Wildfire (7 page)

They rounded the corner and came across men huddled around a
bonfire built inside a metal trashcan. Some held their hands out toward the
warm flames, while other stared mesmerized at the glow. A few lay scattered on
the incline, already asleep or drinking from bottles hidden in paper sacks.

The tableau froze as he and Jenkins emerged into the light.
Only the drinkers and sleepers ignored them.

Roberts pulled out packs of cigarettes from his jacket and
held them up. “Just want to talk, that’s all.”

Jenkins took a step forward and folded his arms across his
big slab of a chest. Roberts winced. He could see the whites of eyes and the
twitch of muscles. He waggled the packs in his hands. “Got some smokes for your
trouble.”

A young blond with a bruised nose stepped forward, eyed the
pack.

Roberts took a cigarette out and offered it to him.

The man grabbed it. “What you want to know?”

He held out a few more cigarettes and looked around. “Any
other smokers in the group?”

Several men shuffled forward. The stench of old sweat and
body odor wafted forward. Roberts kept on smiling as he handed the bribe out.
“How come you guys don’t go to the Salvation Army?”

“Don’t like sleeping indoors.”

“Can’t stand the preaching.”

“Don’t got no room last time I checked.”

Roberts nodded, feeling like a bobble head toy. “You guys
out here two nights ago?”

Shrugs and murmurs of ascent rippled all around.

“Anybody go out to the country? Out by Carlsbad or Paradise
Valley?”

Silence.

“Come on guys, we were getting along so well.”

Jenkins twisted his head this way and that, until the bones
in his neck popped in the silence.

“You can talk to me or to my deputy.” He thumbed at Jenkins.

Wide-eyed gazes darted from one officer to another. Quick,
jerky shakes of heads answered.

“Alright, anybody see anything interesting lately?”

Uneasy glances flickered around. Roberts shook the remaining
pack in his hand. “I’m looking for information. Anybody see anything strange?
I’ll give you the entire pack if you give me something useful.”

“What’s this about?” The blond kid piped up again.

Roberts shrugged. “I’m the sheriff and I need to know about
all kinds of things happening in my town.”

“I saw something, maybe.” The quavering whisper came from
one of the drinkers.

Roberts ambled forward and held out a cigarette. “Yeah?”

The man licked already wet lips, revealing missing and
rotting teeth. “Yeah.”

“Where were you?”

The guy snatched the cigarette and brought it to his nose.
Took a deep sniff. “Behind the library, near the dumpster.”

Roberts held out another. “There’s more here. So what time
was it?”

The second cigarette got tucked behind an ear and hid by
greasy hair. “Still dark. Sometime before dawn.”

The timing fit Jen’s fire. His chest tightened as he
remembered her pretty face all puffy and red from tears and worry. He wanted to
close the case, reassure Jen, hold her hand. The sheriff leaned forward. “So
what did you see?”

“I was behind the dumpster.”

“Doing what?”

“I got hungry in the night. So I was snacking on an old
burger I found.”

Roberts stared at the brown paper bag the man cradled in his
lap. “So what you see beside the burger?”

A crafty light glinted in the old man’s eyes and he flashed
a toothless smile. “Another smoke might help jog my memory.”

The old coot had nerves. Roberts snorted and handed over
another stick.

“I was hidden behind the dumpster, when this large, black
shadow swooped over me, swallowed all the light.” The man took a swig from his
bottle. “I looked up.”

“And?”

His gaze shot away and boomeranged back. He leaned forward.
“It was a dragon.”

Roberts shook his head. The geezer ought to get points for
originality. Most others just saw space ships.

The old guy’s chin shot up and his eyes narrowed. “I know
what I saw. A dang big dragon flew right over me and headed west, toward
Paradise Valley where they’se been having the fires.”

A boot sailed through the air and thwacked the speaker in
the head.

“Oww!”

“Shut the fuck up you old fool.”

The sheriff whipped around toward the angry voice and saw
one of the sleepers glaring over his shoulder. This guy looked like what he’d
imagine Rasputin looked like. Crazy, gleaming gray eyes stared out of a dirty gaunt
face covered in ropy, knotted hair. It ran from the top of the head into the
moustache and beard. A dusty black overcoat covered most of his long, thin body.

“Some people are trying to sleep here.” The man glared and
then turned away.

Roberts’ gaze landed on the boot lying near the whimpering
old dragon-sighting guy. An old, scuffed and creased brown work boot. He
studied the sole of the shoe. His mouth felt dry. The tread pattern seemed
familiar. He nodded to Jenkins to bag it and made his way to the sleeper.

