Consumed (Firefighters #1)(68)

Guess so.

“—ain’t that right?”

When Moose knocked Danny in the thigh, he realized the statement had been made to him. “Sorry?”

“We’re making lunch when we get back.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“Come on, how do you guys not want goulash?”

Danny returned to the view outside. As they rumbled along, the smoky postnasal drip down the back of his throat made him nauseous.

Just focus on the here and now, he told himself. And you’ll forget everything else. That’s how it’s always worked.





chapter




30



At the end of the day, Tom got into his SUV and told himself that he did not just put a clean shirt on and tuck it into a pair of khakis. He also did not get his best set of Merrells from the back of the closet, the ones that he was still breaking in. And he most certainly hadn’t shaved a second time.

Yeah, clearly all of that had been done by an alien who had taken his body over for a temporary, earthly visit.

He was pulling out from the stationhouse when his cell phone went off, and when he saw who it was, he cursed but answered it anyway. “Look, I told you I was working on getting the tree removed. I thought we could get over there today, but we were slammed.”

Yeah, dealing with an apartment fire started when a man with schizophrenia tragically carved up his grandmother and tried to eat her intestines come lunchtime.

“I’ll make sure it happens tomorrow, and yes, before you ask, I’ve already arranged for two of the boys from the six-one-seven to cover the roof patching. I’m on it. You won’t have to put up with Mom for more than another twenty-four hours—”

Anne jumped right in. “She can stay as long as she likes.”

And speaking of aliens, who the hell are you and what have you done with my sister.

“I thought you were desperate to have her out of there.”

“Listen, Tom, do you remember the fire at the Ripkin estate. About three years ago.”

“Yeah. Of course.” He took a left and headed to the better side of town. “What about it?”

“So, I’ve been reviewing the file over here. No charges were ever filed.”

“Gas line malfunctioned. Backed up into the house. When she lit the fireplace, everything ignited.” He hesitated to mention she’d been there. “Why?”

“So I’m working the warehouse fires.”

“Which ones? Down by the wharf?”

“Yes. And I went to see Charles Ripkin up in Boston today.”

“You got in to see him? How’d you manage that? From what I’ve heard, the man’s office is like a fortress.”

Her voice got dry. “Funny how if you mention you’re an arson investigator, doors open.”

“I gotta remember this.”

He braked at a red light and watched two young women pass in front of his SUV. They both looked at him, did a double take, stared like they were sizing him up for a fuck. Ah, yes, the younger generation with their high standards and fine-tuned morals at work. And if he had any sex drive at all, maybe he’d reroute from this stupid meeting and go pick the two of them up in a bar.

Instead, he might as well have been looking at a pair of bicycles.

There was something very, very wrong with him.

“Hello?” his sister said.

“Sorry.” He hit the gas as the light changed. “What were you saying?”

“I never got to sweep the house. As soon as the fire was out on the first and second floors, we got called onto another alarm. The six-one-seven closed the scene and you were the Incident Commander.”

“Yeah. So?”

“Did you guys find anything that wasn’t in the official arson report?”

“Are you accusing me of withholding evidence?”

“No. I’m asking because the agent died before he finished his job on the scene, and I’m worried that information was lost.”

“Oh . . . shit, that’s right. I remember something about the guy dying. Lemme think, I mean, you saw it all yourself: old house, daughter was a mess, Charles Ripkin shows up the next day and does a presser on how he owes the department an unbelievable debt. A month later, he sends a crew to break ground on the new facility. Daughter, Kristina, survived, but was scarred.”

“Constance was her name.” There was a pause. “It just doesn’t add up. Why’d she make her way to the attic? While she was one fire?”

“She panicked. Instead of dropping and rolling, she ran and ended up in the elevator. She told us later she thought that was where a fire extinguisher was. She flailed around, pushed a bunch of buttons, fell out upstairs. She was found right outside the open doors of the thing.”

“That makes no sense.”

“It’s what she told police happened. Why would she lie?”

“I don’t know. I want to find out, though.”

“Anne, you’re not a homicide detective, and the case is closed. Oh, and there was a fire extinguisher in the elevator, mounted under the button panel.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“So why didn’t she use it on herself?”

“I guess she collapsed. I don’t know.” There was a silence. “Hey, before you go. What’s up with you and Mom? You can’t wait to get rid of her most times and won’t even talk to her on the phone—and now she’s staying with you?.”