Page 12 of Single Mom's Firefighter SEALs
Water tracks across the hardwood in the living room, and the furniture where I’d sat just two days ago is speckled with soot.
Smoke has put a film on everything, as if the house was dipped in dirty water. The den is the worst of it, a blackened mess of collapsed shelving, charred boxes, and glossy melted plastic fused to wood.
There’s one man still in the house and another who follows me in. “Stay out of the den unless you need to,” I tell them. “If something looks staged, don’t touch it.”
They both giveme quick nods.
From the doorway of the den, my gaze catches on things that didn’t burn like they should have, items pushed aside in a clear lane, as if someone made space to do something precise. I think back to Elena’s crumbled folder in the school administrative building, and the hair on my arms lifts.
I move deeper into the house, but only along the clean edges, and just enough to read the access and how the smoke traveled. I’ll come back with a camera before I put a boot in the origin area.
The bedroom wing is clear, but the smoke line high on the walls sends a chill through me.
At the back of the house, the kitchen floor is gritty with soot, where the crew tracked through, and the trail gets thicker in the mudroom. On the outside of the back door, there are fresh scratches around the lock, and the deadbolt plate is bent in a way that makes my molars grind.
“Tape off the back door. Keep the traffic out of here,” I tell the man trailing me. “I want photos before we touch anything.”
He reaches for his radio as I step outside, my lungs tight and my jaw set.
Out front, Elena looks like she’s holding herself together by sheer will as she talks with the officer. I stay a few yards away and push back an inconvenient urge to take her in my arms and tell her everything’s going to be all right.
When they wrap up their conversation and the officer moves off, I step closeenough to Elena that my words won’t carry. “The fire was contained to the den. It didn’t run through the walls.”
“Was everything in there destroyed?” Her face crumples at the thought, but she quickly straightens her features and her posture.
“No, not everything,” I say. “But a lot of what was in that room took a hit. After I do my job, we can take inventory together.”
She nods, one arm wrapped across her chest, her teeth chattering despite the big coat.
“We need to get you a blanket?—”
As I’m heading to the firetruck to retrieve one, a familiar civilian SUV rolls up and parks along the curb. Former mayor Mae Whitaker steps out with a folded blanket under her arm and a thermos in her hand.
“Where are they? Is everyone okay?”
Elena waves her hand to get her attention. “Mae, over here. We’re okay.”
Relief washes over the older woman’s face, which is free of the makeup she usually wears, and its absence makes her look vulnerable. Her hair is under a crocheted hat, and she’s wearing an oversized gray parka instead of her trademark red coat.
Her presence is still commanding, though, as she wraps the blanket around Elena’s shoulders. “Thank goodness! Dispatch said the occupants were out, but I needed to see it with my own eyes.”
“You heard about the fire already?”
“Of course. In this town, news runs as fast as the fire trucks.”
Elena lifts her wrist, where there’s no watch, then pulls her phone from the pocket of her pajama pants. “At four in the morning?”
“This is practically midday when you’re my age.” Mae peers into the cruiser and waves at T.J., then hands him the thermos, telling him it’s hot chocolate, and reassuring Elena that it’s not too hot.
The other night, Elena told me she rents this house from Mae, but the woman is clearly more concerned about the occupants than her property. She’s barely glanced at the structure.
She fusses over the two of them for several minutes before coming over to me. “What’s the status inside, Buck? Looks like I’ve missed all the action.”
“Not livable tonight. Direct fire damage was contained to the den, but there’s smoke contamination throughout. I’ll have a better idea after it airs out.” In case Mae is thinking the fire might be Elena’s fault, I add, “Fairly sure someone broke in through the back door. We’ll be investigating.”
One of Mae’s brows lifts, then her eyes narrow. “We have an arsonist in town?”
“It looks that way.”
