eyes brimming with tears, which threatened to spill at any moment.
“Everything’s fine,” he told her in a soothing voice. “The fire’s out.”
“This is all my fault,” she cried. “I’m sure I must have done something. Oh, why wasn’t I more careful? I get so easily distracted these days….”
“The cause of the fire hasn’t been determined,” Mack said, trying to be diplomatic, although he suspected she was right. “Any number of things could be the cause.” With a house of this age, electrical problems weren’t uncommon.
“But I was the one in the kitchen,” Charlotte said in a small voice.
“It could’ve been an electrical short,” Mack said, hoping to calm her. He’d just finished speaking when a car pulled up on the other side of the street and Olivia Griffin got out. She wore a suit and heels and had obviously just left the courthouse, where she was a judge.
“Mom, Mom!” she called as she dashed across the street, barely watching for oncoming traffic.
Charlotte turned and hurried toward her daughter. They hugged fiercely for a minute, clinging to each other.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes, yes,” Charlotte assured her, tears slipping down her pale cheeks.
“What about Harry?”
Mack hadn’t seen the family cat and he’d been too busy to remember Charlotte and Ben’s pet.
“Ben got him out of the house,” Charlotte explained. She glanced around as if unsure where he was currently hiding. “Oh, poor Harry, he must be terrified. He doesn’t usually go outside, you know….” Her voice faded.
Mack’s experience with the cat was limited. Whenever he, Mary Jo and Noelle visited, Harry made it clear that he was willing to tolerate them, but no more than that. After accepting the respectful greetings he considered his due, he generally ignored them all and retreated to his accustomed place on the back of the sofa. His other favorite perch was the windowsill overlooking the front yard. Harry was probably hiding somewhere, under the porch or maybe in some bushes. If the cat didn’t show up soon, he’d help with the search.
The squad commander seemed to be finished speaking to Ben, who now joined the circle. “Mack,” the older man said, looking flustered. His white hair, normally carefully groomed, was in disarray, as if he’d rammed his fingers through it repeatedly. “Thank you,” he said, his voice husky, “for looking after Charlotte.”
Mack didn’t feel he’d done anything out of the ordinary.
“Mack, what about the damage to the house?” Olivia asked him. “That’s being assessed,” he replied, “but there doesn’t appear to be any damage to rooms other than the kitchen.”
“I’m so grateful you got here when you did,” Charlotte murmured.
“Mom. Ben.” Will Jefferson, her son, hoofed it up the last part of the steep street and across the lawn. Apparently he’d run from the Harbor Street Art Gallery, where he lived and worked. It was only a few blocks away, but unfortunately they were all straight uphill.
“Everything’s okay,” Olivia told him. “Mom, Ben and Harry got out in time.”
“Thank God.” Will leaned over and placed his hands on his knees, wheezing as he attempted to catch his breath. “I didn’t know what to think when you called,” he said to Olivia.
“Mrs. Johnson left me a message at the courthouse,” Olivia told their mother, “and then I phoned Will.”
“I hope I didn’t upset you too much,” the next-door neighbor said, her brow furrowed. She stood a few feet away. “I saw the fire and phoned it in, but Ben had already taken care of that. Then I thought if it was my house I’d want my children to know what was going on, so I called the courthouse. I do hope that was the right thing to do.”
“It certainly was,” Olivia said fervently. “Don’t ever hesitate to contact me in regard to Mom and Ben. About anything,” she emphasized.
“Me, too,” Will chimed in.
“Oh, yes,” Charlotte echoed, reaching for her daughter’s arm. “I feel much better now that my children are here.”
“What happened?” Will asked, still a little breathless. He glanced from Ben to Mack and back to Ben.
“I’m not sure,” Ben said, turning to Charlotte.
“I made lunch the way I always do—chicken noodle soup, which was on simmer—and then Ben and I sat down. We were reading when Ben said he smelled smoke.”
Ben nodded in agreement.
“I didn’t smell anything, so I didn’t worry about it. My new cooking magazine arrived today and they had twenty-eight recipes on how to use zucchini and I was absorbed in that. Then all of a sudden Ben threw down his book and let out a yell.”
“Yes,” Ben said, picking up the tale. “I saw flames.”
“Thank goodness Ben can deal with a crisis because I panicked. My first thought was that we needed to put out the fire ourselves, but by then the kitchen drapes were in flames, and it was … just too much.”
Mack cringed since trying to handle the fire themselves was one of the biggest mistakes homeowners made.
“One look told me it was already more than either of us could deal with,” Ben continued, “so I got Charlotte and Harry out of the house and used my cell phone to call 9-1-1.”
Mack was grateful that Ben had remained calm. Too many people stayed inside the home to contact 9-1-1, putting themselves at greater risk. “You did the best possible thing,” he said. “The first action to take is always to get everyone out of the house, then call the fire department.”
“What happens next?” Olivia asked, directing the question to Mack.
“The fire department will investigate the cause,” he told them.
“When will the investigator get here?” Ben asked, standing close to Charlotte.
“Usually within a couple of hours,” Mack told them.
“What about the Crock-Pot?” Charlotte said suddenly, clutching Ben’s arm. “I had tonight’s dinner in it. Should we try to find it in this mess?”
“Mom, I think dinner is the least of your problems,” Will inserted. “I’d assume the Crock-Pot’s a lost cause.”
Mack couldn’t remember seeing it, but his attention had been focused on putting out the fire.
“What can you tell me about dealing with the insurance people?” Ben asked, looking at Mack. “Will they get in touch with us or will I need to call them?”
“You’ll need to notify them.”
“The contact information is inside the house,” Ben muttered.
“Do
