Combustible (A Boone Childress Novel) (24 page)

The crowd murmured, and Blevins stood up. His hands shook.
Mr. Blevins had conducted the band through dozens of concerts, marching shows, and festivals, but this was the first time anyone had ever seen him nervous.

"It's,
um, true what, um, Mr. Landis said. The graveyard is, um, our family cemetery. Our grandparents are buried there, along with our aunts and uncles. Athena and I, we're the last of the family left and so, well, y'all know how it is these days with the government taxing everything."

The sister stood up. Boone got his first clear look at her face
.

It was
Dr. K.

"They're brother and sister?"
he whispered to Cedar.

"
Looks like it.”

So the heated conversation
Dr. K had with Blevins after the sodium theft hadn't been a love triangle. Dr. K had called Troy when she heard that Stumpy was a suspect. How did that fit in?

"Ladies and gentlemen,"
Dr. K began, "what my brother is trying to say is, as embarrassing as this is, we had no choice but to sell the property. The inheritance taxes on our parents' home were more than we could afford on our teachers' salaries. We were facing a tax auction until Mr. Landis heard about our problem. He gave us a fair price. More than a fair price."

"What's that got to do with moving your kin?" one of the protesters called out.

"The cemetery would have been moved no matter what," Mr. Blevins called back. "Except it would've been the government doing it."

That doesn’t sound right
, Boone thought. There were at least a hundred graves on the property, so it had to be more than the small family cemetery. North Carolina law was funky sometimes, but he didn't think that even the government could move graves without the family's permission.

He glanced at Mom's lawyer. He didn't raise an objection, and
the crowd looked deflated. A collective shrug swept over them, as if they had all simultaneously murmured, huh? Some wondered aloud how Mr. Blevins could allow his own family to be hauled out of the ground just so he could make a buck.

Across the room, Mom looked puzzled. She conversed openly with her attorney, but the
mic wasn't picking up their voices. Someone had switched it off. The realization seemed to take the fight out of her.

"I reckon that settles it,"
Charlie said. "Public comment is now closed. You folks are welcome to stay, but if you do, you've got to get quiet. Let's move on to the first agenda item."

While he went on about engineer's reports, the crowd quietly left their seats and filed out of the room and into the hallway.
Boone motioned for Cedar to follow.

"That's so bogus,"
Cedar said under her breath.

"What?"

"There were a zillion graves. Mr. Blevins must have a huge family."

"My thoughts exactly."

As they left, Boone turned back to see that Troy Landis and taken his seat. He was still smiling.

“I really hate that pompous ass,” Boone told Cedar when they were outside.
“He acts like he owns the whole county.”

“He sort of does,” Cedar said, hooking her arm through his and steering him to the parking lot.

“Not the people in it,” he said. “So, that’s it for the evening. Want to go someplace private and make out? The barn’s not an option, but I know a quite spot on the beach you might have heard about.”

Cedar punched his arm. “Very funny. And very tempting, but Bragg Fest
starts tomorrow, and I have to make sure my project is perfect for the Olympiad judging.”

“I could help you with it.”

“Distract me from it, you mean.” She put her arms around his neck and lifted herself to tiptoes. “Remember to meet me on the green tomorrow, okay? Don't get occupied with your evidence notebook and lose track of time.”

“You’re amazing, you know that?” he said.

“You’re not bad in a pinch, either, Chief Petty Officer Childress.”

He squeezed her hard in a hug, and then before he could think it or consider it or stop himself, th
e words came out of his mouth, “I love you, Cedar.”

For a long second, then five, then ten, she said nothing. Finally, she slipped out of the hug and gave him a peck on the
cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” he replied and waved back to her as she got in her car and drove away.

He sighed and shook his head slowly. Damn it, he’d done it again. It was Veronica in Japan all over again. More car doors slammed, and more engines started. Boone stepped out of the parking lot and into the shadows of the trees.

He looked up into the night sky. The moon that had cast shadows the past two days was nowhere to be seen, and the stars that had burned so brightly over the beach seemed dim and very far away.

Boone awoke to the smell of fire in the room. At first, he thought it was the nightmare about the ship fire coming back for another visit and covered his face with the pillow.

After
Blevins' revelation at the commission meeting, Mom had left the courthouse a defeated woman. To make matters worse, somebody had let it slip that Abner was in the county holding pen, and she rushed over there to bond him out. She was livid at him for telling Boone and not her. Since it was almost midnight when she got back to the house, she insisted that Abner spend the night in Boone's room and banished her son to the barn.

So
Boone had dragged an old quilt and a too fluffy pillow outside through the darkness to the guest room beside the tack room. He settled in, cold and frustrated, his head like a hornet's nest of thoughts and theories. By the time his mind finally gave up, his body was beyond exhaustion, and he slept like the dead.