“Hey, you can’t go about throwing things at people.” He
stood with hands on his hips, close to his weapon and handcuffs. “I might have
to haul you to jail for that.”

The man cracked his eyelids open and sent out a bleary
stare. “Just trying to sleep.”

Roberts eyed the other boot peeking out from under the coat.
He stepped forward and tapped the foot with his own. “You got some nice boots
there,” he said. “Aren’t you lucky? Where’d you get them?”

The man pushed himself up and hunched over his knees. “Found
‘em.”

“Where?”

A sullen glare. “By the library dumpster.”

“Everything seems to happen around this dumpster.”

Bony shoulders rose and fell. “I was there same time as the
dumb ass claims he saw the dragon.”

“Did you see the dragon?”

A laugh wheezed out of him. “I ain’t crazy or drunk.”

“So you were at the dumpster in the middle of the night.”

The man moved his head in a slow shake. “It was morning, I
was hunting breakfast.”

“And you found the boots?”

“How about one of those smokes?”

Roberts tossed him the entire pack. “Tell me about the
boots.”

The man turned the pack around in his hands. “Thanks
Sheriff.”

“The boots?”

“A beat-up green truck drove up and a man chucked them out
the window. I grabbed them.”

“You see the man’s face?”

The cigarette pack disappeared in the coat. “Nah, he wore a
hat pulled low over his face.”

Roberts massaged his neck and nodded. “I’ll need the other
boot.”

“Fuck.”

Chapter 7

She focused on her breathing, trying to follow
Obaa-chan’s
advice and calm her mind. A calm mind can conquer anything. Now if she could
just convince herself.

The weird phone call and writing about the fire had riled up
the dragon again, so much that she’d felt the heat and smelled the smoke
sitting in Jen’s guest room. In the quiet hours of the night, fear of the
unknown adversary had clutched her heart until she’d concentrated on Timmy’s
face as he watched the fire.

She’d started the article with that image and gone into how
Timmy would be having a birthday soon without any presents. However, he would
have his family and Lucky. She wrote about the hard work and heroics of the
Paradise Valley volunteer firefighters, and mentioned Jack and the part he
played. She ended with the community pulling together to help the Jarvis
family. Lynn read the story almost half a dozen times before emailing it to the
Herald
. That’d been almost a half-hour ago.

She hoped the paper would print the story. Should she follow
up with a call to the paper?

Calm your mind. Be in the now. Her arms reached toward the
sun like strong branches, allowing her sorrows and worries to drop, spin and
flutter away like dead leaves scattered by the wind of her will.

Exuberant knocking startled Lynn into planting both feet on
the meditation mat. Her aching arms sagged to her sides. “Yes?”

“Phone call for you,” Jen called out.

Damn, she was popular lately. “Can you take a message?”

“It’s the editor of the newspaper, I think you better take
it.”

Lynn threw the door open and snatched the phone from Jen.
“Hello?”

“Top of the morning, Ms. Alexander! This is Scott Hernandez,
editor and publisher of the
San Angelo Herald
.”

Worry niggled at her. “Did you receive my story? Were you
able to open the document?”

“Yes, yes. I read your story about the fire.”

He probably hated it. She hadn’t written a news story since
college. “I’d be happy to rewrite it if you need me to.”

A chuckle sounded in her ear. “Hey, can you come down to the
office and talk to my reporters about accommodating their editor?” He chuckled
some more. “The story read fine. It’ll be in the paper tomorrow.”

Heat swarmed her face. “Oh. Thanks for letting me know.”

“What I’d like to know is if you’re free for lunch today?” Hernandez
cleared his throat. “I have a deal you want to seal.”

A woman on a mission, Lynn arrived at the
San Angelo
Herald
building fifteen minutes before her lunch date.

While the editor had amused and intrigued her, what she
really wanted was information. If anyone had the dirt on the local people, it’d
be the newspaper guy. The challenge would be focusing him on her agenda rather
than his.

The receptionist laid aside her crochet work and smiled as
Lynn stated her business, and then buzzed the editor. “Your lunch appointment
is here!”

Lynn had just sat down on the plush couch, when the newsroom
door swung open and a big man bounded out, his right hand extended. “Good to
see you Ms. Alexander.”

She jumped up. He still towered over her as he pumped her
hand.

Hernandez was younger than Lynn expected, maybe in his
forties, with wings of silver at his temples that added a distinguished look.
His dark gaze studied her with intense speculation. “Ready to go?”

