice-over from his interview with Thurm. Then he hustled out the door, anxious to get home. The freezing rain had stopped, but a thick, shiny glaze of ice covered everything. He chipped off a spot just big enough to see through on the windshield of his father’s rusted Chevy pickup. Pumping the accelerator, the engine finally turned over with a groan on the third try. The heater was long gone, and the three-mile drive out to the farm was slow and tricky over the slick graveled hills. He hadn’t realized how bad it was. In some spots the drop-off into the ditch was deep, and he regretted sending Tess off on her own, even with the new Jeep, remembering how his first one looked after it had rolled.

He knew exactly the first hilltop where he could spot the lights from the farmhouse. He scanned the inky horizon and smiled with relief when he caught the first twinkles from the wide living room windows.

The wind was even fiercer, here on the high hill. Tess hadn’t bothered to leave the yard light on, and he took that as a sign that she was still angry. But the slick, dark sidewalk was no problem for Jack, familiar as he was with every crack, every chip. With a grin, he even slid the last few yards, arms outstretched like a kid. Jumping up the steps, he almost slipped, thudding into the front door, prompting Rover to a wild fit of barking from the kitchen.

“Hey,” he muttered as he came in, “stop that.” Rover sat down, looking up at him solemnly, his tail thumping the floor. “She upstairs, fella?” The stereo was wailing Guns N’ Roses’ “Welcome to the Jungle,” another ominous sign. The dog cocked his head, as Jack tossed his coat over a kitchen chair. “Better lay low, buddy.”

He stopped to flip off the music, and in the abrupt silence heard the distinct sound of his wife’s voice raised in anger. With a concerned frown, he started up the stairs, though he couldn’t quite make out what she was saying. In the upstairs hall, he caught the words, “I don’t care what you tell him. Just get out of it.” Poking his head around the bathroom door, he saw her click the button on the cordless receiver and plop it down on the floor next to the huge claw-footed tub where she was soaking.

“Hey there, bathing beauty,” he gave her his most winning smile. “Who you talking to?”

“An old friend,” she frowned down at the phone, distracted.

“Really?” Jack came on into the room, enjoying the scent of her fancy French soap and the sight of her covered in foaming bubbles. “You didn’t sound very friendly. I thought you were really pissed.”

The winging loufah sponge caught him on the side of the head, splattering his face and soaking his shirt. “I am. I’m pissed at you, and you know it. Who the hell did you think you were tonight? Superman?”

He picked up her towel. “Superman?” His voice was muffled as he mopped his face.

“You know, faster than a speeding bullet, leaps fire barriers in a single bound, and interferes with women who are trying to work. Jesus, what a ridiculous rescue!”

He dropped the towel on the floor. “Well, poor old Clark Kent got a little nervous. You were getting in there way too close. It was a big fire, and you could get a great view of it from behind the barricade.”

“I wasn’t taking a picture of the fire. I was taking a picture of a fireman. And it was a good one. I emailed it to the
Record
and they bought it for their site and the late print edition. I know what I’m doing, Jack, and I know when to get back.” Her eyes glittered dangerously.

“So I got scared. So shoot me.” He gave her a small grin and a shrug. “The bullets just bounce off anyway.”

She still glared at him, but he knew he was winning her over when she asked, “Do you have a big red S on your chest too?”

“Wanna see?” She watched as he unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged it off, and then pulled the insulated T-shirt over his head. The light caught the St. Francis medal around his neck, as his fingers trailed through the water. “I sure am cold. And your bath’s still warm. Interested in sharing with a misguided superhero?”

He stripped off the rest of his clothes, and slid down behind her, the scented bubbles rising to the very edge of the tub. Tess settled back against his chest, and he rested his cheek on the top of her head. “Do you always make crank calls while soaking in the bath?” he chuckled.

“I think I broke my cell phone when some jerk dropped me on my ass. I brought the phone in here in case you had trouble getting home in the storm. I wish I hadn’t picked it up when it rang.” He smiled at that. Pissed as she was, at least she still wanted him to get home safe.

“Who was it?” he asked again.

“Just an old friend from the
Trib
.” She sighed as his hands moved over her under the warm, soapy water, but she didn’t elaborate.

Jack stroked her back. “Let me guess. ‘I don’t care what you tell him. Just get out of it.’ I’m betting that means one of your girlfriends has gotten mixed up with a married man. Right?”

“Close enough,” it was a murmur, as she wriggled against him. “I’d rather talk about the amazing transformation that seems to be going on back there. And you’re not even in a phone booth. Am I going to have a personal demonstration of the ‘man of steel’?”

With a laugh as a reply and a splash that sent water all over the floor, he rolled over her, pressing his mouth against her warm, pink skin.

It was Jack who sopped up the floor later. With a curious frown, he carried the cordless receiver back to their bedroom where Tess was now sound asleep under the covers. Putting it back on the cradle, he pressed the ‘review’ button on the caller ID to the last call received. And his frown deepened. It was from the Sheraton Downtown in Concord, New Hampshire. He’d taken a call from the very same place late in the afternoon at his desk at the
Journal
. That was where Swede Erickson was staying.

Sam had picked up Erickson at the New Hampshire Bar Association near the State Capitol in Concord and spent some time just watching the man work. He was surprised to find such a skilled campaigner. Looking more like a pro golfer than an Iowa grocer, with his fair hair and hearty good looks, Erickson was upbeat and genial, appearing completely relaxed, the conspicuous attitude of being “on” for the press utterly missing. He laughed easily, often at himself, and when he was serious, his concern was expressed more as good sense than drama. Straightforward, his stump speech was laced with keen intelligence, a pointed contrast to Tami Fuller's screeched catchphrases or Frederick Morton's pompous pronouncements or the also-ran candidates just clamoring for attention. And the crowds were eating it up.

After lunch, Erickson stopped at a high school to talk with a group of seniors in a government class. Calm and unflappable, he fielded their questions with frankness and humor, then pursued some of their ideas by asking questions of his own. He seemed delighted with the lively, sometimes argumentative discussion, allowing it to take its own course, never pressing or working it around to stress his own talking points.