Neighing with Fire: A Mystery (Colleen McCabe Series) by Kathryn O'Sullivan Page A
Authors: Kathryn O'Sullivan
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was out of order. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that they should review the equipment again.
Having organized everything late last night and then again at the shift change this morning, she knew the guys would grumble about another equipment check being unnecessary. And they’d probably be right. Maybe it was the fact that the arsonist hadn’t struck in two weeks—the longest hiatus between incidents—that was putting her on edge, or maybe it was the news that Michael Fuentes had been murdered, or maybe it was simply that she had had a bad night’s sleep on the sofa, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of something looming on the horizon. No, it wouldn’t hurt to do another check—just in case.
Colleen opened the door and entered the community room. Kenny and Bobby were playing Scrabble at a table, Chip was passed out on the sofa, and Jimmy was in his office doing paperwork.
“Hey,” she said, joining Jimmy. “How are things?”
“Pretty quiet,” he said.
“A little strange, right?”
Jimmy set down the paper. “What’s on your mind?” The two had known one another for quite some time. He could always tell when something was bothering her.
She shrugged.
He raised his brows, folded his arms, and sat back in his chair. “That bad?”
“Just a feeling. Probably the doughnut I ate this morning,” she said, trying to lighten the mood.
“Doughnuts, huh?” Jimmy chuckled. “That doesn’t sound like you.”
She smiled but decided not to tell him that the doughnuts had been a breakfast treat from Bill. “Tell me something,” she said. “You ever heard of a guy named Michael Hector Fuentes?”
He shook his head. “Who is he?”
“The guy that was found under the walkway. Nobody seems to know much about him.”
“There are a lot of rather reclusive types in Carova. I imagine a person could stay pretty anonymous up there if he wanted to.”
“Maybe,” she said, remembering she had told Bill she’d be discreet. “Anyway, the reason I came to talk to you is that I’d like to do another equipment—”
He never heard her last words. Their pagers shrieked to life and their cell phones buzzed with an incoming text. Seconds later the dispatcher informed them over the pagers of a house fire on Sandcastle Drive. Bobby and Kenny leapt from the table, Chip bolted from the sofa, and she and Jimmy dashed into the engine bay.
Her men suited up and started the engine. Sparky barked as she hurried to her SUV. “Go to your bed,” she commanded and pointed inside. Her heart broke at the sad face he gave her, but he did as instructed and retreated to the firehouse. She didn’t want to be distracted by Sparky being near the danger. Her men would need her full attention.
She opened the back of her SUV, tied her hair back at the nape of her neck, and retrieved her chief’s helmet. The engine pulled out and the ambulance followed. She soon caught up with the ambulance and engine.
The emergency vehicles slowed in order to make the sharp right off of Route 12 onto Headwind Way and then a quick left onto Sandcastle. Sandcastle Drive was located in the northernmost community of Corolla, ran parallel to Route 12, and was lined on either side with beautiful oceanfront and oceanview homes. Kids often rode bikes on Sandcastle; she hoped they were all off of the road. Several people on balconies pointed down the road directing the engine. A band of teen boys raced alongside the engine—something she, too, had done as a child whenever there was a fire in her apartment complex—and then were soon left behind.
Black and gray smoke billowed across the Columbia blue sky and out to sea in a menacing plume. It wasn’t difficult to trace its origins to the windows and roof of an oceanside residence near the end of the road. Colleen parked behind the ambulance as the engine guys threw trucks under the tires, pulled hoses, and retrieved irons and self-contained breathing apparatus. The blue plastic coating
Having organized everything late last night and then again at the shift change this morning, she knew the guys would grumble about another equipment check being unnecessary. And they’d probably be right. Maybe it was the fact that the arsonist hadn’t struck in two weeks—the longest hiatus between incidents—that was putting her on edge, or maybe it was the news that Michael Fuentes had been murdered, or maybe it was simply that she had had a bad night’s sleep on the sofa, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of something looming on the horizon. No, it wouldn’t hurt to do another check—just in case.
Colleen opened the door and entered the community room. Kenny and Bobby were playing Scrabble at a table, Chip was passed out on the sofa, and Jimmy was in his office doing paperwork.
“Hey,” she said, joining Jimmy. “How are things?”
“Pretty quiet,” he said.
“A little strange, right?”
Jimmy set down the paper. “What’s on your mind?” The two had known one another for quite some time. He could always tell when something was bothering her.
She shrugged.
He raised his brows, folded his arms, and sat back in his chair. “That bad?”
“Just a feeling. Probably the doughnut I ate this morning,” she said, trying to lighten the mood.
“Doughnuts, huh?” Jimmy chuckled. “That doesn’t sound like you.”
She smiled but decided not to tell him that the doughnuts had been a breakfast treat from Bill. “Tell me something,” she said. “You ever heard of a guy named Michael Hector Fuentes?”
He shook his head. “Who is he?”
“The guy that was found under the walkway. Nobody seems to know much about him.”
“There are a lot of rather reclusive types in Carova. I imagine a person could stay pretty anonymous up there if he wanted to.”
“Maybe,” she said, remembering she had told Bill she’d be discreet. “Anyway, the reason I came to talk to you is that I’d like to do another equipment—”
He never heard her last words. Their pagers shrieked to life and their cell phones buzzed with an incoming text. Seconds later the dispatcher informed them over the pagers of a house fire on Sandcastle Drive. Bobby and Kenny leapt from the table, Chip bolted from the sofa, and she and Jimmy dashed into the engine bay.
Her men suited up and started the engine. Sparky barked as she hurried to her SUV. “Go to your bed,” she commanded and pointed inside. Her heart broke at the sad face he gave her, but he did as instructed and retreated to the firehouse. She didn’t want to be distracted by Sparky being near the danger. Her men would need her full attention.
She opened the back of her SUV, tied her hair back at the nape of her neck, and retrieved her chief’s helmet. The engine pulled out and the ambulance followed. She soon caught up with the ambulance and engine.
The emergency vehicles slowed in order to make the sharp right off of Route 12 onto Headwind Way and then a quick left onto Sandcastle. Sandcastle Drive was located in the northernmost community of Corolla, ran parallel to Route 12, and was lined on either side with beautiful oceanfront and oceanview homes. Kids often rode bikes on Sandcastle; she hoped they were all off of the road. Several people on balconies pointed down the road directing the engine. A band of teen boys raced alongside the engine—something she, too, had done as a child whenever there was a fire in her apartment complex—and then were soon left behind.
Black and gray smoke billowed across the Columbia blue sky and out to sea in a menacing plume. It wasn’t difficult to trace its origins to the windows and roof of an oceanside residence near the end of the road. Colleen parked behind the ambulance as the engine guys threw trucks under the tires, pulled hoses, and retrieved irons and self-contained breathing apparatus. The blue plastic coating
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