McLaughlin had said his grandson was smart, tough and brave. She supposed the scars were proof enough of that, if she’d needed any after the medals Martin had shown her.
I think the boy sends them to me because I know what war is.
I think he sends them to you because he loves you and wants you to be proud of him.
She’d forgotten that conversation until now. And again she felt the tug of sadness since she genuinely had liked Martin and truly would miss him.
He’d also said the grandson who shared his birthday had a generous soul, a good heart that had been hurt too often and was a gentleman to the core. She remembered smiling at the word rarely used these days. Those qualities she wasn’t so sure of, but it was hardly fair to judge him under these circumstances.
Martin had definitely been right about one thing. His grandson was a hero. And for that he deserved all the patience she could muster.
She walked over to where the man who had rolled up in the car labeled Battalion Chief was standing with the Foxworths and Tate. She got there just as another man in turnouts walked up. The chief frowned when he saw the dog at the man’s heels. She supposed they were worried about the dog getting in the way, or perhaps messing up whatever investigation they had to do. But the firefighter quickly forestalled his boss.
“Yeah, I know, Chief. But in fact, he probably just saved us a lot of time.”
The frown deepened. “How?”
“We found that propane tank here, right? Well, he just led me right to what’s left of a second five-gallon propane tank a few yards from the house. In really bad shape. Looks like that might have been our explosion.”
The man drew back. And Lacy saw that Quinn Foxworth was frowning, as well—although clearly not surprised that his dog had apparently provided a major clue to the cause of this middle-of-the-night chaos.
“Those things don’t blow up easily,” he said.
The chief nodded. “Not without a leak and some pretty extreme heat.”
“The arson guys and the lab’ll have to figure it out.” The man grimaced. “Maybe in a month, if we’re lucky. They’re pretty backed up.”
“I’ve got some friends with access to the fed’s lab, if that’ll help,” Quinn said, and Lacy guessed his tone was purposefully neutral.
Lacy saw the chief’s gaze shift to Quinn. “Heard about you Foxworth folks. Word is you know what you’re doing and you don’t get in the way.”
“A reputation we’ve worked hard to build,” Quinn answered.
“Brett Dunbar’s a friend of mine,” the man said.
Quinn smiled. Widely. “And of ours. A good friend. As is his girlfriend.”
Both men nodded, connections established. Lacy was pondering the interesting way things worked when something occurred to her.
“I saw someone out here, just after midnight,” she said. “I was up reading, and when I turned out the light I looked outside and saw someone in the yard.” She glanced at Tate. “I thought it must have been you, still getting settled in.”
He shook his head, and finally spoke.
“It wasn’t me. I was tired, crashed early. And my grandfather,” he added, “would never keep a leaking propane tank, even a small one.”
The chief considered that for a moment. “When was the last time you saw him?”
Tate grimaced. “A while before my last deployment. So a couple of years ago.”
Lacy bet he wished he’d had a chance to say goodbye. She felt awful for him, but glad for Martin that the illness that had taken him had been quick. He would have wanted it that way.
“How did he seem?”
“Fine. Like always.”
“How old was he?”
Lacy realized where the man was going, and hastened to head him off. “Martin McLaughlin was sharp as a tack until the very end. We should all be so clearheaded and active now, let alone at ninety-three.”
The chief shifted his attention to her. “You knew him?”
“Yes. I was there, and talked with him barely an hour before he passed, and he was still mentally together.”
Tate went very still. “You were...with him?”
She glanced at him. “Yes. Your father hadn’t arrived at the hospital yet and I didn’t want Martin to be alone.”
He stared at her silently. In the morning light she realized his eyes were a greenish hazel, like his grandfather’s. The moment stretched, the voices of the others as they discussed the situation fading out somehow. Only when she sucked in a deep gulp of air did she realize she had actually stopped breathing.
“—to board up that hole when we’re finished, if you’ve got something we can use,” the chief was saying.
Tate shook his head, as if he were still fuzzy.
Or as if he’d been as caught by that long moment as she had been.
“I’ll handle it,” he said. It sounded automatic, as if it were a standard response. As if whatever it was, he was used to handling it.
“I’ve got some panels from my greenhouse you could use temporarily,” she said. “I think a couple of them would cover that gap. That and a tarp for the roof would keep the wildlife out, at least.”
His mouth twisted ruefully. “I’ll take the local raccoon over scorpions.”
She made a face. “I think I’d take anything with fur over scorpions.”
He gave her a fleeting smile. Definitely improving, she thought. “Speaking of fur,” he said, looking at Quinn, who in turn was studying him assessingly, “that’s quite a dog. Yours, I assume?”
“My wife’s first,” he said, “but now, yes.”
“Interesting that he headed for an explosion.”
Lacy hadn’t thought of that, but he had a point. Her mother’s ball of fluff would still be cowering under the bed.
“To be expected, once you get to know him,” Quinn said.
“And finding the cause of explosions?” She might just have met him, but she could tell Tate McLaughlin had an idea in his head.
“That, in particular, is a new one to me,” Quinn answered, “but again, knowing him, not surprising.”
“He looks too young to be retired. But he acts trained.”
So that was it. He was wondering if the dog had been a working dog, military or police, she guessed.
“Don’t
