Page 43 of Playing With Fire

“Shit.” He glanced up at Jodi before rising to his feet in a fluid movement.

“The firebug?” She rolled her eyes. Tried not to grind her teeth.

Damn arsonist should be put in the stocks and pelted with rotten fruit.

Ricky peeled off some cash and slipped on his jacket. His face was unreadable.

“Another trash can bites the dust?” Jodi finished her coffee and rose, trying not to show her annoyance. “Sorry Officer, the paper has been put to bed so there’s no front-page photo opportunity.”

She paused. A niggle of fear crept into her mind. Josh and Judah were not at school today. Not out starting fires, she was pretty sure. But not at school.

The distant wail of sirens pierced the chatter of the café, getting closer every second. Ricky threw her a sympathetic glance that filled Jodi with instant foreboding.

“I think you might want to come,” he said quietly. “The fire is at Temple Mountain Retirement Village, and this time it’s not in a trash bin.”

***

Ricky drove fast, skillfully weaving through the light lunchtime traffic with the help of the siren clamped to the roof. The radio crackled and squawked as the volunteer firefighters checked in.

Jodi clung to her seatbelt. Her mouth was dry with fear.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Ricky’s stern profile. The part of her brain that wasn’t paralyzed wondered at the ancestors who had gifted him that scimitar of a nose and the high, narrow brow.

Snippets of urgent conversation crackled into the silence, the codes impenetrable to her. Ricky’s replies were terse. Only as they reached the gates of the village did his expression soften.

He gripped her knee.

“It’s the shed,” he said flatly. “It’s the janitor’s day off, and one of the residents saw the smoke when she went to get some gardening tools. The door is usually locked, but it was wide open and the shed was full of smoke.” His voice was gentle. “The Chief says it looks like there was no one inside.”

Relief surged through Jodi. A cool rush of thanksgiving that left her almost light-headed. Gramps was fine, and so too were the many elderly and frail residents of the sprawling village.

She took a deep breath as they wound through the manicured driveway to reception, kick-starting her brain.

The Temple Mountain Monitor Acting Editor was back on the job. In the thick of it all. And this time there wasn’t a thing that Leroy Browning could do to stop the news cycle doing its job.

She patted the camera in her bag. Nothing like timing.

***

A large fire truck was parked in the emergency vehicle bay, its lights still strobing. Several figures in full gear clambered over the truck, carefully coiling the flat hose snaking down the path.

Chief Browning, in full uniform including the Smoky the Bear hat, was an impressive sight, waving his arms and barking out orders.

Sally Lett was directing the scene like a movie. A medium-sized woman of mature years with a passion for high heels and permed hair, she was wielding what Jodi recognized even at a distance as the latest professional camera, shooing away bystanders who wanted to chat to the Chief and making sure that the volunteer firefighters remained in the background.

Jodi felt a brief and unworthy surge of envy. Nice to have a real budget, she thought.

Her eyes narrowed.

“So the Chief went out on the firetruck? And Sally Lett is here already? That’s...er...quick.”

Ricky turned into a parking space. His response came through gritted teeth.

“Apparently Bonnie called the Chief directly, and he came to check it out personally since he was on his way home from lunch at the golf club.”

Ricky jammed his hat on and patted his pockets. Over his shoulder Jodi could see people milling around in the reception area and in front of the fire truck. Phones waved overhead like space age flowers, recording the excitement.

Bonnie Browning flew through the front entrance, throwing Ricky a wave. Her face dropped when she saw his passenger.

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