She nodded. He stepped briskly ahead, leading the way, but
stopped at the receptionist’s desk. “Keep this boat afloat while I’m out to
lunch, okay?” he said. “I’m counting on you, Abby.” He gave her a jaunty salute
and continued forward.

Lynn offered Abby a wave and rushed after Hernandez. He barged
through a second set of doors, before he stopped and sniffed the crisp, autumn
air. “Perfect day for a walk. You don’t mind if we walk to lunch, right?” He
marched down the sidewalk not waiting for an answer.

Lynn hurried, doing her best to keep up and not trip in her
heels. She should have worn sneakers.

“So, who are you? What’s your background?”

She filled him in about her journalism degree and her
previous public relations experience. “I’m between jobs at the moment.”

He clucked sympathetically, without slowing his pace.

Lynn thanked the powers that be for the Don’t Walk sign at
the corner. She caught her breath as they waited for the light to change at
Chadbourne and Beauregard. Her feet ached in the high heels and she could feel
blisters forming. So much for the power outfit. “Where are we headed?”

Hernandez pointed across the street at Fuentes Downtown
Café. “All the movers and shakers eat there.”

She eyed several men and women coming in and out the doors,
standing around shaking hands or talking on cell phones. In between the power
suits, she glimpsed a scruffy man sitting hunched over on a bench right in
front of the restaurant.

The man raised his head from the folds of an oversized,
dusty black coat. Her gaze collided with glittering gray eyes set in a dirty
face obscured by straggly salt-and-pepper hair and a beard.

Traffic ceased flowing, people turned to statues, the dragon
within her tensed. Lynn drew in slow, labored breaths. Her racing heart petered
to a sluggish rhythm, the blood in her veins congealed. She stood rooted to the
spot and held the man’s stare.

He sent her a mock salute.

Cold fear wormed inside her. She fisted her hands at her
sides. The tips of her fingers burned to grow dragon claws.

The man's slim shoulders shook as if he were laughing at
her. He leaned back and folded his arms.

Lynn blinked as a portly man emerged from the restaurant and
blocked her view. Breathing easier, she angled her head this way and that to
see around him.

The light changed and Hernandez rushed forward. Lynn pulled
her attention away long enough to cross with him. As soon as they stepped onto
the curb, Lynn tried to relocate the vagrant, but he’d disappeared.

She found herself surrounded by people. Several of them
shook hands with the editor and said hello. Lynn pushed through the crowd and
looked up and down Chadbourne. Adrenaline zipped through her as she caught the
tail-end of a fluttering black coat turning the corner. She glanced back at Hernandez,
then at the corner again.

Should she chase the homeless guy? She still had to get
information from the newspaper man. Besides, what would she do even if she did
catch the stranger? Ignoring the nervous knot in her gut, Lynn turned. Now Hernandez
had disappeared.

Hoping he’d entered Fuentes, she plunged through the door.

He stood in the lobby, laughing and talking to a group of
people. Lynn breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn’t noticed her odd behavior.
The restaurant owner led them to a booth at the back and left them with some
chips and salsa.

After they settled in, Hernandez locked gazes with her.
“You’re a good writer, Alexander.”

“Thanks.” She slipped her shoes off under the table and
almost groaned in relief. “You mentioned something about a deal?”

He drummed his fingers on the glass tabletop and jogged a
leg in place. She wanted to put him in a straitjacket.

“You want a job?”

Lynn stared at him. “Excuse me?”

“A job. You’re a good writer, who’s out of work, and we’re
short staffed. So, how about it?”

She leaned back into the vinyl cushion, massaging one foot
with the other. “I’m just visiting a friend here and happened to be at that
fire. I don’t know how long I’m staying.”

Hernandez picked up the fork beside his plate and tap-tapped
it on the table. “Why don’t you freelance for us while you’re here?” he said.
“We could use good copy and we’d pay you per story. Nothing exorbitant, but
decent.”

Lynn almost kissed the guy. What a perfect cover for her to
investigate the fires and ask questions. While she wasn’t hurting for money
thanks to
Obaa-chan
, extra cash would still be nice. But she didn’t want
to appear over-eager. “I don’t know what to say.”

“A thank you would do,” he said. “Look at it this way,
you’ll get to try this out and you’ll be free to leave whenever.” He reached
over and snatched a package of crackers from the small container on the table.

“True.”

“It’ll be a nice entry on your resume.” He tap-tap-tapped
the table with the packet.

Lynn leaned forward. “What kind of stories do you want?”

A waiter came by and took their order. Hernandez greeted him
as Paul and asked about his studies and his family. After Paul left, he leaned
back against the booth, the crackers still in hand.

