Читать книгу The Beekeeper's Daughter - Janice Carter - Страница 10

ADRENALINE GOT HIM to the side door of the farmhouse, pounding and shouting above the fire. But something else held him there, seconds longer. Fear. Sweeping up from deep in his gut, bursting out in beads of sweat. Turning from the locked door, Will looked at the barn.

Was it his imagination, or did he really hear voices over the roar? He squinted into the thick, billowing gray smoke and his heart almost stopped. Was someone or something moving in there? He’d automatically assumed there were no animals in the barn because he hadn’t heard any cries. Could he have been mistaken? Will rubbed his eyes, smarting from the acrid smoke in the air. Nothing there. He forced himself to stay calm. This wasn’t Newark. He was at a barn fire in North Carolina. And if he was lucky, he wouldn’t have to step one foot inside it.

Fortunately the slight breeze was coming from the right direction, wafting the sparks away from the house toward the clearing on the far side of the barn. He could at least try to delay the fire’s spread until the trucks arrived. That is assuming someone had spotted the smoke and called in the alarm. If nobody arrived momentarily, he’d have to break into the house and call himself. Meanwhile, there should be some kind of garden hose.

Hand over his mouth and nose, he ran along the side of the house until he found the hose attached to a tap in the stone foundation. He cranked the faucet to the max, grabbed the hose by the nozzle and began to spray the section of house closest to the barn. The intense radiant heat of the fire could easily scorch and perhaps even ignite the house as well. The paint was already beginning to blister and the spray from the garden hose wasn’t going to be terribly effective. But until help arrived, it was all he could do.

Will was deciding which window to smash when he heard something behind him. He craned his neck, hoping to see an engine and tanker coming up the driveway. Instead, a bright yellow school bus idled beside the house and a stocky, barrel-chested man was running toward him.

“What the—?” He stopped, gasping for breath and staring at the barn, panic in his face. Then he snarled at Will, “Who the hell are you?”

It wasn’t quite the reception Will had been expecting. He didn’t think the man was looking for an introduction either. “If you live here,” he replied, raising his voice against the fire, “call the fire department. Now!”

But the man had already unlocked the side door and was disappearing inside before Will completed his sentence. The smoke was thickening. Will’s eyes stung and sweat dripped from his forehead. He doused his head and face with the hose, though the relief lasted no more than a few seconds. The man suddenly reappeared at his side and lunged for the hose.

Will let go, but when the man swung around to aim the hose at the fire, he grabbed his arm. “Forget the barn. Save your house!”

He stared at Will, his eyes wild. For a tense moment Will was afraid it would erupt into a fight, but the man suddenly directed the spray back to the house.

“Where’s the nearest fire hall?” Will hoped the guy wasn’t going to say Essex.

“Not far. It’s a volunteer brigade. They’re on the way.” He looked behind him at the barn. “Got an antique harvester in there.”

“Nothing else? Animals?”

The man shook his head. Will could see pain and frustration in his eyes. It was a look he’d seen many times after fires had wiped people out. Homes, possessions—not to mention lives.

“Let me do this,” Will said, moving his head closer to be heard. “You better move the bus out of the way before the trucks get here. Then start taking anything out of the house that you want to save.”

“You think it’ll spread to the house?” The man’s voice cracked.

“Just in case.” Focusing on the house would distract him from the barn and the antique harvester.

Hesitating for no more than a second, the man tossed the hose to him and vanished into the smoke. Will turned to check on the barn and saw that the roof was ablaze. No possibility of saving it now. He just hoped the guy had a good insurance policy. He also hoped the meager spray from the hose would be enough to keep the house from scorching before the trucks arrived.

A familiar sound rose above the roar of the fire—the muted wail of sirens. Will felt the tension ease out of him. An engine rolled up the driveway, followed by a tanker truck. Will squinted. Figures in heavy bunker gear and yellow helmets were jumping from the trucks and quickly unraveling hoses. One man stood apart, wearing a red helmet and shouting instructions. Noticing Will, he strode toward him.

