The Fireman Finds a Wife

by Felicia Mason

  She realized that the fear she’d felt about going out with him had been borne of an innate need to be protected.

  Did fear and romance go hand in hand? She didn’t recall any fear with Garrett. Yes, there would be moments of trepidation and even some self-doubt in the future. But she needed to continue writing her story. And that meant taking chances, meeting new people. And yes, it meant discovering just who Summer Spencer was these days.

  From a small crystal bowl on the vanity she plucked a couple of business cards her mother had given her. On the back of each, in Lovie Darling’s flowing script, was the important information about each gentleman. Summer glanced at the one on top. Her mother’s notes on Oscar Reveau, Ph.D., M.D., F.A.C.S. included: 35yo. NK. Harvard, PhD. JsHpks, med. Raleigh. Presby.

  It had been years since she’d been subjected to the Deal a Man routine—what Autumn had taken to calling the business cards Lovie seemed to shuffle and hand off to her daughters. But Summer easily deciphered her mother’s shorthand. Dr. Reveau was thirty-five years old, had no children, had earned a doctorate from Harvard University and a medical degree from Johns Hopkins University. He lived in Raleigh and went to a Presbyterian church.

  Summer sighed.

  Curious, though, she flipped over the second card to see what her mother had to say about the radiologist who turned out to be engaged. She just shook her head after a single glance. Lovie had put a star in the corner of her notes about him. That meant he was a real keeper, someone personally vetted by Lovie. 34yo. Duke(3). Gma: Lucy H. Ah, that explained the star, Summer realized. The radiologist’s grandmother was Lucy Hardison, the aunt of one of Lovie’s dearest friends. That he’d earned not one but three degrees from a fine North Carolina institution were also points in his favor.

  Education and pedigree mattered to her mother.

  Garrett had had both, but she hadn’t fallen in love with him because of his degrees or his lineage.

  Summer flicked both business cards into the small trash basket under the vanity table.

  She wondered what Lovie Darling would scribble on the back of one of Cameron Jackson’s business cards. Summer’s notes on the man would be: Take charge. Handsome. Strong.

  Infuriating. Arrogant.

  * * *

  Cameron ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

  In less than an admirable mood, he tossed a bag of popcorn in the microwave and decided to let something on ESPN take his mind off his regret over the way the evening with Summer had turned out.

  It had gotten out of hand when he’d somehow brought Melanie into the discussion. Exes, religion and politics were first-date taboo topics.

  He’d been slouched on the sofa in his living room for close to twenty minutes, the flat screen on the wall telegraphing the action on the field. But Cameron didn’t even know who was playing, let alone the score of the ball game. His mind was totally occupied with thoughts of coulda, woulda, shoulda with Summer.

  He’d reached for the phone twice now, torn between wanting to call or text her and trying to keep his distance.

  “Stop fighting it,” he muttered.

  Sitting up, he put the bag of popcorn on the coffee table and reached for the cell phone and started typing a message to Summer: “Can I have a redo?”

  Before he could hit Send, the telephone buzzed. A second later, after answering the call, he jumped up, the message to Summer forgotten.

  Another fire. This one at an abandoned house that had recently been condemned.

  Cameron was grateful for the distraction.

  It was better than the thinking about a woman who would only be trouble, a blonde beauty with cornflower-blue eyes and incredibly soft hands.

  Chapter Eight

  “Did you hear that?”

  Summer and Manna volunteer Jocelyn Reynolds were in the kitchen preparing sandwiches for bag lunches while three other volunteers bagged cookies, protein bars and fruit cups Monday morning.

  Jocelyn, a longtime volunteer at the soup kitchen, was an African-American woman in her mid-fifties who initially started working at Manna two days a week and in the nursery school at her church, the Chapel of the Groves, two days a week. She said the work gratified her and gave her something to do—besides watching television—during the day, while her husband worked. After he’d retired and was underfoot in the house all day, she maintained her volunteer hours—to keep her sanity, she claimed.

  Summer paused, her head cocked as she listened intently.

  “Hear what?” Jocelyn asked.

  “I thought I heard something,” Summer said.

  “I thought it was just me,” said Jenny Grimsley, a thin brunette who’d just started volunteering at Manna this week.

  A Sunday appeal at The Fellowship had yielded an outpouring of donations and volunteers.

  Summer knew she had Cameron to thank for that. He’d followed through on letting church officials know about the ever-present need for help at the soup kitchen.

  “It came from over there,” Jenny added with a nod toward the rear wall.

  Summer leaned in that direction, toward the wall near the door where donations were dropped off.

  “Shh,” she said when she heard the sound again.

  Was that mewling?

  “Uh, I hate to bring this up,” Jocelyn said, “but do we have rats?”

  “Rats!” Jenny squealed and dropped a cookie on the floor.

  “Shh!” Summer directed to the four other women. “There’s the noise again. And no, we have no pests here.”

  Summer put down the knife she was using to cut the sandwiches before deftly folding them in waxed paper.

  Even as she was talking, she took a few tentative steps closer to the wall where the sound seemed to be coming from.

