That Old Flame of Mine (3 page)

With such great weather, the party was set in the park adjacent to the old VFW meeting hall. Picnic tables were heaped high with food, and a small band of fiddlers played bluegrass music that traveled up and down the street. At least a hundred people were already at the party. Children ran freely, jumping into piles of red and green leaves, their laughter providing its own kind of music.

There were big, red, pepper-shaped donation boxes set around the park too.

Stella parked her bike and dropped some bills into one of them, then joined the group. At once, ten people offered to make her a plate of food and find her a chair. It was like being a local celebrity.

Two women brought her glasses of iced tea and lemonade, and one of the VFW members offered her a place of honor at the table with Mayor Wando and other members of the town council. There was a podium and microphone set up, which meant plenty of speeches. Stella was getting used to that. She smiled and looked around for Tory.

“I think they want to give us all a medal for putting out the henhouse fire, Chief,” Ricky Junior said with a big grin. “Everyone thinks we’re great!”

“If we get too many more medals,” she said, “we won’t be able to walk with them on. We’ve already gotten medals for getting the fire brigade together and starting up the fire engine.”

“Maybe. But they look damn good. We’re heroes, Chief. We might as well enjoy it.”

Stella started to agree with him. She broke off when she noticed a thin plume of smoke rising straight up into the clear, dark sky. It was coming from the other end of Main Street where the old gingerbread houses were.

“Where’s Chief Griffin?” Allen Wise could barely speak, short of breath from running. “Tory Lambert’s house is on fire.”

Chapter 3

A
ll their emergency pagers went off. Allen ran back to his vehicle. Ricky wanted to go right to Tory’s house. Stella had to tell him he couldn’t. They needed him to drive the engine.

Stella jumped on her bike and headed after him. She wanted to go to Tory’s too. She wasn’t sure about leaving her recruits on their first real emergency call.

As she got closer, she heard the alarm screaming from within, and it started her heart pumping faster.

This wasn’t an empty old chicken house. This was a crucial test of her volunteers. She said a fast prayer for them, and for Tory, hoping she was somewhere safe. She hadn’t seen her yet at the party.

“We’re going to need the pumper and the engine, just to be sure,” Stella yelled as she parked her bike and raced inside to put on her gear. “We might have water and we might not. Ricky, you drive the engine. Kent, drive the pumper again. Everyone know the way to Tory Lambert’s house?”

They all nodded solemnly as they grabbed their equipment and found their places on the trucks.

Ricky set a fast pace for everyone. Stella didn’t complain as he raced down the road to reach Sweet Pepper, sirens blaring. Already the thin line of white smoke had turned dark gray and black, billowing up into the star-filled sky. The smell of it filled the streets as it drifted across town.

The house was a three-story Victorian with tons of gingerbread and white lattice. She knew from her tour of Sweet Pepper that all of the houses in this area were at least a hundred years old. They’d been built by the founding fathers, graced with stately green lawns, and surrounded by large oaks.

They also had fire hydrants. Allen and Petey connected up as fast as possible. The firefighters had to wade through the crowd that had formed along the sidewalk. The spectators were a dangerous nuisance and were still increasing as more people from the neighboring houses came out to see what was going on.

Stella tried calling Tory and received no answer. She wished the police would respond. Without them, the task of clearing away spectators fell to her, even as she was busy urging her volunteers to hurry. Flames were already licking into the front turrets and the roof.

“Get the engine in closer,” Stella yelled at Ricky. The old engine was still parked at the curb.

“What about the lawn?” he asked, respecting the deep green grass.

“Get it in there.”

“Sure. Sorry. Wasn’t thinking.” He drove the engine across the front lawn to get up close to the burning house, leaving red gashes in the emerald green where the tires had broken through to the clay beneath.

“What about me?” Kent called out from the pumper window. He’d followed closely behind Ricky.

“We don’t need the pumper right now,” Stella yelled. “We need you to help Petey and Allen with the hose.”

“Is Tory in there?” Mayor Wando jumped out of his car after leaving it parked in the middle of the street. He was breathless and a frown creased his bald head. “I hope she’s not in there. What an awful thing to happen. This house is a historic landmark.”

“What about Tory?” Stella demanded, no time to be pleasant or polite. “Has anyone seen her yet? Was she at the party?”

