Return to Virgin River (Virgin River #19)(3)

“The Templetons,” she said. “Has anyone called the owners?”

“The fire department will call once they get the number. You got the number? You can call ’em. It ain’t no secret. It’s just gonna be a while before anyone figures out what set it off and how bad the damage is.” He turned and looked over his shoulder at the charred mess. He shook his head. “I hope you have somewhere else to stay.”

“That’s going to be a problem,” she said. “I guess I could drive back over to the coast and look for a hotel or something. Unless there’s one around here?”

He was shaking his head. “I can give you a spot on the couch if you’re hard up,” he said.

A man in yellow turnouts walked over to where she stood. He was holding a shovel. “Did I hear you say you know the owners?”

“Yes, I’ve known them almost my whole life. I was renting the house from them and I just arrived to...to...this.”

“It’s pretty ugly in there,” he said. “It can be fixed, but it can’t be fixed fast. No way anyone’s staying there tonight. Or this month for that matter.”

“Do you have any idea what caused it?” she asked.

“I’m not an investigator, mind you. Just an old fireman. I suspect an electric blanket. It looks to me like the fire started in the bedroom. On the bed.”

“They left an electric blanket on?” she asked. “And that could start a fire?”

“It didn’t even have to be turned on,” he said. “It’s best to wait on the investigator to make a judgment, but I’ve seen it happen. I don’t think that house is for rent anymore.”

“What am I going to tell Mr. Templeton?” she thought aloud.

“You can start off by telling him there was a fire in his house, a pretty bad one, and the place isn’t a total loss but it’s uninhabitable. We’ll call someone to come out and make sure it’s locked and the windows are boarded up. Wouldn’t want anyone to go in there and get hurt. Wouldn’t want what survived to be damaged or stolen. We don’t have a lot of that sort of thing around here but...” He shrugged. “The damage is considerable.”

“I’ll say,” she replied.

“So much for your vacation,” the first man offered.

“I wasn’t here for a vacation,” Kaylee said. “I was here to work. I rented it for six months of quiet so I could finish a project. Hey, can I look around in there? So I can tell Gerald what it looks like?”

“You can’t go in there. It’s hot, steaming, could be unstable,” the firefighter said. “I’ll take you around back and shine a light in the window. You might be able to get a glimpse. The kitchen is smoke damaged but most of the fire got the upstairs. There’s no way you’re going to see that until much later.”

“Okay, let’s have a look,” she said. Then she shuddered. This was a tragedy; the Templetons treasured their mountain house. When their sons were young, they’d spent a lot of time here. Sometimes Bonnie and the boys came for nearly the whole summer with Gerald flying up from LA as often as he could get away. And now, they loved to visit with their grandchildren.

It was such a charming stone house with wide porches on the front and back. The inside was beautiful in an unfussy way, plastered walls and wood accents. The kitchen was large with a long breakfast bar, the fireplace in the living room made things so cozy and there was an open staircase to the second floor. There was also a cellar, partially finished, that Bonnie had talked about turning into a wine room, but as far as Kaylee knew, it still just served as storage.

She followed the fireman up onto the back porch; part of the roof hung down as if damaged, but the man just moved around it and she followed. He pointed the light into the kitchen window and Kaylee peered in. She gasped. Everything was black.

“Smoke and water damage,” he said. “It wasn’t burned.”

After a moment he moved over to the dining room window and pressed his flashlight up against the glass. It looked just fine. Not even the furniture was damaged. “I guess the fire didn’t even reach the first floor. But the ceiling is damaged and probably dangerously weak,” he said. “The roof is ruined by fire and the places where we opened it up to vent it. It’ll need a whole new roof, I’m pretty sure.”

“And a lot of other stuff, too,” she said, surprised by the lump in her throat. She began to have visions of kids sitting around the coffee table playing Monopoly or Scrabble. She envisioned their makeshift tents constructed out of old blankets and quilts and sleeping bags on the floor of the back porch. Toby, the youngest of them all, never made it through the night.

She suddenly recalled when she was here once with her mom who was depressed, doing a lot of crying, and she tried to remember, was that about the divorce? And then there was a time she and her mom came alone and her mom had been so happy and carefree. That had a lot to do with her mom’s new friend, Art. Art was around for at least a couple of years and he had lightened Meredith’s mood. She didn’t remember her mother being brokenhearted over him when their relationship ended. She had asked her mom what had happened and the answer had been so unsatisfying. It was something like, I guess it had just run its course, but of course we’re still friends.

“As a renter, I don’t think you’re obligated to call the owners and explain all this,” the fireman said, disrupting her memories.