yell at him and chase him off, and a moment later, he could hear Jenny calling to the dog. The barking stopped, and a door slammed. Jenny must have brought the dog into the Wilsons’ house.
Ian thought of Liz, wondering if she was awake. Why she wasn’t out here helping. He’d pegged her as that kind of person.
The smoke slowed down, a strong sizzling reaching their ears, and Ian dared to hope that they had the fire under control.
“The bed is still burning,” Leo panted out. “It was the only thing on fire when I first noticed it.”
“It’s good you’re all safe,” Ian answered, still spraying.
“We were sleeping in the living room. It’s the coolest place in the house.”
“Whose bedroom is that?”
“Jenny’s and mine.” He grimaced at the open window, where smoke no longer poured outward. “We had all the windows open, too, to catch a breeze. It’s the only way to stay cool.”
Monica came up close after throwing another bucket of water into the window. Ian knew the dangers of going inside to continue to fight the fire, but with the nearest firedepartment at least half an hour away in Northglade, they couldn’t just stand there and spray from the outside. And if the mattress continued to burn inside the house…
He handed the hose to Monica. “Keep spraying through the window. Come on, Leo, let’s get that mattress outside.”
Thankfully, the mattress was no longer smoldering. They managed to drag it outside where Monica hosed it down thoroughly. Bedding and clothes in the room, plus a few small pieces of furniture, were tossed out the window. And finally, it seemed everything was under control.
Ian pulled the mattress farther away from the house, leaving Leo and Monica to flip and move the other items around in search of hot spots. He was about twenty feet from the house when he heard Monica’s soft voice carry through the warm air.
“Don’t ask me again. I won’t.”
Leo said something deep and indiscernible in return. Then they immediately stopped and looked over at Ian. Standing beside the mattress, he could easily smell the petroleum products in the air but waited until Leo walked up to him.
“What were you doing to start this fire?” he asked Leo.
“Nothing. Like I said, we were all sleeping in the living room. I need to sleep. The work at the resort is hard.”
At some point George had turned on Ian’s outside light, and in that light, Ian could see Leo’s face scrunch into a furious frown. Monica had slipped close, too, he noticed.
“Leo, can you smell the gas?”
Leo looked up, his gaze skimming past Monica’s nervous one. Ian watched both people swallow. Finally, Leospoke. “I can now that you mention it. What does it mean? I don’t own a car, and I don’t have oil in the house. I didn’t do this.”
“Do you use any oil at work?”
“No, but it’s a construction site! There’s probably some there, but we’ve been installing solar panels the last few days. Except that work has been put aside because of the storm. The foreman wants to wait until they figure out if it’s coming this way or not.”
Again, his eyes roamed over to Monica’s. Ian caught her wetting her lips and stepping back.
Ian bent down and peered at the mattress. A shard of smoke-darkened glass could be seen embedded in the outer cover. Flakes of burned cotton disintegrated when he poked them with the rake.
A Molotov cocktail. A crude, yet effective way to set a fire. And the screen had already been ripped, he’d noticed.
No, not ripped, he remembered, but rather sliced through quite neatly like with a sharp knife.
Leo moved away, toeing the charred and soaking remains of his bedroom, bending occasionally to pick something up.
“Someone threw gas on the mattress?” Monica asked. “Why—” Immediately, she shut her mouth.
Again, Ian caught the nervous silent exchange between the two neighbors. Then everyone went quiet.
“Do you think the fire’s out?” Monica finally
Ian thought of Liz, wondering if she was awake. Why she wasn’t out here helping. He’d pegged her as that kind of person.
The smoke slowed down, a strong sizzling reaching their ears, and Ian dared to hope that they had the fire under control.
“The bed is still burning,” Leo panted out. “It was the only thing on fire when I first noticed it.”
“It’s good you’re all safe,” Ian answered, still spraying.
“We were sleeping in the living room. It’s the coolest place in the house.”
“Whose bedroom is that?”
“Jenny’s and mine.” He grimaced at the open window, where smoke no longer poured outward. “We had all the windows open, too, to catch a breeze. It’s the only way to stay cool.”
Monica came up close after throwing another bucket of water into the window. Ian knew the dangers of going inside to continue to fight the fire, but with the nearest firedepartment at least half an hour away in Northglade, they couldn’t just stand there and spray from the outside. And if the mattress continued to burn inside the house…
He handed the hose to Monica. “Keep spraying through the window. Come on, Leo, let’s get that mattress outside.”
Thankfully, the mattress was no longer smoldering. They managed to drag it outside where Monica hosed it down thoroughly. Bedding and clothes in the room, plus a few small pieces of furniture, were tossed out the window. And finally, it seemed everything was under control.
Ian pulled the mattress farther away from the house, leaving Leo and Monica to flip and move the other items around in search of hot spots. He was about twenty feet from the house when he heard Monica’s soft voice carry through the warm air.
“Don’t ask me again. I won’t.”
Leo said something deep and indiscernible in return. Then they immediately stopped and looked over at Ian. Standing beside the mattress, he could easily smell the petroleum products in the air but waited until Leo walked up to him.
“What were you doing to start this fire?” he asked Leo.
“Nothing. Like I said, we were all sleeping in the living room. I need to sleep. The work at the resort is hard.”
At some point George had turned on Ian’s outside light, and in that light, Ian could see Leo’s face scrunch into a furious frown. Monica had slipped close, too, he noticed.
“Leo, can you smell the gas?”
Leo looked up, his gaze skimming past Monica’s nervous one. Ian watched both people swallow. Finally, Leospoke. “I can now that you mention it. What does it mean? I don’t own a car, and I don’t have oil in the house. I didn’t do this.”
“Do you use any oil at work?”
“No, but it’s a construction site! There’s probably some there, but we’ve been installing solar panels the last few days. Except that work has been put aside because of the storm. The foreman wants to wait until they figure out if it’s coming this way or not.”
Again, his eyes roamed over to Monica’s. Ian caught her wetting her lips and stepping back.
Ian bent down and peered at the mattress. A shard of smoke-darkened glass could be seen embedded in the outer cover. Flakes of burned cotton disintegrated when he poked them with the rake.
A Molotov cocktail. A crude, yet effective way to set a fire. And the screen had already been ripped, he’d noticed.
No, not ripped, he remembered, but rather sliced through quite neatly like with a sharp knife.
Leo moved away, toeing the charred and soaking remains of his bedroom, bending occasionally to pick something up.
“Someone threw gas on the mattress?” Monica asked. “Why—” Immediately, she shut her mouth.
Again, Ian caught the nervous silent exchange between the two neighbors. Then everyone went quiet.
“Do you think the fire’s out?” Monica finally
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