“Who’re you? Where’s Warren?”

“If he’s the guy who lives here, he’s inside the house. I happened to be driving by and saw the smoke.”

The man stared at the hose in Will’s hand. “Leave that. I’ll get a couple of my men over here. There’s a shed behind the barn that needs cooling down, too.” He glanced behind him. “Too late for the barn.” He started to head for the tanker truck. “Stick around. I want to talk to you later.”

Will turned off the tap and stood aside as two men dragging a hose ran toward him. Responsibility was now on someone else’s shoulders, which suited him just fine.

He watched while two others began assembling the metal frame of a portatank to hold the water from the tanker truck. Once the tanker dumped its water it would go back for a refill at the nearest water source. Will estimated there’d be seven minutes for the truck to race back before the portatank emptied. Hopefully, a reservoir or water tank serviced the farms in the valley and it was close enough.

The owner of the house was now outside, talking to the captain. The two looked quickly at Will, then away. Discussing who he was, he figured, and how he’d so coincidentally happened on the scene. He’d expected questions. It was no secret that arsonists often hung around to witness their work. But there were more pressing matters at the moment. The captain began to help another firefighter lug a hose around the side of the barn. Probably saving the shed.

The farm owner walked over to Will. His face was flushed and he was breathing heavily. He held out his right hand. “Name’s Warren Lewis,” he said. “Wanna thank you for helping out.”

In spite of his words, Will saw wariness in the man’s eyes. Not quite sure what to make of me? Still, he clasped the outstretched hand. “Will Jennings.”

“Scotty—that’s the captain, Scott Andrews—said you did the right thing by cooling the house.” He lapsed into silence, watching the firefighters hosing down the house and the shed. The barn blazed unchecked. “If they had more men and another tanker truck, they could’ve saved the barn,” he muttered.

“For what it’s worth, the barn was already at peak when I got here.”

“Yeah?”

Warren’s curiosity prompted Will to add, “I…uh…used to be a firefighter.”

“So why aren’t you helping them?” He turned his head at a sudden shout from the firefighter at the portatank.

Will swore under his breath. He’d blown it. The portatank was probably full and the tanker would be leaving for a refill. They’d be a man short.

Lewis turned back to Will as the tanker began to reverse out of the driveway. “Where’s he going?”

“For more water. Is there a lake or something nearby?”

“There’s a reservoir about two miles down the road.”

Will nodded. They stared at each other for what seemed a long time before Will relented. “Guess I’ll see if they can use my help.” He jogged toward the man monitoring the portatank. Without protective gear, there was no way the captain would let him do anything nearer to the fire anyway.

The guy at the tank frowned when Will shouted that he’d watch the water pressure and do the refill when the tanker returned. Will could hardly blame him, knowing that firefighters seldom wanted civilian help. “It’s okay,” he said, raising his voice, “I know what I’m doing. I used to work for the Newark Fire Department.”

The other man shouted back, “The truck’ll be back soon and the tank’ll need refilling right away. We got about three minutes of water left here.”

A tight time frame. Likely one of many drawbacks to rural firefighting. Still, it seemed that the guy had no sooner dashed to help the hose men working on the house than Will heard the tanker returning.

As soon as the truck pulled up alongside, Will had already extended the chute and pressed the electronic switch. Water gushed into the tank. Except for a brief look of surprise, the firefighter who had driven the truck accepted his presence. They worked silently and quickly until the tank was full again. The man motioned that he was going for another refill and climbed back into the tanker.

As the truck left for more water, Will looked across the smoke-filled yard at the barn. In spite of what he’d said to Lewis, he knew if they’d been in a city where water was handy, the men would have made some attempt to save as much of the barn as they could.

Time was suspended as the repetitive pattern of emptying and refilling continued. At one point, the captain appeared a few yards from where Will was working and watched briefly before disappearing around the side of the barn. Will could see that he was directing a couple of the men to work on the barn now that the fire there had peaked. Probably wanted to hurry the burn-out so that they could finish the job and go home. It was already dark. The pale yellow glow from an outside light above the side door of the house was barely visible through the smoke.

