Page 8 of Betting on Lizzie

Around ten, just after her third twenty-ounce latte—she’d probably regret that—the fire dispatcher called to advise she could return to the scene and that someone would be in touch about what came next.

Carloads of Parkers arrived not long after she did, everyone as stunned and outraged as she felt. Lizzie stepped gingerly through soggy ashes and debris. Her office, the storage room, and the bathrooms in the back had smoke damage and soot everywhere but hadn’t really burned.

The real carnage was to the public area. Only a skeleton of the actual bar remained and nothing of the wood stools. Most of the booths were discernible but burned beyond repair, the red vinyl frozen, like wax drips from a candle. All the liquor bottles had burst in the heat, not one left standing. The walls, ceiling, and windows were covered in grimy, damp soot.

She noticed her grandma bend down and pick up something but thought nothing of it.

“What’s Nana doing?” Lucy asked.

“Who knows,” Lizzie said. “You know how she likes to collect random junk. Probably a shiny bottle cap or something.”

Nana had a habit of “collecting” things. Some might say stealing, but it was mostly harmless trinkets—items that weren’t necessarily hers but that no one really cared about. Usually. Lizzie’s father had spoken to Nana about it on numerous occasions, but Nana claimed she was amassing “souvenirs of life” and insisted it was stuff nobody would miss.

“Honey,” her dad said, approaching from behind. “I’m so sorry this happened. They really think it’s arson?”

Lizzie shrugged. “I guess. Supposedly, someone came this morning to investigate, but I didn’t see him and haven’t heard what he found.”

“Who would do such a thing?” Daisy said.

“Some son of a bitch,” Lizzie said.

“Where’s Bella?” Emma asked.

“She spent the night with a friend,” their dad said. “I didn’t want to bother her. We’ll tell her when she gets home.”

Lizzie didn’t say anything about where Bella actually was. Coming clean would be part of her penance for her behavior last night.

Adam called the foreman who was handling Lizzie’s remodel and asked him to board up the building. “He’s got some guys that’ll take care of it today,” Adam said. “I’ll call a company that specializes in fire clean-up tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Adam. I appreciate the help.”

With nothing left to do at the bar, she returned home. Bella’s friend was gone, and Bella sagged against the tub on the bathroom floor near the toilet, a familiar haggard expression on her face.

“Not feeling too great?” Lizzie asked.

Bella moaned. “I’m never drinking again.”

“Good. That’s what I like to hear. Where’s your friend?”

“She lives a couple of buildings over. She walked home.”

“Too bad she’ll miss my lecture on underage drinking. You’ll have to pass it along after I give it to you.”

“I’m sorry, Lizzie. I didn’t know what to do.”

“I’m glad you called me, and you can always call me. That doesn’t mean I won’t ream your ass for doing something stupid though.”

“Are you going to tell Uncle Edward?”

“No. You are.”

Bella hung her head. “That’s fair, I suppose. After I feel better though?”

“Sure,” Lizzie said. “I’m gonna run outside with Charlie for a minute. I’ll bring you some aspirin and water before I go. Hang tight.”

She waited until Charlie did his business and then threw the ball until he plopped down at her feet and gave her “the look,” saying he was too tired to continue. When she returned, Bella trudged to the living room and sank into the couch.

“Drinking is so stupid. Why do people do it?”

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