Ann Aguirre - Hell Fire

“But what causes tremors?” Shannon fidgeted, obviously not sure why we were hanging around the fire scene. I guessed she wanted to be away from here before Sheriff Robinson showed up and decided to hold us indefinitely for being troublemaking pains in his sizable ass.

I thought about that, remembering the crappy places I’d lived over the years, and said at the same time as Jesse, “A train.”

Chance nodded, excitement sparking like gold flecks in his eyes. “Shannon, are there any houses built close to the train tracks in town? Close enough that they’d shake when the train goes by?”

“Yep,” she said. “There used to be a station, a long time ago, but it closed down in—lemme think . . .” She broke off, pondering for a full minute. “In 1911. Now there’s just a cargo line that goes by twice a week.”

“Do you know the way?” Jesse asked.

She nodded. “I used to hang out with a kid who lived out there, but my mom made me stop because he wasn’t a desirable acquaintance.” I could tell from her tone that she was quoting her mother verbatim. “It’s the worst part of Kilmer.”

Saldana tossed her the keys. “Here you go.” At her stunned expression, he asked, “You do know how to drive?”

She was speechless, staring at him for a long minute before she managed to say, “Well, yeah. My dad taught me. I have a license too, but I don’t have a car, and the last few months, I’ve been grounded for one reason or another.”

He smiled at her. “Then you need the practice, and it’ll be easier if you just take us there. That okay with you?”

Her smile could’ve blinded the lot of us. “Sure. Get in.” Jesse Saldana would make a great dad, I decided, as I headed toward the workers raking the wreckage. He wasn’t quite old enough to be parenting Shannon, but he had the older-brother role polished to a fine sheen.

“I’ll be right back,” I said over my shoulder.

I picked my way toward the wreckage of Dale’s house. Ash sifted from the broken beams, and smoke still curled from the foundation. There were five men raking the place down; none of them looked pleased at my approach.

“What do you think happened?” I asked the lead volunteer.

Sooty-faced and weary, he shrugged. “My guess? He fell asleep with a lit cigarette. It would’ve spread faster if he was drinking.”

That was the official story they spread about my mama, too. Miz Ruth had said as much a few days back. That seemed an unlikely coincidence.

“Have you recovered his body?” Maybe it was macabre, but I had to know.

The volunteer shook his head. “Not yet. We’ll keep looking.”

First happy news I’d had all day. “Thanks. Good luck.”

Maybe Dale Graham hadn’t been home when they torched his house. I could hope, right? And maybe he had his journal with him, wherever he was. Playing dead might be the smartest thing he could do.

I pulled Butch out of my handbag and put him down. “Remember the hippie we ate pie with at the diner?”

He yapped once.

“Sniff around and see if you can find him.”

It was probably a long shot. The acrid smoke would likely overwhelm any subtler smells, but Butch appeared keen to try. He put his nose to the ground and sniffed all around the wreckage in a large perimeter, and then trotted toward the road. He barked and then lifted a leg on the mailbox.

I didn’t know what to make of that. “He got his mail yesterday?”

Butch gave the affirmative yap. I wasn’t sure how that helped us, but I bent to scratch behind his ears and told him, “Good dog.”

Then I scooped him up, sprinted for the Forester, and climbed in back, where I found Jesse. With his bad arm, he might’ve wanted help with the driving and was too much of a man to say so. The idea made me smile.

“What?” Jesse asked.

“How’s the injury?”

He glanced at the bandage wrapped around his biceps. “I’ll be fine; just a graze. It looks worse than it is.”

“I was worried about you.”

“Yeah? Well, the feeling’s mutual.” Jesse took my hand, and I took comfort in that tiny spark. He raised it gently to his lips; the heat sent shivers all through me.

Shannon pulled off the gravel drive and onto the county road smoothly. She looked small behind the wheel of the SUV, but she didn’t seem nervous. Chance asked her something, and she spared him a glance to answer. I couldn’t make out their words for the rush of the road beneath the tires and the soft crackle of blurry music on the radio. I’d never feel the same about AM/FM stations after meeting her. I wondered idly if she could tune in to the dead in a vehicle too.

For a few moments, I let myself enjoy the heat of his hand in mine, and then I pulled back. Touching him was a distraction I didn’t need.

“Couple things we need to talk about,” Jesse said quietly. “Sheriff Robinson? I got no sense of guilt off him last night. Even when you made your parting shot, all I felt from him was fear . . . bone-deep terror, in fact. Much worse than the night we sprung Chance from jail.”

“So he knows something’s wrong, but he’s not part of it,” I surmised. “Why do you think he threw away those missing persons forms?”

Saldana shrugged. “Don’t know. Maybe he didn’t want proof of his dereliction of duty, but he didn’t want to go poking around out in the woods, either. I’m not infallible.” By his bleak expression, I could tell he was thinking of his dead partner. “But I don’t think I’m wrong this time.”

Frankly, if fear of the forest motivated the sheriff, I couldn’t blame him. I wouldn’t want to lead a search party out there, either. Too bad, because that was exactly what I needed to do. The only way to gather evidence was to go out there ourselves; I didn’t expect to like what we found.

“Good to know. If push comes to shove, Robinson might back us if he wants to get some of his spine back.”

Jesse nodded. “Possible.”

I watched the scenery for a while, green-brown trees passing in a blur. The filtered air felt damp and cool, as if it blew in from the distant sea. Then it occurred to me that I had no idea how the shooter had managed to peg him.

“How’d you get hit, anyway?” I’d thought he had good cover behind the hedge.

For a moment, Jesse studied his hands, seeming unwilling to answer. He said at last, “I stood up to distract the shooter when you went back onto the porch and through the window like a crazy person.”

My breath left me. “You got shot for me ?”

He scowled. “I would’ve done the same for Chance or Shannon.”

“I know,” I said, smiling.

That was the kind of man he was. He took his vows to protect and serve very seriously. Living with him might be just as difficult as being with Chance, but for different reasons. When I’d told him that some women had a hard time handling the constant danger their men were exposed to, I hadn’t been exaggerating to make him feel better. The divorce statistics spoke for themselves.

Shannon parked the SUV. “We’re here.”

I clambered out of the Forester and decided she was right. This was the worst part of Kilmer, a section I’d never seen before. It was literally on the other side of the tracks, and the houses built closest must have shaken like blazes when the train came through. Like, say, in an earthquake?

Once more, I deposited Butch on the ground. “You were with me when I went into the gas station, right?”

He yapped in confirmation.

“You remember what the guy smelled like?”

The Chihuahua tilted his head in thoughtful consideration, and it was cute as hell. After a moment, he barked once.

“Can I trust you to sniff around for him?”