  Jocelyn came over and nudged Jenny. “Let’s pick up those crumbs before whatever it is thinks we’re leaving it lunch.”

  Wide-eyed, Jenny did as she was directed.

  “There is definitely something in there,” Summer said.

  “Oh, Lord, have mercy,” Jocelyn intoned. Her South Carolina drawl was even more pronounced than usual. “This is straight out of one of those horror movies. Someone or something has been in there watching us all morning and is about to attack.”

  Summer glanced back at the older woman with a scowl.

  “Either you’ve been watching too much late-night television, Jocelyn, or you’ve missed your calling as a fiction writer. Your imagination is running wild.”

  Even though the cookie crumbs were up and in the trash, Jocelyn went to the sink, wet a wad of paper towels and wiped at the floor to make sure no treats were left for crawling or four-legged creatures. Then, she moved to the far side of the prep area.

  “I’ll just be over here,” she said, snatching up a rolling pin and hefting it. “You know they like to kill the black people first in those movies. The serial killer, the creature in the basement or the dinosaur always eats, kills or gets them first.”

  “Jocelyn, you’re not helping,” Summer snapped, the first time her voice had ever been raised with anyone at Manna.

  One of the other volunteers joined Jocelyn and took her free hand in a gesture of reassurance. “It’ll be all right, Miss Jocelyn. See, Summer’s not afraid.”

  “I didn’t mean to yell,” Summer called back toward Jocelyn. “I’m just concerned. There is definitely something in that wall. And for the record, Joce, there is neither a serial killer nor a cannibal behind there.”

  “So you say.”

  Summer shook her head.

  “It sounds like an animal,” Jenny said.

  Summer hadn’t even realized the woman was next to her.

  “And a small one,” Jenny added. “Maybe a small dog or cat. But how did it get back there?”

/>   Their voices apparently encouraged the thing behind the wall because the mewling grew distinct and then urgent, as if the trapped beast recognized that help was nearby and encouraged them to hurry.

  With Jenny at her side, Summer went to the wall, trying to locate the opening the animal slipped through.

  “There’s no break anywhere,” Summer said, pushing aside a rolling cart that held extra baking pans and trays. “It sounds like it’s coming from between the walls.”

  “Is there space between the walls?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “This might be a job for the fire department,” Jenny said. “They get cats down from trees, so maybe they can get one from behind a wall.”

  The mention of the fire department sent Summer’s thoughts to Cameron. Maybe he would be one of the responders. She tried to remember which station house was closest to Manna at Common Ground. His office, she knew, was in the public safety building and that was adjacent to Fire Station Number One.

  “That’s a good idea,” Summer said. “Call, but don’t use 911. Call the non-emergency number.”

  “This is an emergency,” Jocelyn said from her safe position across the room. Then, “You’re sure it’s a cat?”

  “98.5 percent sure,” Summer answered.

  “Uh-huh,” Jocelyn said, not moving. “That 1.5 percent left over still could mean a serial killer.”

  “No more TV for you, Miss Jocelyn,” Summer called. “As a matter of fact, after we rescue this cat we’re all headed over to your house to remove every TV from the premises.”

  Jocelyn chuckled and finally put down the rolling pin.

  “Okay,” she admitted. “Maybe I let my imagination get the best of me.”

  “Maybe?”

  The cat’s mewling intervened.

  “Hold on, baby,” Summer said. “We’re getting some help for you.”

  A crew of three firefighters arrived within minutes of Jenny’s call. The rescuers included a short man with broad shoulders, a tall black man and one with model good looks who seemed familiar. Then Summer remembered. She recognized one of them—was his name Randall or Rob?—from the afternoon Cameron had worked with her at Manna.

  “Ladies, what seems to be the trouble?” the short one who seemed to be in charge asked as they came in. Each man was looking around for a fire to fight or an emergency to deal with.

  “Is it Rob?” she asked the one she recognized.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Good afternoon.”

  “Thank you for your help the other day.”

  He smiled. “Not a problem, ma’am.”

  “Please don’t ‘ma’am’ me,” she said. “It’s just Summer.”

  He grinned then. “All right...Summer.”

  “If the flirting is over,” the shorter firefighter said, “we can get to the problem. What exactly is it?”

  As if on cue, a pitiful mewling sounded from the wall.

  “What was that?” Rob asked.

  “You ladies have a cat in the kitchen?” the black guy asked, looking around.

  Summer and Jenny pointed at the same time. “In the wall,” Summer said. “It’s trapped. We have no idea how it got back there, but it wants out.”

  “Can you get him?” Jenny said.

  The three firefighters approached the wall, giving it an inspection similar to the one Summer had done. Then they contemplated their options.

  “Miss, how did it get back there? There’s no opening, at least not one that we can see.”

  “That’s a mystery we hoped you could solve after you free him,” Summer said.

  “There’s an opening somewhere,” Rob said. “Ms. Spencer—I mean, Summer—we’re going to have to take down part of this wall to get back there. Is that okay?”

  “Oh, dear,” Summer said. “That’s a call that I can’t make. Hold on while I see if Mrs. D can authorize something like that.”

