Teacup Novellas 02 - Strike the Match (3 page)

I’ve got to call Dad.

As she reached for her cell phone, someone banged on her window. Keri jumped then pushed open the door. “Carson, you scared me half to death!

“Sorry, Keri, I was just—”

“What happened? How did it start?” She stepped out of her vehicle.

“Don’t know yet.” Her dad’s construction chief rubbed his face with his hands. “A neighbor called the fire department, then Bill called me first chance he got. He knew this was one of ours. It’s bad, Keri. Real bad.”

She wrapped her arm around his thick waist. Carson had been with her dad from the start when they first launched McMillan Log Homes twenty years ago. She wanted to comfort him but couldn’t think of a thing to say. He hung his arm around her shoulders, releasing a long, tired sigh.

“We called the Blankenships, but all we got was their voice mail. Apparently they’re still in Europe. We’ll keep trying.”

“Carson, I’ve got to call Dad. He needs to come home.”

“I know. I was just hoping the guys could put this out before any major damage was done. Too late for that now, I guess.”

She looked at the emerging shell of the massive home, sickened by the sight of it. The lump in her throat hindered a response. Keri climbed back in her car, pressed the auto-dial number for her dad’s cell phone, and closed her eyes.

Grant Dawson hit the brakes on his SUV and grabbed his camera. His windshield reflected the blaze roaring against the black December sky. His mind began framing the best pictures, the captions catapulting through his head. He could see the bold print on his front page. NEW
Oceanside
Estate Destroyed by Fire
. 
No, too blah.
Dreams Shattered by
Midnight
Blaze
. Too cheesy? Maybe—

“Grant! Over here!”

He couldn’t help but smile. Nita Sanders, in all her glory. Pink foam curlers wrapped with her bright white hair peeked out beneath a wool scarf. Green flannel pajamas flashed from beneath her winter coat, tucked into oversized yellow galoshes. He was tempted to snap a picture just to get a rise out of her, but it hardly seemed appropriate at a time like this. When he moved here six months ago, Nita was the first person in this tight-knit coastal town to befriend him. She had welcomed him with uncommon hospitality, taking him in like one of her own.

He pressed his lips together to hide the smirk. “Nita, what brings you out on this beautiful night?”

She whacked him on the arm. “The fire, you big lug! Do I need to remind you that’s my house just across the road? I heard all the sirens and got over here fast as I could. It’s also my brothers—”

“Aunt Nita!”

Grant noticed the young woman approaching them as they made their way toward the inferno. Surprised, he did an immediate double-take. He’d never seen her before. The blustery wind whipped a mass of light brown curls around a face etched with worry. Her skin was flawless, her eyes sparkling with tears in the surreal glow of the blaze. He forced his gaze away from her, not wanting to be caught staring.

This must be the niece Nita’s been babbling about so much. The journalism student, home from school and none too happy about it.
No doubt a Christiane Amanpour or Ashleigh Banfield wannabe.

Weeks ago, Nita had broached the subject, batting her merry eyes at him. “Grant, couldn’t you just tell her a thing or two about the business? Show her the ropes? She’s so disappointed about having to come home. Maybe you could hire her part-time to help out with the paper.”

Since then, every time she’d brought up the subject, he’d envisioned some pimple-faced, gawky coed wearing black-rimmed glasses, nipping at his heels, bugging him to death with a million questions.

What was her name? Sherry? No, Carrie. That’s right. Carrie. Like the freak from the Stephen King movie. Sheesh, I hope she doesn’t
destroy
Waterford
Bay
with her telekinetic powers.

He watched Nita hug her very un-Sissy Spacek niece, then quickly moved away from them, anxious to avoid the inevitable introduction.

“Sweetie, did you call your father?”

“Yes. He’s on his way home. He’s devastated. He actually broke down over the phone, Nita. You know Dad—he never does that. I can’t even imagine what he’ll do when he sees what’s left of this.”

Nita pulled her close, hugging her tight. “Honey, he’ll survive. He always does. I stood beside him, holding you in my arms when we buried your sweet mother. You were just five days old. If he can survive that, he’ll get through this. God will see him through.”

Keri took a deep breath, pushing the thoughts from her mind. “C’mon, let’s see what Bill can tell us.”

They tromped through the mud, stepping over a tangled web of hoses. The local fire chief watched as his men took control of the blaze. Keri was relieved to see most of the flames almost extinguished, despite the waves of smoke still billowing into the air. “Bill, any idea what started it?” She covered her nose and mouth with her knitted muffler.

Bill Gregory shook his head. “We won’t know until it’s out and we can investigate. The structure was fully engulfed by the time we got here. Good thing Bertie next door called when she did. With this wind and all these trees around here, we could have lost a lot of homes tonight. Where’s your dad?”

“He’s in Sacramento bidding on a job, but he’s on his way home now. He should be back early this afternoon.”

Nita coughed. “
If
he doesn’t get stopped for speeding. Mercy, that brother of mine has a lead foot.”

Bill gnawed on his signature toothpick. “Oh, he’ll be here by noon, if I know Tyler. You can count on that, Nita.”

A loud crack ripped through the night air.

“Get back! Move it! Move it!”

As the warning cut through the chaos, Keri felt herself propelled backward. Bill shoved her and Nita away from the house with startling force as a sickening crash exploded behind them. All three landed in the mud beside Keri’s car. Bill scrambled away from them, barking orders and demanding a headcount of his men.