Only
the stink of kerosene woke him. Disoriented by the lack of sleep, he threw back the covers. The light coming through the gaps in the wall changed the color of his skin to the orange glow of sunset. He covered his eyes, but one look told him all he needed to know.

Fire!

He sat up straight in bed and gasped. Mistake. He sucked in a lungful of scorching air before his training took over. He dropped back on the bed, then rolled to the floor. On hands and knees he crawled to the door leading outside. Smoke roiled up through a crack in the wall next to the paddock, where the horses whinnied in panic.

The horses!

He pulled open the door and scrambled outside. A burst of cool air hit his face, and he slammed the door to keep from feeding oxygen into room. In the first light of dawn he saw the paddocks nearby. The doors were still shut, the doors barred with two by fours. Boone yanked them off and threw open the doors. The appaloosa mare snorted and then broke. She raced away from the barn with her head down and made for pasture. Inside the other paddock, the gelding reared up, hoofs pawing the air in front of him.

"Out!"
Boone yelled, but the horse refused. It turned its wild eyes toward the smoke, which was pouring down from above. "Come on! Out!"

Boone ran into the empty paddock. He grabbed a coile
d lead rope from the wall. He reached over the planking that separated the stalls and swiped the gelding's flank with the rope. The horse bolted. Once he hit open air, he ran hell-bent for the mare.

There was no time
for Boone to congratulate himself. After taking a quick look at the fire—it was burning in the loft above the paddock—he sprinted down the path to the house. With one leap he was on the porch and through the kitchen door, happy for once that Lamar insisted on leaving the doors unlocked.

"Wake up!"
he bellowed his deep voice ringing up to the loft and down the hallway. "Fire! The barn's on fire!"

He snatched the phone from the wall. Punched 911. "Barn fire at Rivenbark house,"
he told the operator and gave the address.

"Boone!"
Lamar was the first out of bed. He came down the hall pulling on his boots. He was already dressed. "Get your turnouts on. I'll handle the livestock. Mary Harriett, go outside and start the pump!"

"Got it
!" Mom called from the bedroom.

He
ran past Boone and onto the porch.

"The horses are out,"
Boone said, running after him to the vehicles.

"
Julia left the herd out to graze last night." Lamar pulled his gear out off his truck. "There's a two inch hose in the fire shed. Soon as the pump's running, we'll lay down a fog spray. That'll knock the fire down while we haul the equipment out."

"Got it."
Boone snapped the strap on his helmet.

In full gear he ran to the fire shed, an outbuilding Lamar had built
a decade earlier when lightning took out one of the old tobacco barns. Boone had always thought of it an another example of Lamar's paranoia, but now that he was hooking the two-inch hose to a line that ran down to the pond, he was glad his stepfather was a man with foresight. He ran toward the fire, the heavy canvas hose unrolling behind him.

"Pump's on!" Mom called from the side of the house.

Boone barely reached the barn before the hose charged. He twisted the nozzle to set up a fog spray.

Knock it down, knock it down,
Lamar’s voice played in his head. Stay under the fire. Heat goes up. Everything that rises must converge. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.

The Frisco VFD was the first company to respond. Julia pulled up in her truck ahead of Otto, and the engine arrived five minutes later. Julia set up the pumper so Otto and Julia could give the remnants of the barn a good soaking before the next stations arrived.

Boone took the chance to get into full gear. Working with Lamar at his side, he
used the hooligan and a fire axe to spread out the timbers so the water could reach them more easily. They took a break when the vollies from Stanford and Atamasco arrived. While taking a break, Boone checked the trucks that filled up the front field near the pond. No sign of Eugene Loach and his goons.

Good. He didn't want them on th
e property anyway. They were his number one suspects. Burning a barn was a classic Southern gesture of intimidation, like burning switches. It meant shut up or die.

The
crew worked diligently until the morning sun rose. Dawn brought enough light to begin stowing the equipment, along with an eerie silence. The firefighters all seemed to conclude the same thing without talking about it. Someone had attacked one of their own with the very devil they devoted their lives to destroying.

When the last hoses were stowed and the pumper drained, Lamar called the firefighters together. They stood in a loose circle, facing him, their helmets tucked under their arms or dangling loosely in their exhausted hands
.

"I want to say thanks for your time and your hard
—" Lamar paused. He looked around until he spotted Boone sitting on the steps of the galley, his helmet still on and his face dusted with soot. "Boone, come on over here. Like I was saying, thanks for all y’all did for us here today. Mary Harriett and me owe you one."

The vollies nodded and grunted.
Julia patted his belly and said, "You done talking, Cap? My belly says its time to eat."

