asked.
“We roll trucks,” said the man Sean had identified as the Fire Chief. He was a big, bulky man who looked to be several years older than Sean. Maggie wondered how long he had held the position of Chief. He ran a hand through his graying hair and sighed. “Volunteers are never off-duty. That’s why I don’t serve beer when we all get together like this. Can you imagine what would happen if we had to sit back and let our neighbor’s house burn because we were all too drunk to drive a fire truck?”
“Well I hope there aren’t any fires--” Maggie’s words were drowned out by the sudden, panicked outcry that arose.
“Don’t say it!”
“NO!”
“Shut her up, Spiffy!”
“--tonight,” she finished lamely. Around her, Sean’s fellow firefighters groaned. She looked at him helplessly.
“Its bad luck,” he explained. “Never, ever say that you hope there are no fires, or that you hope it’s a quiet night, or anything like that. Never comment on how quiet it’s been, or that it’s been a while since the last call. As you as you say it, you’re doomed.”
“Firefighters are a superstitious group,” Alex told her. “We used to have a guy on our squad who was really bad about it. He was flat out goofy about things like black cats or ladders or spilled salt, but he was just plain crazy when it came to fighting fire. Always enter a building with the right foot first, spit if a certain word was said out loud, never work in groups of three. . .” her voice trailed off.
An uncomfortable silence fell across the group.
Chief Griswold cleared his throat and raised his bottle of cola. “To Mikey Garcia,” he said softly. “You were a hell of a firefighter.”
“To Mikey.” All around the picnic tables, men and women raised their drinks in a quiet salute.
Sean’s cell phone rang just then. He excused himself to take the call, leaving Maggie alone with the group. Alex Hale leaned in close again and spoke in a quiet voice. “It was a structure fire about six months ago,” she murmured. “Mikey and two others were inside when part of the roof caved in. We got all three of them out, but Mikey didn’t make it.”
“First and only fatality from my department,” Griswold added. “I plan on keeping it that way. Almost lost Spiffy and TOK that night, too.”
Maggie caught her breath at the thought of Sean being so close to death.
Sean rejoined them then. “That was Dan Harding,” he told her. "He’s our Police Chief. He needs me and my tow truck. Ben Jacobs just found a stolen car behind the old barn on his property, and it looks like it has something to do with some missing woman from a reality TV show."
Maggie almost dropped her drink.
Sean didn't seem to notice. “Maggie, I have to go take care of this. Will you be all right here?”
She nodded. “I understand,” she told him, her voice barely above a whisper. He leaned over to kiss her cheek.
“We’ll give her a ride back to Carrington’s,” Alex offered. ”I’ll tell her all your secrets while you’re gone.”
“As long as she finds out the secret ingredient in your macaroni salad!” he called back over his shoulder.
Maggie barely heard him. She was already planning her escape.
Chapter Ten
Ben Jacobs’ property was just a few miles east of town, near the curve on County Road 388 where Sean had nearly lost control of his truck a few nights ago. Driving his tow truck off the main road and down the rutted two-track road that led to Jacobs’ barn, Sean clenched his teeth and fought the steering wheel with both hands, mentally cursing the idiot who had abandoned a car out here in the middle of nowhere.
The car was parked on the far side of the barn, barely visible in the shadows of the setting sun. Police Chief Dan Harding was standing beside it, next to a short, balding man that Sean recognized as his mother’s lawyer, Ben Jacobs. Both men were so intent on the car that they barely noticed him approaching
“We roll trucks,” said the man Sean had identified as the Fire Chief. He was a big, bulky man who looked to be several years older than Sean. Maggie wondered how long he had held the position of Chief. He ran a hand through his graying hair and sighed. “Volunteers are never off-duty. That’s why I don’t serve beer when we all get together like this. Can you imagine what would happen if we had to sit back and let our neighbor’s house burn because we were all too drunk to drive a fire truck?”
“Well I hope there aren’t any fires--” Maggie’s words were drowned out by the sudden, panicked outcry that arose.
“Don’t say it!”
“NO!”
“Shut her up, Spiffy!”
“--tonight,” she finished lamely. Around her, Sean’s fellow firefighters groaned. She looked at him helplessly.
“Its bad luck,” he explained. “Never, ever say that you hope there are no fires, or that you hope it’s a quiet night, or anything like that. Never comment on how quiet it’s been, or that it’s been a while since the last call. As you as you say it, you’re doomed.”
“Firefighters are a superstitious group,” Alex told her. “We used to have a guy on our squad who was really bad about it. He was flat out goofy about things like black cats or ladders or spilled salt, but he was just plain crazy when it came to fighting fire. Always enter a building with the right foot first, spit if a certain word was said out loud, never work in groups of three. . .” her voice trailed off.
An uncomfortable silence fell across the group.
Chief Griswold cleared his throat and raised his bottle of cola. “To Mikey Garcia,” he said softly. “You were a hell of a firefighter.”
“To Mikey.” All around the picnic tables, men and women raised their drinks in a quiet salute.
Sean’s cell phone rang just then. He excused himself to take the call, leaving Maggie alone with the group. Alex Hale leaned in close again and spoke in a quiet voice. “It was a structure fire about six months ago,” she murmured. “Mikey and two others were inside when part of the roof caved in. We got all three of them out, but Mikey didn’t make it.”
“First and only fatality from my department,” Griswold added. “I plan on keeping it that way. Almost lost Spiffy and TOK that night, too.”
Maggie caught her breath at the thought of Sean being so close to death.
Sean rejoined them then. “That was Dan Harding,” he told her. "He’s our Police Chief. He needs me and my tow truck. Ben Jacobs just found a stolen car behind the old barn on his property, and it looks like it has something to do with some missing woman from a reality TV show."
Maggie almost dropped her drink.
Sean didn't seem to notice. “Maggie, I have to go take care of this. Will you be all right here?”
She nodded. “I understand,” she told him, her voice barely above a whisper. He leaned over to kiss her cheek.
“We’ll give her a ride back to Carrington’s,” Alex offered. ”I’ll tell her all your secrets while you’re gone.”
“As long as she finds out the secret ingredient in your macaroni salad!” he called back over his shoulder.
Maggie barely heard him. She was already planning her escape.
Chapter Ten
Ben Jacobs’ property was just a few miles east of town, near the curve on County Road 388 where Sean had nearly lost control of his truck a few nights ago. Driving his tow truck off the main road and down the rutted two-track road that led to Jacobs’ barn, Sean clenched his teeth and fought the steering wheel with both hands, mentally cursing the idiot who had abandoned a car out here in the middle of nowhere.
The car was parked on the far side of the barn, barely visible in the shadows of the setting sun. Police Chief Dan Harding was standing beside it, next to a short, balding man that Sean recognized as his mother’s lawyer, Ben Jacobs. Both men were so intent on the car that they barely noticed him approaching
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