Keri sat up to see what had happened. The entire second floor had pancaked onto the first floor, leaving only the stone fireplace standing like a lone statue draped in a whirlwind of sparks, smoke, and debris.

“Nita! Are you okay?” She crawled to her aunt’s side.

“I think so, honey. Although it’s the first time in my life I’m thankful for the extra padding on my back side. Help me up, will you?”

“Here, let me,” someone offered. “Nita, are you all right?”

Keri didn’t recognize the voice of the man helping her aunt back on her feet. A dark baseball cap covered his head, but she could see still see his thick salt and pepper hair.
Heavy on the salt.
A fancy Nikon hung from a strap around his neck over a blue squall jacket.

“I’m fine, I think. Good heavens, what a mess!” Nita pulled the scarf from her head and wiped her muddy hands on it. “And Keri, look at you—covered head to toe.”

Keri looked down at her jeans and jacket, completely covered in brown slime. She held out her hands, unsure where to wipe them.

“Here,” the man said, digging a bandana from his back pocket then handing it to her.

She reached for it, finally looking up into his face. He was younger than she’d thought. The hair had fooled her. He couldn’t be more than thirty, maybe thirty-two? But it was his eyes that stopped her. She wasn’t expecting them to be that blue, even in the mere reflection of all the flashing lights. And there was genuine concern in them, too.
Who is this guy?

As if her thoughts were overheard, Nita answered. “Oh Keri, honey, you haven’t met Grant yet, have you? This is Grant Dawson, the editor of our local paper. I write a column for him now and then, though I think he mostly keeps me on out of pity. Grant, this is my niece, Keri McMillan. The one I told you about.”

She wiped the mud off her hand as best she could then extended it toward him. For a split second, he didn’t respond.
Hello? I’m holding my hand out here?

He took it briefly, gave it a quick shake. “Nice to meet you, but I need to see what happened over there. If you’ll excuse me.”

They stared after him, Keri still rubbing her hands on his bandana. “Friendly guy.”

Nita used her scarf to wipe off some of the mud on Keri’s face. “Who, Grant? Oh, normally he’s a teddy bear. Just focused. Used to be a big shot reporter for the
L.A. Times
. Got tired of the politics and rat race, and moved here a little over six months ago. Took over
the
Waterford
Weekly
when Ed Furley decided to retire and move to Florida. Grant was a writer, not a publisher, but he’s learned fast. Does a nice job with our little paper.”

Keri watched him taking pictures of the wreckage. “He left one of the biggest papers in the country to come
here
and run a small-town weekly? What an idiot.”

“A kinda handsome idiot, though, don’t you think? I’ve always thought he looked like that dear reporter from NBC. You know—the one who died over in Iraq, God rest his soul. What was his name? David something . . .”

“David Bloom?”

“David Bloom! So you see it too, the resemblance?”

Keri studied her aunt’s face. Perfectly manicured eyebrows danced in mischief on a genteel face betraying her age. “Nita? Forget it.”

“I’m just saying—”

“No,
I’m
just saying—I’m not interested, don’t go there, and don’t bring it up again. Got it?”

Nita’s face melted in disappointment. “Oh sure, fine. Take away all my fun.”

Keri grabbed her aunt’s elbow and steered her toward her car. “I’m not home for fun, Nita. I’m home to work and save money. Period.” She stopped, turning to face the smoldering cabin. “Let’s just hope Dad’s insurance is paid up.”

“Well, if not, you could always go to work for the local paper.” Nita planted a kiss on her cheek. “In fact, I’ve already talked to Grant about hiring you while you’re home. Might be a good chance to get your feet wet and—”

“You’re impossible.”

“I know. That’s why you love me, though. Now come along. Let’s go get cleaned up then I’ll make us some breakfast.” She turned back. “Maybe I should invite Grant to join—”

“Not gonna happen. Move it.” Keri gently pushed her aunt toward the car. As Nita grumbled her way to Keri’s vehicle, Keri took one last look at the smoky skeleton of the once-beautiful log home and sighed.

“Oh Daddy, I’m so sorry.”

Chapter 2

Grant leaned closer to the computer screen, studying the thumbnail images of the pictures he took at the fire.
Good job,
Dawson
, good job.
 He selected ten pictures, a variety of different shots of both the burning cabin and the firefighters he interviewed. He would narrow it down to five pictures to sprinkle throughout his story.

Satisfied, he stretched, happy to have so much done this early in the day. Normally, he’d trek over to Chandlers for an espresso to kick-start his morning. But the pouring rain and chilly temperatures convinced him to settle for a cup of his own brew. He made his way back to the small kitchen area of the old house that served as the office for the
Waterford
Weekly.

Scooping the coffee beans into the grinder, he realized he was smiling. Not so many months ago, he would have already popped a handful of pills by this time of day. The relentless pressure of working for a paper like the
Times
had taken its toll. At first, he’d loved it. The chase for the hot story, the killer pace of the office and constant deadlines, the opportunity to travel—heady stuff for a kid just out of college. Landing a dream job at a major newspaper was the biggest adrenaline hit he’d ever known.

But in less than ten years he’d had enough. The glitz that initially lured him into the job only frustrated him. He was constantly at odds with his bosses, usually fighting over political philosophies and the resulting pressures to give his stories an “edge.” But that was only part of it.  Even now, more than six months later, he tried not to think about it, the loss just too painful.