  “I’m right here,” Mrs. Davidson said. “Jocelyn came and told me. I’ve called Allen Hayes—he’s the facilities manager for all of the Common Ground sites. He should be here in a few minutes. He was just over at the rec center.”

  True to Mrs. D’s word, Mr. Hayes arrived soon, and after a consultation with the crew from the Cedar Springs Fire Department, he gave the okay for a partial demolition of the wall.

  “We can’t leave the thing in there,” he said in making the decision.

  While the fire crew and Mr. Hayes consulted over how to get the animal out while doing the least amount of damage to the wall, Summer hustled the volunteers to finish up the packing of the bag lunches, which they did in record time.

  Twenty minutes later, Jenny Grimsley was sitting on the floor with a tabby kitten in her lap. The orange ball of fur looked none the worse for its adventure behind the wall.

  “Got it!” one of the firefighters called.

  “What?” Mr. Hayes asked. He’d stayed on to oversee the project.

  “I see how he got in,” the crew chief said. “There’s a slit just wide enough to make a curious cat go exploring. Hey, Malik, go around back. I’ll shine a light so we can see the opening on the other side.”

  “On my way, Jose,” he said, pushing open the back door.

  “Can I see that?” Mr. Hayes asked. “We’ll need to get that fixed when we repair the wall.”

  While the kitten was a little cutie, Summer’s thoughts weren’t on the cat. She looked around the kitchen at Manna, wondering how they were going to be able to cook and prepare meals if a major construction project was going on.

  She was about to guide Jocelyn and the others to the corner for a quick huddle when the swinging door flung open with a force that could only mean one thing. Their mostly absentee director had arrived.

  “Why didn’t anyone call me?” Ilsa Keller demanded.

  * * *

  “I’m concerned about these fires,” Cameron told his assistant chief. The two were in Cameron’s office at the Public Safety Building adjacent to Station House Number One.

  They were reviewing a cumulative pile of reports from the three shift commanders when they heard the station get a call out. The sound familiar to both men, neither paid it any attention.

  Cameron was focused on the fire reports and didn’t at all like the pattern he was seeing. “The one Friday night was the seventh one in an abandoned building,” he said. “What do you know?”

  “All small,” Dave Marsh reported. “And like you said, all in abandoned structures. Sheds, garages. Friday was the first in a house.”

  “How close are we to identifying a suspect?”

  Dave handed him a sheet of paper. “We’ve got it narrowed to these three.”

  Cameron studied the names. “What’s special about them?”

  “All teens. The first two, nineteen and seventeen, are brothers and have rap sheets that include setting fires.”

  “And the third?”

  Dave handed him a photograph of the house in Friday night’s fire. “His school ID was found on the premises.”

  Cameron scowled. “The house was empty. Kids may have been using it as a hangout.”

  “We know they were, Chief. There was plenty of evidence that it was being used for just that. Beer bottles, candy wrappers, lots of cigarette butts, a mattress and some broken down sofas that look dragged in.”

  That caught his attention. “Dragged in meaning what?”

  “Just that. The rest of the furniture in the house is pretty much broken down, and I don’t know what you call it, Victorian or something like that. Those sofas with humps on the backs. Lots of burgundy and frills. Musty stuff. The sofas in the living room were modern, like they’d been dragged in from a curb somewhere.”

  The fire chief pondered that bit of information for a
moment. “Could this last one have been an actual accident? Somebody got careless with a cigarette or a lighter?”

  Dave nodded. “That’s where the evidence is taking us so far. There’s nothing like the other sites. No accelerant. Nothing to indicate it was deliberate like the other fires. And the house itself, very different from the other burns. Somebody tried to put out this fire, but it got out of control fast. Lots of combustible materials in there. We may get some prints off of a small fire extinguisher that was in the living room and near the point of origin.”

  “Okay. That’s good.” Cameron glanced at the suspect sheet again. “I think it’s time someone had a little chat with the Bradley brothers.”

  “On it, Chief.”

  After Dave left his office, Cameron sat at his desk in front of the computer. He had reports to read, but his mind kept straying to Summer Spencer and the way things had ended with her Friday night.

  That’s when he remembered the unfinished text message.

  He plucked his smartphone from the holder, tapped a few keys and there it was: his effort at an apology and the invitation to go out again. He pressed Send before changing his mind.

  Summer Spencer was a flame and he was the moth who couldn’t stay away.

  Cameron thought about sending her flowers, but nixed that notion for two reasons: first, it was overkill. And then, the last thing he wanted was the town gossping, which would be sure to happen if he ordered flowers from one of the local florists.

  On Sunday he’d briefly considered skipping service at The Fellowship and instead slipping into First Memorial Church. Summer was bound to be there with her family.

  The Darlings probably had a pew with their name engraved on it in the sanctuary.

  That thought reminded him—again—that he and Summer were from two different worlds. And made him question if he still wanted to see her again.

  * * *

  As usual, Ilsa Keller, the director at Manna, was dressed for socializing instead of for meal preparation or other hard work that needed to be done at the soup kitchen.

  “What’s going on? I was at the church when several people said there were fire trucks here,” she said.