Suddenly a car roared up the driveway and pulled over next to the school bus. A woman climbed out, her face toward the barn. She had the dazed, disbelieving look of someone waking to a nightmare. Then she spotted Lewis and ran to him. They wrapped their arms around each other and somberly watched the last of their barn crumble.

Most of the men were working on the barn, hosing down the embers. Wafts of steam mingled with the smoke and the men shifted in the thick night air like wraiths in a horror movie. Except for the hiss of water on fire and the crash of falling beams, the yard was quiet. Will heard the tanker coming. The last run, he figured. The big job now would be mopping up and hanging around to make sure the embers didn’t reignite. He helped the tanker driver load up the portatank and when they finished, the man thanked him.

Will nodded. He’d have liked to get back in his van and head to town for a shower and a cold beer. Except the captain, directing the mop-up, kept glancing his way. He sighed. The evening wasn’t going to end any time soon.

But things moved quickly once the remaining embers had been doused. The firefighters worked silently as they put away their equipment. Will recalled all too well the mood after a fire. The first rush of anxiety on arrival at a blaze led rapidly to a routine polished by practice and real-life runs. Save lives, then save property. Afterward, the relief was always muted by the realization of loss and suffering.

The captain finished his conversation with Warren Lewis and his wife and headed in Will’s direction. He’d removed his helmet and the balaclava beneath it, his face and forehead slick with perspiration. He leaned against the tanker truck beside Will and, taking a handkerchief from his coat pocket, wiped his face. Then he withdrew a pack of cigarettes, offering one to Will.

“No thanks.”

Lighting up, the captain took a long draw, releasing the smoke slowly before speaking again. “I’m Scott Andrews, by the way.”

“Yeah. Warren told me.”

“Appreciate the help, Jennings. Especially manning the portatank.” He took another drag on his cigarette before adding, “Warren said you’re a firefighter.”

“Was,” Will corrected. “In New Jersey.”

“Uh-huh. Well, I gotta say, I figured you knew something about fires. Most civvies would’ve been trying to put out the barn with the garden hose.”

Will didn’t say anything.

“Sorry for the initial suspicion,” Andrews went on, “but we’ve had a few barn fires in the area lately. Any stranger needs checking out—especially one so conveniently on the scene.”

“I’d have done the same, in your place.”

Andrews looked at him. “On a leave of some kind?” His eyes flicked from Will’s eyes to his scar.

“Nope. Quit.”

“You get that in a fire?”

No beating around the bush with the guy. Still, his bluntness was refreshing. It reminded him of Annie’s question earlier in the day. He nodded. “Yeah.”

Andrews fell silent, finishing his cigarette. Will waited until the other man finally asked, “Where were you coming from? This road is hardly a main highway.”

“I was visiting Ambrosia Apiaries, not far from here. Then I went to some campsite—I don’t remember the name—to see if I could stay there for the night. No one was around so I was heading into Essex.” Will took a deep breath. “Mind if I go now? It’s getting late.”

“You a friend of the Collins family?”

Will sighed. The guy had obviously missed his calling. He should’ve been a cop. “I’m on a road trip and was driving through the valley when I saw the apiary sign. I was curious. I had a tour of the place and as I was leaving, Annie told me about the campsite.”

Andrews stared at him for a long tense moment. “Like I said, I appreciate your help. And so does Warren. He had an antique harvester in there. Good thing you were around to keep him from getting hurt going after it.”

The compliment must’ve meant he’d decided to accept his story. Will rubbed his face, wondering if it was as sooty as the captain’s. “Look, if you don’t mind, I should be finding a place for the night. Right now a shower and a cold beer are all I’m interested in.”

Andrews smiled. “You’n me both. As a matter of fact, one of my men owns that campsite. He’s at home sick today, but I can give him a call.”

