strong. She walked out to the middle of the street, where she could see over the tops of the houses, and sure enough, a column of dark smoke rose into the rapidly darkening sky on the north edge of town, where housing developments encroached on the desert and Bureau of Land Management property. It was the season for wildfires, but black smoke meant a structure was burning.
Maybe she’d find something to write about.
Callie went back in the house, ran a comb through her sleep-flattened hair, then grabbed her car keys. By the time she’d followed the smoke to the outskirts of town, about a mile away from Grace’s house, several vehicles bearing volunteer firefighter license plates had sailed by her.
A crowd of onlookers gathered on the last street of the development, which had new tract houses on one side and vacant lots on the other. Maybe seventy yards away, on the undeveloped side of the street, firemen were dousing flames that had engulfed a derelict trailer parked in a weed-choked lot.
Ever conscious of not getting in the way of people who had a job to do, because that tended to get one banished from the scene, she parked her car several yards from the closest vehicle, hugging her wheels to the ditch to keep the roadway clear. She left the car and casually walked up to the knot of bystanders, wanting to blend in as she took in the scene.
“Any idea how it started?” she asked the teenager next to her, a sandy-haired kid with baggy pants. The sky was clear, so if the fire had been caused by lightning, it was a freak strike.
The teen shrugged without looking at her, but the middle-aged man standing slightly in front of her turned, frowning as if he was trying to place her. Probably not too many strangers showed up at neighborhood fires, so Callie couldn’t blame the guy for thinking she might be a firebug there to enjoy the results of her handiwork.
“I’m Callie McCarran,” she said, saving him the trouble of trying to memorize her face or get her license plate number.
“Doug Jones.” He turned back toward the action, but Callie caught him watching her out of the corner of his eye.
Callie gave the teenager another shot. “Have you had many fires this summer?” Fire seasons varied. Some years would be fire-free and during others it would seem as if the entire state was ablaze.
“We’ve had a few,” the boy said without looking at her. His focus was on the firemen—or rather, on one particular fireman who looked as if he might be a she. The only she, as far as Callie could tell.
“Do you know the name of the female firefighter?”
The kid shrugged again and ignored her.
Oh, yeah. She was going to do well substitute teaching. Couldn’t get kids to answer the door. Couldn’t get kids to answer a question. And speaking of kids…Callie saw a distinctive white head at the edge of the crowd. Her across-the-lot neighbor. This little guy got around. Callie craned her neck to see who was with him, but the crowd shifted and she lost sight of him.
The breeze was light and it didn’t take long for the firefighters to get the blaze under control and stop it from spreading to the desert, where it could have taken off in the dry grass, sage and rabbit brush, causing major damage. The crowd started to disperse as the flames died, some people going to cars, others to nearby houses, and Callie once again caught sight of the boy as he tried to resist his sister’s efforts to pull him down the street. No adult was in sight and it was nearly nine o’clock. What would two kids that age be doing so far from home?
Unless they had sneaked out to see the action without their parents knowing. Kids did do things like that, or so she’d heard. She’d been too afraid of the wrath of Grace to have tried.
The girl finally got her brother to cooperate, even though she wasn’t much bigger than he was, and he began trudging down the street beside her. Every now and then he looked over his shoulder at the firefighters.
Callie wasn’t about to offer them a ride, being a stranger and all, and no one else seemed concerned by their presence, so she decided that Wesley was indeed a very small town and the rules were different than in a more urban area. She watched until they pulled their tired-looking bicycles out of the ditch near a streetlight and started riding off along the sidewalk. Okay. They had transportation home. But it still disturbed her to see kids out that late without an adult.
Doug Jones gave Callie one last suspicious look, then headed to a nearby house. Bye, Doug. Callie stayed where she was, hoping to get a chance to talk to the female firefighter, who was still dealing with embers near what was left of the trailer.
As she waited, a big Dodge truck and a panel wagon pulled out of the throng of vehicles belonging to the volunteers, giving Callie a better view of the fire engines. She also had a better view of Nathan and his older brother, Garrett, standing in the headlights of one of the engines, deep in conversation.
She hadn’t realized Nate was there, though it made perfect sense—his staff was probably so small that he had to report as well as edit—and she certainly hadn’t realized that the deputy she’d spotted a few times on the fringes of the crowd was Garrett Marcenek. Go figure.
She’d known Garrett for years, and had no idea he’d ever thought of pursuing a career in law enforcement. How ironic. Now instead of being arrested, he’d get to do the honors. So what might Seth Marcenek be doing? If the rule of opposites applied, he’d pretty much have to be a priest.
“Hey, Garrett,” someone behind her called. “I’m taking off.”
The brothers both looked up, catching Callie midstare.
Damn.
She instantly started walking toward them, as if that had been her objective in the first place. If she was going to stay in this town for a while, then she wasn’t going to try to avoid the Marcenek brothers.
“Garrett, good to see you,” Callie said before either man could speak. She firmly believed that whoever spoke first had a psychological advantage. “Nathan.”
“Callie.” He revealed no emotion. No coldness, no warmth. Nothing.
“Welcome back,” Garrett said, shifting his weight to his heels. Callie wondered if he was resting his hand on his holster on purpose, or if it was just a habit.
“Thank you.”
“I need to check something out,” Nathan said to his brother, his eyes focused behind Callie. He left without another word, brushing past a burly volunteer firefighter carrying a Pulaski ax. Nate favored one leg slightly, making Callie wonder just how many miles he was putting on the bike. Five to ten a day had been the norm when they’d been in high school, but he’d ride as many as twenty when he was stressed. She had gone with him on the short rides, but when he needed to put his head down and pedal, she’d found other things to do.
The man she’d seen unloading equipment from the minivan in the parking lot that morning was there, taking notes as he talked to one of the firefighters. He lowered his pad as Nathan approached, and the two fell into conversation. An old memory jarred loose. Chip Elroy. From her sophomore geometry class.
“So how long have you been a deputy?” Callie asked, turning back to Garrett.
“Since about a year after you dumped Nathan.” He held her gaze, his expression cool and coplike.
“Eleven years then.” She wasn’t surprised by Garrett’s