Too much silence answered her question.

“Okay—John, Ricky—come with me. You’ll need your SCBA backpacks. Hurry. We don’t know if Tory is inside.”

Everyone scurried to obey Stella’s commands. Two hoses were already aimed at the house, high-pressure water streaming to the fire. A ladder was raised to the roof to vent the fire.

Stella quickly put on her breathing apparatus, which was attached to a backpack. She was adjusting her face mask when Police Chief Don Rogers pushed his way through the crowd to reach her.

“What can I do? I want to go into the house with you.”

The fifty-something man with graying blond hair in a crew-cut style had done his best to avoid all the training the other volunteers had fought through. Even though he was listed as a regular volunteer, he’d never bothered showing up.

She stared at him as she finished getting her gear on. “Are you kidding me? You’re not dressed and barely trained. You don’t go near the house. Do
your
job, Chief, and get everyone to back off so my people can work.”

“But I know CPR. You might need me.”

“We all know CPR. If you wanted to go in, you should’ve taken the training more seriously. I don’t have time to argue with you. Get those people out of the way so no one gets hurt.”

Chief Rogers bristled at being spoken to that way. He finally nodded and ran back to the crowd of spectators, who were still pressing forward toward the house.

He’d made it clear to Stella from the beginning that he’d been against bringing in an outsider—particularly a woman. Stella didn’t like their confrontations, but she couldn’t let him run roughshod over her.

“Ready?” Stella got her group together. There was no time to waste. She was afraid for them. They were running into a burning house for the first time. She looked into their eyes and saw that fear reflected back at her. “Let’s go.”

Stella, John Trump, and Ricky ran into the old house, which was quickly being devoured by the flames despite the water being showered on it. Already the beautiful paintings, drapes, and furniture Stella recalled from her visits there were black with soot and streaming with water.

The heart of the fire seemed to be in the basement. They didn’t have long to search for Tory. The flames were spreading up the stairs, igniting the other floors as they reached out toward the roof.

“Third floor,” she told John. She’d purposely chosen him because he’d been a cop for a few years and she figured he could deal with a crisis better than the others. “Ricky, check the ground floor. Then get out. Understood?”

Ricky nodded.

John and Stella ran up the long winding stairway, parting at the second floor. Tory’s bedroom was on this floor. She hoped to find the other woman there, but she didn’t want to take any chances. If Tory wasn’t in her bedroom, John or Ricky would find her elsewhere.

The door to the bedroom was locked. She knocked it in with her pryax then stood aside, waiting to be sure there was no backdraft. She pushed off the face mask and yelled for her friend. There was no response. She ran to the luxurious marble bathroom, shouting Tory’s name. The bathroom was empty too.

“Any sign of her?” she called to John and Ricky on the radio.

“Found something down here. Not Ms. Lambert. It’s a puppy,” Ricky responded. “Should I come up there and help you all look?”

“No. Get yourself and the puppy out,” Stella responded. “John, any luck?”

“Not up here. I’m on my way down.”

Stella looked around the bedroom. It was starting to fill with smoke now that the door was open. It hadn’t been touched by the fire yet.

Her mind raced. Tory might be at the park. She might be outside in the crowd by now. She could be having tea with friends. There was no way to know.

Stella prayed Tory wasn’t in the basement. There would be no way to get to her, if that was true. Common sense told her that she would have been getting ready for the party. She should’ve been in her room.

“Chief,” John said over the radio. “You gotta get out of there. You won’t make it back down the stairs if you don’t move now.”

“I’m on my way.” Stella went through Tory’s bedroom one last time. She was going to sweep the closets, then hope to God that Tory was already at the party.

Stella opened the closet door in the bedroom and pushed through tons of clothes and shoes. All of the clothes were neatly hung, even color-coordinated. The shoes were all in boxes or hanging in shoe racks.

Until she got to the back.

Here the clothes were thrown on the floor. Shoes were everywhere. Stella pushed everything out of the way and swore when she found her friend beneath the mess.

Tory wasn’t breathing.

Stella called John and had him radio for an ambulance in case one wasn’t there yet. She slung Tory across her shoulders, wincing as her healing shoulder injury complained at the abuse. She held on tight, hoping they could both make it out in time.