Will considered the offer for a moment, but hot water and a frosty ale were too irresistible. “Thanks, but for tonight I’d rather be in town. Maybe I could get his name and number from you though, in case I decide to stick around?”

“Sure. Hang on for a sec. I need to talk to Warren.” He walked to where the couple stood staring at their ruined barn.

Will waited by his van. He was worn out. Just pumping out the tanker had left him exhausted—a sign he had yet to recoup his strength since the accident. He saw the captain gesture toward what was left of the barn as he spoke to Warren. No doubt the local fire marshal would have to come take a look, especially if there’d been an outbreak of fires in the area.

He frowned, thinking of Annie Collins running the apiary alone while her father was away. Then he shrugged the thought aside. Whatever was happening in Garden Valley was no business of his. Anyway, more than likely the perp was simply some troubled or bored teenager.

Andrews came back, a grim expression on his face. “Warren was just telling me he decided to drop the insurance on the barn a few months back. He was using it basically as a storage shed and the premiums were getting higher every year so…” He shook his head. “Damn bad luck.”

“So you think it was arson?”

“Oh yeah. One of my men found an empty gasoline canister in the bushes over there that Warren says isn’t his.”

“The same person who’s been setting the other fires?”

“We won’t know for sure till the marshal’s had a look around, but my guess is a yes. Why is another big question.”

“Someone obsessed with fires?”

“Possibly, but here? In Garden Valley?”

Maybe Andrews considered the valley some kind of Eden but personally, Will was a bit more skeptical. Life so far had convinced him paradise existed more in the imagination than the real world. “So what other reasons have you been tossing around?” he asked.

Andrews absently patted down his jacket pocket before pulling out his pack of cigarettes again. He offered one to Will, who shook his head. “Oh yeah, sorry. Forgot. I have to quit—so the doctor says. I’ve been having some angina.” He took a long draw, blowing out the smoke in a satisfied sigh. “I promised the wife this would be my last pack.”

“That you bought? Or borrowed?”

Andrews gave a sheepish grin. “Right. I’ve been working on that. Anyway, at first we thought the fires were part of some kind of insurance fraud thing. Couple of the farmers were really down and out—on the verge of bankruptcy. But then about a week ago, one of the most prosperous outfits in the area lost its hay barn.” He took another drag on the cigarette. A sprinkle of embers from its tip flew into the air with the evening breeze.

Will had a sudden vision of calling back the trucks, this time to put out a blaze started by the captain. “No pattern to the victims then?”

“None we can see. Except all of the barns and sheds have been used for storage or whatever. No animals.”

Interesting. The perp has a heart? “When did the fires begin?”

Andrews shrugged. “About three months ago. It took a while for us to realize we had a serial arsonist at work.”

“Serial arsonist? That doesn’t sound like teenagers.”

“Could be, though. You know—one with serious problems.” Andrews finished off the cigarette and carefully ground the butt into the earth with the heel of his boot. “You ever encountered a serial arsonist?’

“Can’t say I have. The only arsonists I’ve met were hired.”

“I thought of that, too, along with the possible insurance fraud. But the one thing every victim had in common was a different insurance company. Or, like poor Warren here, no insurance at all.”

“Poor guy,” Will muttered.

“No kidding. Anyway, knowing folks in the valley, there’ll be a barn-raising organized before the end of summer. Okay, that’s it for me,” said Andrews with a loud sigh. “I’m beat. You wanna follow me? There’s a pretty decent motel about five miles this side of Essex.”

“Sounds good,” Will said.

“Motel’s got a sports bar attached.”

“Better still.” He turned to open the van door, but caught Andrews’s appraising stare.

“Too bad you’re not planning on hanging around a bit. I could use some big-city expertise on this.”

This meaning the fires, Will assumed. How could he let the captain know fighting fires was the last thing he wanted to do? Did the man think the sheen of sweat on Will’s face had been put there by the fire’s heat?

