Stephanie Newton - The Widow's Protector

She spun around. “I have to get Sean to the hospital.”

“I’ll drive you. I’m off duty all day.” Hunter dug in his pocket for keys.

Fiona pulled away, shook her head. “I need some time.” They’d been friends since childhood. He knew her, better than most of her family, probably. He would understand why she needed to get away from this.

She took Sean’s hand and started for her car, making it about three steps before she remembered that her keys were in the storeroom at The Reading Nook. She took a deep calming breath through her nose and blew it out through her mouth—in her opinion the one good thing she’d learned in labor and delivery class. She turned back around.

Hunter’s slow smile spread across his face, showing that one dent in his left cheek. He held out his keys to her. “Take mine.”

Sometimes he knew her so well she wanted to punch him. Instead, she snatched his keys and gave him a quick hug. “Thanks.”

“No problem. But hey, didn’t you tell me yesterday you were prepping for Garden Club? I can stick around if you want and we’ll trade back tonight.”

Garden Club. She’d completely forgotten it. She chewed the corner of her lip. “I owe you already. If you have to deal with Garden Club I’ll owe you dinner.”

“Especially if Mrs. Davenport shows up. She always brings lemon squares and I hate lemon squares.”

Fiona laughed, for real this time, and lifted her son into her arms—grateful, so grateful—to be standing here with him in the sun. Her eyes locked with Hunter’s. “This…just brings back so many memories, you know?”

“Yeah.” He did, if anyone did. He was the one who’d been there for her in the days after Jimmy died. He was the one who’d continued to come by, when even her family thought she should be beyond it. He grieved for Jimmy, too.

She put Sean in and buckled him in. “I thought when the fires stopped after Jimmy died that it was over. Now we’ve had two in two weeks.”

“We’ve had other call outs in the past two years. What makes you think these are different?”

She shrugged. “A feeling, I guess? We’ve had brush fires, fires started by faulty heaters. A fire from a cigarette left in the bed. Not this kind.”

He narrowed his gaze. “Did you get your hands on incident reports, Fiona Cobb?”

“My uncle is the fire chief. My dad is the police chief. This kind of stuff is Sunday dinner conversation. Come on, it’s not that hard.” She walked around the front of his truck.

He walked to the near side and stood opposite her. “I don’t know if this fire’s different. But I promise you, I’ll find out.”

She nodded, her throat tightening, threatening to close up on her. But she managed a small smile for his sake.

If the arsonist was back, Hunter was going to be right in the line of fire.

* * *

Hunter walked Mrs. Davenport to the front door of Fiona’s bookstore. She was the only one of the ladies of the Garden Club who had run the gauntlet of emergency vehicles to get to The Reading Nook. He suspected she’d come more for the gossip than gardening club. News of the fire had spread more quickly than the flames. Fiona’s phone had been ringing like crazy.

At the door, Mrs. Davenport turned back to him with a sudden crafty gleam in her eye. “You should probably take that plate of lemon squares over to Fiona when you leave here.”

He had to smile at her transparent maneuvering. “Thanks for stopping by, Mrs. D. I’ll be sure to let Fiona know you were thinking about her.”

With one more pat on his shoulder, she was out the door. She’d been his third grade Sunday school teacher. And when his dad had lost his job, he’d caught her leaving bags of groceries on the front porch. He would never forget her kindness. If one of the challenges in a small town was that everyone knew each other’s business, maybe that was also one of the blessings.

A haze of smoke lingered over Fiona’s cheery tables of books. It would be a while before things were completely back to normal, but Fiona would manage. She always did. She kept everyone coming to the bookstore for one activity or another, even using the empty apartment upstairs for scrapbooking. The little store was a hub of activity in their small town, with Fiona its warm center.

“Hunter, you in here?” A gruff voice called from the back room. Mickey Fitzgerald walked into The Reading Nook through Fiona’s office. The fire chief headed toward the counter, taking off his helmet and rubbing his gray hair with one flat hand. Coordinating the effort between the Fitzgerald Bay firefighters and the volunteer companies that rolled when they sounded the alarm was a complex job. But today’s effort had been successful. “Liam told me you were helping out Fiona while she’s at the hospital with Sean. Is he okay?”

“Thanks to Betsie’s and Fiona’s quick thinking, he’s going to be just fine. Can I do something for you, Chief?”

“I’d like to get your opinion on something if you have a minute.” Fiona’s uncle, still strong and fit enough that he sometimes filled in when they were short a man, was uncharacteristically subdued. “B-shift will be on tomorrow and I want you up to speed. I know the cops are going to be taking a look at this, but firefighters know fire.”

“Sure.” Hunter followed Mickey down the block and into the back door of the Sweet Shoppe, the one he’d torn down just a few hours earlier to get to Betsie.

Black sooty water dripped off every surface, the stench of smoke and fire permeating the rooms. Hunter looked around the small shop. The firefighters’ fast attack on the fire had not only saved Betsie’s life, but also saved the rest of Main Street.

Danny Fitzgerald, the fire chief’s younger son, shoveled debris onto a tarp. “Got an extra shovel on the rig for you, pal.”

Hunter looked at the shovel and then down at his hands. “Aw, gee, Danny, I would, but I just got my nails done.”

“Nice job on the door this morning.” Nate Santos looked up from where he was pulling wallboard.

Hunter walked toward the front of the shop, but looked back at the guys with a grin. “Anytime A-shift needs my help, I’m happy to oblige.”

Danny held up the shovel again.

“Except for that.”

Nate Santos elbowed Danny. “He’s too good for that kind of job now that he got promoted.”

“You got that right, Santos, but I’ve always been better than you. I’ll show you when we haul hose next week in training.” Hunter threw the words over his shoulder as he followed the chief.

“Loser buys lunch.” Santos pulled off another sheet of soggy wallboard and tossed it into the growing pile on the floor. The cooling building popped and creaked. Every surface that might hide a smoldering ember had to be breached. The ceiling tiles and wallboard were the first to go.

Hunter looked back, grinned. “Deal.”

Photographs would’ve already been taken and bits of wallboard and ceiling collected for testing. He wasn’t sure what the chief wanted him to see. Mickey Fitzgerald waved him to the ruined remains of a glass display counter, along with the A-shift officer, Liam. “Over here.”

On the surface, Hunter saw a board with melted plastic on it. Some wiring ran out of it. He glanced up at the chief, a knot of nausea settling in his stomach. “Remote detonator?”

“Yeah. And it was wedged right where there was plenty of fuel. This place went up in a hurry.”

Liam took off his gloves and tucked them under one arm. “We pulled another one of those from the crawl space above the storeroom. There was some insulation up there that kept it smoldering, which is why that side of the shop burned slower. All in all, they were lucky to get out with their lives.”