smaller ones, with thick billowing smoke everywhere.
“At least we kept the surrounding grass damp enough,” Robert commented as I stepped aside to let the men finish it up.
“Thank goodness it didn’t spread to the orchard,” I said.
Robert turned to issue an order to the men.
I scanned the surrounding forest, contemplating the amount of potential destruction had the fire run unchecked. A slight movement caught my eye beneath one of the trees in the orchard. A man huddled behind one of the thick trunks, watching the scene. In the dying light of the fire, his red-gold hair glowed. It was Ian Brodie.
“Charlie, here take this,” Robert said, handing me the wrench he’d used to crank open the water valve. “It goes in that toolbox on the other side.”
I reached out for the wrench and when I looked up again, Ian was gone.
Now what was that about? I wondered, circling the pumper to put the wrench away. If Ian were this close, why hadn’t he come over to help?
I remembered Robert Dunbar’s comments yesterday, his suspicions about Ian being the thief who’d stolen his two lambs. Was Ian really at war with the Dunbars? Could he have set the fire? I walked back around the pumper to the spot where Robert stood watching the last of the dousing efforts.
“Any idea what started the fire?” I asked.
“No,” he mused. “Canna figure it out. No lightning tonight. That’s usually what does it. Lucky we have old Betsy here,” he said, patting the pumper’s flank. “Closest fire department’s almost all the way to Inverness. Take ’em twenty minutes to get here. Used to have a volunteer fire crew here in the village, but they’re all gettin’ old like me. Canna do it anymore, that gettin’ waked up in the night.” He patted the pumper again. “Betsy here’s old. Think me grandda’ brought her in more than eighty years ago when we pulled her with horses. But she still works.”
He supervised the rewinding of the hose, then climbed aboard the tractor to drive Betsy back to storage. Sarah came around the corner of the still-standing stone walls to survey the wreckage. Now that the fire was out, the night had turned dark and chilly. Everyone was finding their way around by the beams of a couple of flashlights someone had brought.
“Oh, Charlie, there you are,” Sarah said. “I’d like you to meet my grandson, Richie.”
A gangly kid of about fifteen stepped forward. His large hands flopped at his sides, as if they weren’t quite sure they belonged at the ends of those long, skinny arms. His blond hair hung over his forehead, having received a few too many sprays of water to stay in style. He wore baggy black pants and a black pullover that hung halfway to his knees. In his case, I wasn’t sure whether he was trying to be stylish or if virtually any clothing would hang on his skinny frame. He nodded jerkily toward me and murmured a hello that almost made it past his lips.
“And Richie’s friends, Lewis and Alisdair,” Sarah added, summoning two other boys over. Lewis was a bit more filled-out than Richie, and I noticed that he and Alisdair went for the same baggy clothing. They each gave me a polite nod but I sensed teenage sullenness just under the surface.
“Let’s go inside,” Sarah suggested. “I’ll make us some cocoa.”
We trooped through the orchard in a line, one of the torch bearers at the head and one at the end of the scraggly procession. When we reached the castle, three men, presumably grounds keepers, left. Richie and his friends informed Sarah that they were off to town.
“Now where—” The slamming car door cut off her inquiry.
Drake and I were now the only ones standing with Sarah. I introduced them and included Robert as he came walking back from one of the outbuildings with a flashlight in hand.
“I’m afraid we should beg off staying for cocoa,” I told Sarah. “It’s been a very long day. I’ll have to tell you about it sometime.”
“Let’s do plan on
“At least we kept the surrounding grass damp enough,” Robert commented as I stepped aside to let the men finish it up.
“Thank goodness it didn’t spread to the orchard,” I said.
Robert turned to issue an order to the men.
I scanned the surrounding forest, contemplating the amount of potential destruction had the fire run unchecked. A slight movement caught my eye beneath one of the trees in the orchard. A man huddled behind one of the thick trunks, watching the scene. In the dying light of the fire, his red-gold hair glowed. It was Ian Brodie.
“Charlie, here take this,” Robert said, handing me the wrench he’d used to crank open the water valve. “It goes in that toolbox on the other side.”
I reached out for the wrench and when I looked up again, Ian was gone.
Now what was that about? I wondered, circling the pumper to put the wrench away. If Ian were this close, why hadn’t he come over to help?
I remembered Robert Dunbar’s comments yesterday, his suspicions about Ian being the thief who’d stolen his two lambs. Was Ian really at war with the Dunbars? Could he have set the fire? I walked back around the pumper to the spot where Robert stood watching the last of the dousing efforts.
“Any idea what started the fire?” I asked.
“No,” he mused. “Canna figure it out. No lightning tonight. That’s usually what does it. Lucky we have old Betsy here,” he said, patting the pumper’s flank. “Closest fire department’s almost all the way to Inverness. Take ’em twenty minutes to get here. Used to have a volunteer fire crew here in the village, but they’re all gettin’ old like me. Canna do it anymore, that gettin’ waked up in the night.” He patted the pumper again. “Betsy here’s old. Think me grandda’ brought her in more than eighty years ago when we pulled her with horses. But she still works.”
He supervised the rewinding of the hose, then climbed aboard the tractor to drive Betsy back to storage. Sarah came around the corner of the still-standing stone walls to survey the wreckage. Now that the fire was out, the night had turned dark and chilly. Everyone was finding their way around by the beams of a couple of flashlights someone had brought.
“Oh, Charlie, there you are,” Sarah said. “I’d like you to meet my grandson, Richie.”
A gangly kid of about fifteen stepped forward. His large hands flopped at his sides, as if they weren’t quite sure they belonged at the ends of those long, skinny arms. His blond hair hung over his forehead, having received a few too many sprays of water to stay in style. He wore baggy black pants and a black pullover that hung halfway to his knees. In his case, I wasn’t sure whether he was trying to be stylish or if virtually any clothing would hang on his skinny frame. He nodded jerkily toward me and murmured a hello that almost made it past his lips.
“And Richie’s friends, Lewis and Alisdair,” Sarah added, summoning two other boys over. Lewis was a bit more filled-out than Richie, and I noticed that he and Alisdair went for the same baggy clothing. They each gave me a polite nod but I sensed teenage sullenness just under the surface.
“Let’s go inside,” Sarah suggested. “I’ll make us some cocoa.”
We trooped through the orchard in a line, one of the torch bearers at the head and one at the end of the scraggly procession. When we reached the castle, three men, presumably grounds keepers, left. Richie and his friends informed Sarah that they were off to town.
“Now where—” The slamming car door cut off her inquiry.
Drake and I were now the only ones standing with Sarah. I introduced them and included Robert as he came walking back from one of the outbuildings with a flashlight in hand.
“I’m afraid we should beg off staying for cocoa,” I told Sarah. “It’s been a very long day. I’ll have to tell you about it sometime.”
“Let’s do plan on
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