Lorna Barrett - Chapter & Hearse

“But what if he’s suffocating?”

“You won’t help him if you die in the explosion, too.”

Within in a minute, wailing sirens broke the midmorning quiet. Thank goodness the Stoneham Fire Department was only a couple of blocks away. Its bright red pumper truck pulled up in front of Bob’s house, with the rescue unit right behind. And bringing up the rear was Russ’s junky old pickup truck. He jumped out and met Tricia on the sidewalk across the street from Bob’s house. “I heard the call on my police scanner.”

Of course.

“What’s the story here?” Russ demanded.

Tricia ignored him as Fire Chief Farrar hurried over to join them. “Man down?”

“Yes, in the living room. There may be a gas leak. It looks like Bob’s lying on the floor, unconscious.”

He nodded, and headed for the house.

The other firefighters were already converging on the porch, dressed in protective gear and masks, and armed with hatchets. They thought to do what Tricia hadn’t: look under the welcome mat for the key. They found it, opened the door, and cautiously went inside.

Tricia found herself clenching her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she waited for something to happen. Russ put a protective arm around her, and she angrily shrugged it off.

“I only meant to be reassuring,” Russ said, but again Tricia ignored him.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, but was probably less than two minutes, two firefighters dragged an unconscious Bob from the house, shuffled down the steps, and laid him on the ground. Tricia ran across the street, with Russ in hot pursuit.

She stood by helplessly as one of the firefighters took off his mask and covered Bob’s face. In a few moments, Bob roused and was coughing—a very good sign.

The Stoneham volunteer ambulance pulled to the curb, its lights flashing, and in moments the paramedics had exited the vehicle and relieved the firefighters.

Fire Chief Farrar trundled down the porch steps and waved Tricia and Russ aside, giving the paramedics more room to work. “Ms. Miles, Russ. I thought you’d like to know someone had tampered with the gas meter. We’re airing the place out now.”

“Will Bob be okay?”

He nodded. “They’ll take him to St. Joseph’s Hospital in Milford, just to make sure. It’s a good thing you showed up when you did. You undoubtedly saved his life.”

“How about that meter?” Russ asked. “Same as at History Repeats Itself?”

The chief hesitated, and instead of answering Russ’s question, said, “We shut off the gas. Now it’s up to the Sheriff’s Department to determine if there’re any fingerprints. My guess is no. But maybe Mr. Kelly saw something and can give them an inkling of who they should go after.”

And maybe he couldn’t. Or more likely—wouldn’t.

“Can we talk to Bob?” Russ asked.

Bob sat on the grass, his mouth and nose still covered by an oxygen mask, talking with the paramedics and, from the muffled sound of it, insisting he did not need to go to the hospital.

“I guess, but don’t interfere with the EMTs,” Chief Farrar said, and waved at one of his men that he’d be right there. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Tricia and Russ walked across Bob’s lawn until they stood in front of him. Bob moved the mask aside. “Don’t tell Angelica about this, Tricia. Otherwise, she’ll be calling me day and night, and I don’t want her to worry.”

“She might not worry so much if you actually answered her calls.”

He glared at her for a second, then put the mask back up to his face and closed his eyes.

“What happened?” Russ asked.

Bob shook his head, and again removed the mask. “I was taking a nap. I guess I must have smelled the gas, and tried to get up. That’s all I remember.”

Tricia scowled. She knew a lie when she heard one. The house was a shambles. No one could have slept through that kind of destruction.

The paramedics helped Bob onto the gurney, and this time he didn’t protest. “We’re ready to roll,” the female EMT said, ushering Tricia and Russ out of her path.

“Give me a call if you want a ride back from the hospital,” Russ volunteered.

Bob gave a feeble wave, and closed his eyes once more.

Tricia and Russ followed as the EMTs rolled the gurney across the grass and loaded Bob into the back of the ambulance. A minute or two later, they pulled away from the curb—with no lights or siren.

“Poor Bob’s having a string of bad luck,” Russ commented. “I’m beginning to wonder if the intended victim wasn’t Jim Roth at all.”

“You mean you’ve only now come to that conclusion?” Tricia asked, even though she’d come to the same conclusion only seconds before.

Russ bristled indignantly. “And what was your first clue?”

“The night someone tried to break into Bob’s house, of course. And the fact that he wouldn’t talk about his conversation with Jim Roth. He also had a security system installed. Everyone’s been so preoccupied with Jim’s death, they haven’t looked at the big picture.”

“Everyone but you?” he asked skeptically.

Tricia shrugged. “The question is, when is Captain Baker going to get around to making the connection?”

“Why don’t you just tell him? You seem to have his ear on a regular basis.”

“I don’t know why you’re jealous of my friendship with him. You dumped me , remember?”

“That was a mistake. I’ve been trying to win you back ever since.”

“I don’t want to be won . And for another thing, I may forgive—but I never forget.” And with that, Tricia turned and stalked back to her car. This time Russ did not follow.

Once in her car, Tricia retrieved her purse from the passenger seat and rummaged through it until she found her phone. Then she punched in Captain Baker’s private number. He wasn’t likely to answer if he was questioning Frannie or Mrs. Roth, or had gone home to change into his uniform, but she felt she should at least tell him about this latest development. Voice mail answered after three rings.

“Grant, it’s Tricia Miles. I don’t know how tuned in you are to emergency calls, but someone tampered with Bob Kelly’s gas meter—the same as what happened at History Repeats Itself. They’ve taken him to St. Joseph’s Hospital in Milford. Maybe you need to have more than just a friendly chat with Bob. Otherwise, he’s going to end up in the morgue—just as dead as Jim Roth.”

It was after twelve o’clock when Tricia made it back to Haven’t Got a Clue, where she found not only Mr. Everett standing outside the door, but Ginny, too. “Where’ve you been?” Ginny scolded. “Frannie never showed up at the Cookery.”

“A number of customers came by, but we had to turn them away,” Mr. Everett said. “We were getting worried about you.”

“I’m sorry. I got a call from Angelica. She wanted me to go check on Bob Kelly. It’s a good thing I did,” she said, and explained how she’d found Bob.

“Wow,” Ginny breathed. “Was there an explosion? Is he okay?”

“No explosion, and he’ll be fine.”

“You’ll have to tell me more, but first we’d better get these stores open,” Ginny said. As usual, she had her priorities straight.

Tricia unlocked Haven’t Got a Clue, and Mr. Everett entered. He immediately reversed the CLOSED sign to OPEN and turned on the lights, while she and Ginny headed for the Cookery. No sooner had they opened the cookbook store’s door than a couple of customers arrived. “We saw Angelica Miles on TV last night. She said she owned this store, and that her new book was available. Do you have signed copies?” one woman asked.

“We sure do,” Ginny answered, and ushered the woman to a stock of copies by the register.