The stairs were beginning to burn even though there was water everywhere. Stella’s experience told her this wasn’t an accidental fire. There had to be an accelerant involved. Even in a house this old, the flames were burning too hot and fast.

She took the stairs as quickly as she could, jumping over the last three, which were starting to smolder. Tory was tall but felt lightweight on her shoulders. Stella burst out of the front door and raced down the stairs to the lawn, where debris had begun falling from the roof. Kent Norris was up there with an ax, trying to help the others get the water where it needed to go.

John and Ricky rushed forward to assist Stella. The three of them moved Tory away from the house and into the neighbor’s yard, as far as possible from the interested crowd.

“The ambulance is on its way,” John told her before he started CPR on Tory.

“Is she dead?” Don Rogers asked as he joined them. “She doesn’t look burned.”

“Probably smoke inhalation.” Stella sat next to Tory in the wet grass. Chief Rogers was right, though. Tory looked like she was asleep.

Stella knew better. She’d found too many victims dead from breathing in the hot, toxic smoke. Her grandfather told stories of firefighters going in with no masks at all, dying in the smoke with the people they were trying to save. If they survived, they developed emphysema when they were in their early thirties.

It was still dangerous for firefighters. She’d taken off her mask to call Tory. Over the years, the toxins built up. It was a risk all her colleagues were willing to take—along with broken bones, concussions, and getting trapped in burning buildings with no way out.

This—losing someone—was always the worst. Not being able to save Tory felt like a hard blow to her chest. It hurt all over.

She knew she’d done her best. So had her volunteers. They’d all performed admirably. Even then, the fire was out, and Allen, Petey, and Ricky were going through the house looking for the inevitable hot spots that could flare up again.

Stella held Tory’s cold hand.
Why were you hiding under clothes in your closet? I know you knew better. What made you panic like that?

John looked at Stella and shook his head. “No pulse. She’s gone.”

The county ambulance pulled up at the curb, discharging emergency service techs with life support equipment and a stretcher. At the same time, a heavy-set man with shoulder-length blond hair and a bad spray tan ran up through the crowd. He was sobbing by the time he threw himself down beside Tory in the grass.

Stella didn’t need anyone to tell her that this was Victor, Tory’s son. He had her intelligent blue eyes. The resemblance ended there. He had a round face and rounder body. His lank blond hair hung down in his face. He was known in town as a scam artist, always looking for the next big score. Rumor had it that Tory was tight with the family purse strings.

“Is she . . . is she dead?” he wailed.

“I’m sorry, Vic,” John replied, his steady hand on the other man’s shoulder. “I think she’s gone.”

“No!” Victor fell on top of his mother, pushing the EMS team out of the way.

Chief Rogers pulled Victor off Tory so the EMS workers could continue their exam. It took only a few minutes for them to agree with John’s assessment.

Stella stayed where she was, still holding Tory’s hand. She was in no hurry to give up that connection. When it was gone, it was gone forever. She smoothed Tory’s mussed gray hair back from her thin face, already missing her companionship.

“You did the best you could.” John tried to console her. “We all did. Don’t beat yourself up over it, Chief. She must’ve been in there the whole time. There was no way any of us could’ve known.”

“Thanks. I know all that. It doesn’t make any difference right now. Later, you can look back on it, and it keeps you going. Not now.”

Stella smiled at him. She liked John. He was around the same age as she was, with ten years on the force. It was easy to connect with his quick wit and laid-back personality. He was a steady rock, perfect for an emergency worker. She knew she could rely on him.

He took her gloved hand. Their brown eyes met for a minute in understanding of loss and duty.

She looked down at her friend one last time as the EMS workers were getting ready to transport her. Stella knew she had to get up and let them do their job. She had to do her job too.

There were cleanup and follow-through procedures that all the volunteers needed to see to. They’d all have to write real reports for the state and county this time.

She realized that she didn’t even know if the county had an arson investigator who’d come out and take a look at the house. She could probably give a close guess as to what had happened, but she wasn’t trained for more than that. Besides, she needed another opinion before she said anything about her suspicions that the fire had been more than an accident.

Her volunteers shouldn’t have to take care of cleanup and other after-fire procedures by themselves at their first fire. This was their first loss too. She dreaded what she was going to say to them when they got back to the firehouse.