Kathleen Y'Barbo - Her Holiday Fireman

When he once again spied the horses, Ryan’s interest piqued. He judged them to be outstanding horseflesh, and his fingers itched to grab a bridle and chase one down. Not since his rodeo days had he felt such a tug to be astride a horse galloping across a pasture. And from the look of the land in front of him, there was plenty of space to ride.

A vast golden prairie swept from the lighthouse near the beach to the horizon, the grass swaying with the breeze coming off the Gulf of Mexico. He could almost feel the saddle under him.

Once a cowboy, always a fireman. Ryan’s dad was fond of teasing him with that saying. And yet, there was more to his love for horses than his former glory days as a bronc rider.

“That there’s Berry property, too,” Murdoch said, tearing Ryan from his thoughts. The old man gestured to the land unfolding in front of them. “House was a beauty until the big fire back in March. Too bad about that.” He shook his head. “Well, anyhow, there’s probably a violation or two out there. I’d have to check on the statutes, but I don’t think it’d be safe to leave a building in that kind of condition.”

Ryan sat up a little straighter, interested to hear what the mayor had to say about the Berry fire. “While you’re looking for those statutes,” he said. “I’d appreciate if you’d get me a copy, too.”

“Be glad to.”

“So,” Ryan said as his gaze swept the ruins, “tell me about the fire.”

Murdoch shook his head. “Went up fast, but then the place was close to one hundred and fifty years old. Carl was chief then, but in name only, really.”

“What do you mean?”

Gray brows furrowed. “Well, things stay pretty quiet around Vine Beach. Not a whole lot to do for the fire chief, but then I told you that when you interviewed for the job.”

He had, though Ryan didn’t much mind. Six months here and he’d be gone. All the better if he had an easy run of it.

“Carl hid his trouble pretty well, so while there had been talk of replacing him, nobody on the City Council wanted to be the one to bring it up formally.”

“What was wrong with him?”

“Alzheimer’s disease,” Murdoch said as he shifted into gear and headed the truck back toward the main road. “Once the house nearly burned up around him, well, we all knew something had to be done. That’s when Leah quit her job and came back here to run things.”

“So you’re saying the fire was accidentally set by Chief Berry?”

“I’m saying nothing of the sort. We had a hard rain that night. Could’ve been lightning. Or with the age of this house, a gas leak might’ve been the reason. I just know that whatever happened, Carl’s lucky to be alive. That place went up way too fast.”

“I see.” He watched the landscape roll by, the sea breeze tossing the breakers against the beach in the distance. Something in Jack Murdoch’s tone told him there was more to the story. “So where is he now?”

“Carl? He’s got a little place at the assisted-living facility just down from the harbor.”

He remembered his conversation with Leah regarding her father. Just to see what the mayor would say, he added, “I wonder if I ought to pay him a visit. Maybe get some pointers from him.”

“Wouldn’t advise it.” Murdoch shot him a sideways look. “He’s suffered enough. I’d rather him not know he’s lost his job, too.”

“Wait, you mean he doesn’t know he’s not the fire chief?”

“Didn’t see the need to tell him, and my guess is Leah hasn’t, either.” Murdoch signaled to turn onto Main Street. “Anything you need ought to be in the files, though. Nobody’s messed with them since Carl left. Didn’t need to.” A shrug. “Like I said. Not much happens here in Vine Beach.”

* * *

When he arrived at work Monday morning, Ryan discovered that the mayor hadn’t been exaggerating—not much happened in Vine Beach including fire inspections. While the schools and nursing homes had been checked over most recently, there was nothing in the file that showed the last time Pop’s Seafood Shack had been inspected. Only when he came across a bundle of papers in the back of the filing cabinet did he find a certificate of inspection.

It was dated 1973.

For a second, Ryan considered asking the mayor if he knew where Chief Berry would have kept current inspection certificates for Pop’s. But he quickly thought better of it.

The last thing Chief Berry—or Leah—needed was someone questioning the chief’s work.

On his desk was the list of locations needing inspections. Starting tomorrow he’d be making those visits. He’d get to Pop’s in due time.

And yet, what if the place really hadn’t been inspected in forty years? Could he live with the fact that he’d ignored the information he now had if something happened to Pop’s before he could make his inspection?

Leah. It was possible Leah had the certificates. He picked up the phone and dialed her number.

“Ryan,” she said when she answered. “Good to hear from you.”

In the background he could hear people talking. “Have I caught you at a bad time?”

“Actually we’re getting ready for the lunch rush, but I have a minute.”

“I just have a quick question. You may already know the answer.”

“Sure,” she said as someone called her name in the background. “I’ll try. What do you need to know?”

“I’m looking through the files here and can’t find a fire inspection for your restaurant after 1973. Do you happen to know if your father kept certificates for Pop’s separate from the City Hall files?”

“I can tell you they’re not here. I’ve been doing the paperwork for the restaurant since March and I’ve found nothing like that. Just a bunch of tax stuff. Receipts and the like. Some of it goes way back to before I was born. Apparently Pop didn’t like to throw anything away.” She paused. “At least he kept neat files. He was a stickler for that.”

That matched up with what he’d found here at the office. Still he had to ask once more. “You’re sure? Nothing at all that might look like an inspection?”

“Positive. Why?”

He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes as the sinking feeling took hold. “Just wanted to be sure. Thanks.”

“Is something wrong?”

“Just making sure the files here are complete, that’s all.”

“All right.” A loud noise split the silence. “Okay, I’ve got to run, but the offer to try our buttermilk pie’s still good.”

“Thanks, Leah,” he said as he leaned forward to rest his elbows on the desk.

Unfortunately the next time he showed up at Pop’s Seafood Shack, it wouldn’t be for the pie.

* * *

Leah slid the phone into her pocket then leaned against the counter. What had that been about?

“I’ve got to check something upstairs. I’ll be right back,” she called to Orlando. He waved in acknowledgment then returned to stirring the sauce for the bread pudding.

The warm scent of pudding baking chased Leah up the narrow rear stairway and into the tiny cubicle Pop called his office. Really nothing more than a glorified broom closet with a view, the lone window offered the best place to watch the sun rise and set over the Gulf.

Settling onto Pop’s chair, Leah let out a long breath as she ran her fingers over the handle to the cabinet. Inside were thick files filled with documents related to the restaurant, everything from the building plans to old menus and bank statements. Though she knew the contents by heart, Leah once again searched the files for anything that looked like a fire inspection.

“Leah?” Orlando called. “Everything okay up there?”

She stood and closed the door behind her. “It’s fine.” Leah met Orlando at the bottom of the stairs. His expression told her that he was still curious. “Just looking for some papers,” she told him. “A fire inspection. Do you remember the last time the restaurant had one?”