“We’ve wanted to cover Paradise Valley better for a long
while,” he said. “So anything important that’s happening in that community
would be good.”

“I can do that.” She paused for a heartbeat. “Can I also do
fire stories? Maybe an investigative piece? See if there’s anything to link all
the incidents together.”

He stilled and narrowed his eyes at her. “What do you know
that I don’t?”

“Just a gut feeling I’ve got.”

He set the package of crumbled crackers down and raked a
hand through his hair. “I have great respect for women’s intuition, but news stories
can’t be based on that.”

Lynn folded her arms across her chest. Too bad she couldn’t
tell him about her dragon instincts. Hollowness bloomed in her stomach. Could
she trust her dragon? It’d been acting off-balance and erratic lately. “Fine, I
shouldn’t have said anything.”

“You didn’t let me finish,” he said. “Intuition, like rumor
and gossip, is a great springboard for stories.”

“There’s no smoke without fire.”

“Exactly. You first come up with an idea, and then you
search for facts to either support or refute it.”

“So, if I think these fires are a series of arsons, I need
to get hold of facts next,” she said. “Maybe I should interview the arson
investigator.”

Hernandez beamed at her. “You do have to interview him, but
not just yet.” Instead he told her to do some online research about arson and
serial arsonists. He also told her to talk to area fire chiefs, the Sheriff’s
department, and law enforcement professors at the local university.

“If you go in with some knowledge, you’ll be able to ask
pertinent questions,” he said. “Then Anderson will talk to you rather than talk
down
to you. That makes a difference.”

Her respect for the man shot up by leaps and bounds. “Thanks,
I’ll do that.”

The editor cleared his throat. “Does this mean you’ve
accepted my offer?”

She grinned. “You have a deal.”

They shook on it. “And thanks for this opportunity.”

The waiter placed a sizzling plate brimming with fajitas,
pepper and onion in front of her. The savory steam made Lynn’s stomach beg for
a taste. She took a warm tortilla and placed some meat and vegetables on it.

“By the way,” he said, cutting into his cheese enchiladas,
“did you know one of the most infamous serial arsonists in America was an arson
investigator? John Orr.”

Lynn stopped folding the tortilla. “You really are a fount
of knowledge.”

“Don’t you forget that, Alexander,” he said. “So you met the
enigmatic Jack Callaghan. He was quite the hero in your story.”

She swallowed her bite and shrugged. “I don’t know if I’d
call him enigmatic.”

Hernandez shot her sharp look. “Well, you certainly seem to
have a seen a different side to him, but he can be rather closemouthed. Callaghan’s
got this love-hate relationship with the area.”

Lynn managed a smile. “Jack is some sort of Dr. Jekyll and
Mr. Hyde?”

“Goes back ages,” the editor said. After downing a bite, he
continued, “The story is his great-great-grandfather owned a hardware-dry goods
store here. Then his great-grandfather added a grocery to it. Partnered with
some Mexicans and Chinese in the area to supply vegetables and set up a meat
counter. He sold everything from milk and beer to nails and barbed wire.”

Lynn tasted a forkful of smoky re-fried beans. “Interesting,
but where’s the juicy bits?”

He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “When the region
suffered a drought, farming and ranching went into a decline. People kept
buying staples from the Callaghans, but mostly on an IOU basis.”

Hernandez shoveled in another bite of enchilada. Lynn
drummed her fingers on the table.

“After a while Mr. Callaghan called in the loans and took
over people’s lands. In other cases, he bought land but at dirt cheap prices.
Anyway, he set up the Callaghan Ranch and became the largest landowner in the
area.”

“That’s quite a story.” Lynn gulped some water. According to
her grandmother, sometimes dragon characteristics leached into human
personality. Characteristics like greed and hoarding.

Hernandez shrugged his bullish shoulders. “It rubbed people
the wrong way. To make matters worse, oil was discovered on different parts of
the ranch in the early 1900s. Made the Callaghans richer.”

Lynn balled her hands into fists as he took a hefty swallow
of ice tea.

“The next two generations of Callaghans didn’t help. Jack’s
grandfather built up a reputation for drinking, gambling and romancing other
men’s wives. His father ran unsuccessfully for political office, spent freely
and spouted history and philosophy.”

Characteristics like taking risks, over-indulging, and,
even, bookishness. Of course, all these flaws also appeared in ordinary humans
to a lesser degree.

A picture of Jack with his black eye flashed through her
mind. Characteristics like temper and aggressiveness. She recalled the
townspeople’s cold reception at the parts store. “Don’t tell me they hold a
grudge against Jack because of the rest of the Callaghans.”