Page 68 of Real Good Love
Logan
It’s a long night of waiting in the parking lot. Emmy Harris sets up a buffet on the sidewalk out in front of Home Cookin’ to feed the firefighters as they continue to battle flare-ups. I’ve listened to Granger talk about putting out fires before, and I’ve even ridden along on a few training calls to watch, but it’s nothing like watching them fight the blaze in my shop.
Before Banner, I would have said that I lost everything that mattered in there. But not anymore. As long as I have her, I’ve got everything I need. Everything else is replaceable.
I don’t have a clue how long it’s going to take me to rebuild, or how much money I’m going to lose, but knowing what I could have lost puts it all in perspective.
John Grove, the owner of the gas station that was connected to my shop, has been standing out front yelling at firemen since he got here. He’s been an absentee owner for years, paying managers to work the station while he sits back and collects money. His retirement just went up in flames, and he’s not handling it well at all.
Gossip is already spreading all over the place, and it doesn’t help that Memphis Lockwood filmed a segment standing in the road in front of what used to be my business. The top three choices of speculation I’ve heard are that I burned it down for insurance money, or someone burned it down because they heard I was helping her, or it was an accident.
I know it wasn’t the first option, and I have no idea which to pick out of the other two choices. Police Chief Timmons also made an appearance, shooing gawkers back from the perimeter and telling people to go home.
The residents of Gold Haven rarely have anything this exciting happen, and several brought coolers and lawn chairs to watch the spectacle rather than follow directions and go home.
Life in a small town, I suppose.
The lumberyard brought enough plywood to board up the busted or cracked windows of the post office, the hair salon, and the pharmacy. The fact that my business caused this kind of collateral damage is giving me heartburn, but Julianne at least has said that she’s not going to hold it against me.
Even if she did, there’s not a thing I could do about it.
I rack my brain to figure out the cause, but come up blank. What Julianne told me right before she left, about Memphis telling people I helped her out with the investigation, keeps running through my mind.
It’s an unsettling thought, but someone might have tried to kill me. I can’t say anything to Banner because she’ll freak the fuck out, and probably try to hire security for me or something.
The townspeople start to drift away after Emmy closes up the buffet and the fire is finally out. It’s been almost six hours.
Banner and I sit on a bench in front of the post office, watching but not speaking. There’s not much to say.
Granger crosses the road and ducks under the yellow police tape set up as a perimeter. “Hey, I think we finally got it all. I’m going to take a look inside. If you want to suit up, you can come too.”
I rise from the bench. “Stay here, babe. Or better yet, go inside with Julianne for a bit.”
“But—”
“You’re not setting foot in that shop, Banner.”
“Damn right she’s not,” Granger adds. “It’s too dangerous for her.”
Banner shuts her mouth, even though I know she wants to argue the point. “Fine. I’ll go inside.”
I press another kiss to her forehead and wait for her to slip into Cut a Bitch before I follow Granger to the fire truck and suit up in the extra set of gear. Once I’m finished, he waves me toward the building and we step through what used to be the door.
The steel beams that comprised the building are exposed now that the drywall is completely burned away. The waiting room is indistinguishable as we slosh through foamy insulation and metal shards into the shop area.
Granger points to a corner near the back door to the shop. The old-as-hell porcelain toilet is cracked but recognizable. “Looks like it started in the bathroom. The burn marks tell me it was chemical.”
“What the hell? The bathroom?”
We skirt through the skeletons of two burned-out customer cars and the remains of my hydraulic lifts to get there.
Granger crouches to the floor and feels around. “I know you’re not going to want to hear this, but it’s got all the markings of a meth-lab fire. I gotta tell Cody and notify the state so they can send investigators out. We shouldn’t be in here.”
I follow him back through the path of destruction out what used to be one of the overhead doors. Once outside, I rip off my mask.
“That’s fucking impossible. Neither Jock nor Rick was cookin’ meth in my bathroom, and I sure as fuck wasn’t either.”
Granger shrugs. “I gotta be unbiased here, so I’m telling you what my training says. The signs are all there; they were just buried under the rest of the chemical elements you had present.”