Something in Will’s face must have been answer enough for Andrews. “Oh well, can’t blame a guy for trying.” He signaled to one of his men, who began to climb behind the wheel of the fire engine. “Give us a sec to turn the truck around and we’ll lead you right to Traveler’s Way Motel.”

Will could just as easily have found the motel himself, but the gesture was meant to be hospitable. He got into the van and watched the engine reverse until its nose was aimed toward the main road. As he followed, Will glanced in his rearview mirror. Warren Lewis and his wife were still standing arm in arm, staring at the black, crumbled beams and timbers that had once been their barn.

ANNIE’S RELIEF was palpable. Jack had just been wheeled out of surgery and everything had gone well.

“I know he’ll be asking me when you’re coming to visit,” Shirley said on the other end of the line. “Have you decided yet?”

“Soon,” Annie said. “I called Auntie Isobel after you left yesterday and I’m going to stay with her. Did the doctor mention how long Dad might be in the hospital?”

“There’s a rehabilitation center nearby that will have a bed for him in a couple of days. The doctor said maybe a few days there to get started on a program and then he’d be able to go home.” Shirley’s sigh resonated along the phone line.

“Are you worried if he comes home too soon, he’ll want to get right back to work?”

“Of course. You know how stubborn your father can be, Annie.”

Tell me about it. “I thought you planned to stay on a bit longer in Charlotte—to visit your cousins.”

“That was the plan but last night Jack was hinting quite strongly that he wanted to get back to Garden Valley as soon as possible.” Another sigh.

“He may not feel the same once he tries to get up on his feet. I’m sure you can persuade him to stay a few days after the rehab center.”

“I hope so. Anyway, dear, can I give him some kind of timeline?”

Annie hadn’t thought that far ahead. She had to call Danny McLean to let him know she’d be away and to discuss the work he’d be doing in her absence. “I’m not sure. I’ll call you later tonight or tomorrow morning to let you know. Give Dad a kiss for me, okay?”

After hanging up, Annie sat staring at the phone. Since receiving the letter yesterday, going to Charlotte had suddenly taken on a whole other meaning. Auntie Isobel would be expecting her to have made a decision about contacting the adoption agency while she was there. Her father likely wanted her to come as soon as possible, bringing mail as well as news about the business and Garden Valley. The walls were closing in.

She pushed her chair back and took her empty coffee cup to the sink. The day promised to be bright and sunny, but she couldn’t work up any enthusiasm for it. She’d impulsively given herself a deadline of the next morning at the latest and saw no way out of it. Going to Charlotte also meant having to make a decision about her daughter.

If she started down that path this early, she’d never get through the day. There was shopping to do in town and she wanted to check on the new hive she’d set up in the Vanderhoff orchard yesterday.

Was it only yesterday that the firefighter from New Jersey had arrived on her doorstep? She smiled to herself. Will Jennings had flashed across her mind enough last night to make her want answers to several questions.

Such as, what was her attraction to a quiet, almost solemn man with a scarred face and an obviously traumatic past? Was her life so empty that she was compelled to fill it with some crush on a complete stranger? Annie grimaced. She had no answer for the first question but the second—well, how much longer could she delude herself about the so-called life she’d had since returning to Garden Valley?

In the beginning, the plan had been to stay long enough for her father to find a replacement worker for Pete, the hired hand who’d retired. Annie had been grateful for the excuse. It sounded a whole lot better than admitting to friends and colleagues in New York that her fiancé had jilted her. In fact, she’d quickly come up with the line that her wedding to Jim had to be postponed because of family reasons. And Annie knew the very best place to recuperate from the pain of the breakup was Garden Valley.

What she hadn’t realized until she’d come home, was how badly her father needed help. She still couldn’t believe how quickly a few weeks had rolled into a year. Her life in New York—teaching, her friends and even Jim—was now a distant memory.

Inexplicably, and against all reason, she hoped Will Jennings had stayed. Seeing him one more time just might guarantee a better day.