Lamar laughed, but his mood was cut short when blue lights hit the faces of the group. Boone dropped his face shield and watched Sheriff Hoyt weave his prowler through the maze of pickup trucks. He parked near the house
and killed the lights.

The man enjoys an entrance, Boone thought.

"Surprised to see you out this early," Lamar said when they shook hands in greeting.

The other firefighte
rs stripped their gear, then left one after the other. Julia drove the engine away.

"Mary Harriett called me," Hoyt said. He took a seat on the same steps where Boone had been sitting. "Y'all got any coffee? I like it with a dollop of cream and two spoons of sugar."

Lamar leaned on the stair railing. "Boone, get the sheriff some coffee."

"Yes, Captain," Boone replied. He shucked his turnouts by the door. Inside, Mom was making pancakes and sausages. A pot of coffee was already perking.

"Hoyt ordered coffee," he said.

"Cream's in the fridge, hon."

Boone retrieved it. "He said you called him."

"We'll need a police report for the insurance company."

He poured the coffee into two cups. Outside, Hoyt's voice rose. The sheriff talked with his hands, and the hands were moving faster. Lamar was talking, too, his mandible jutting forward. Boone knew that face. The captain was angry.

"Lamar
likes his black?" Boone asked.

"Yes," Mom said. She flipped a stack of pancakes on a plate. "But he doesn’t drink before he eats. One cup is all you need."

Boone doctored the coffee and took it outside. When he pushed the door open, the men stopped talking. When you kill a conversation by walking into a room, you know that you were the topic of conversation.

"Here," Boone handed Hoyt the cup
.

Hoyt thanked him, then asked, "Boone, exactly where we you when the barn caught fire?"

"In the sleeping area. Asleep."

"How'd you know the barn was on fire?"

"Smoke. Heat."

"You got the horses out mighty fast."

"He's a light sleeper," Lamar said.

Hoyt blew on the coffee to cool it. "How about that
Nagswood fire? You got there early."

"It was engulfed when I arrived," he said. "Are you accusing me of setting our own barn on fire?"

"I'll ask the questions here," Hoyt said. "Now about this Tin City house. You got that call mighty fast, too."

"I was in school dissecting a rat's scrotum when the call came in. You saw me on the high
way yourself with Deputy Pete, and you got there before I did."

Lamar lowered his voice so that it was barely
audible. "That'll be enough, Hoyt. This is Boone, not some goddamn firebug. Somebody burned our barn, but it wasn't him, and you know it."

"Who did then? What accelerant did they use?"
Hoyt said.

"Call the fire marshal. He can tell you once he gets back from vacation."

"He's at a training conference." Hoyt poured the rest of the coffee on the ground and set the cup on the steps. "Too bad your father-in-law's still not in the county jail. I'm sure he could figure out all of this, since he was locked up right next a real arsonist."

"Who's that?" Boone asked as Hoyt returned to his prowler.

"Why, your good friend, of course. Stumpy Meeks.” Hoyt tugged on the brim of his hat and nodded. “Y'all have a nice day."

After breakfast was finished, Boone leaned on the hood of his truck drinking a bottle of beer. He could smell the odor of leftover sweat mixed with wood smoke, the worn cloth of the turnouts, the battered boots that had protected his feet. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"What's wrong?" Mom said. She came around the bed of the truck and took a seat next to him.

"My research was ruined by the fire.” There was more anger in his voice than he had intended. “I know that breaks your heart."

"Actually," she said and leaned on the tailgate next to him, "it does. I watched you pour your heart and soul into
that project. I'm a doctor. My job is to save life, so death seems like, I don't know, failure. Even if I thought your research was disgusting, I'm still proud of the work you did. And you could always start over."

"I wouldn't be
able to get it together in time. I’ll have to hand in the data I have and hope it’s enough to pass the class.”

“You are just like your daddy, you know.”
Mom pointed to the field where five head of Black Angus grazed on a pile of hay Lamar and Julia had set out earlier that morning. “What I liked about your father was the cowboy. Don’t laugh. I know it’s hard to think about a man who now works for an international bank as a cowboy. That’s because you’re only looking at the clothes, not the man who wears them. Close your eyes for a second. Feel the wind blowing? Catch the smell of the hay and the dirt? Now imagine your father on a horse, wearing a Stetson and chaps.”

“Chaps?”

"Wipe that smirk off your face. Imagine that field is the prairie, and there are a thousand head of Angus you’ve got to drive to market, and with the only thing in front of you is the wide-open frontier waiting to be explored. That’s what drew me to your daddy. He was a cowboy, and his whole life was new frontier.”

“So what broke you up?”
His parents had divorced when he was five, and he hardly ever saw his real dad.

“That’s the problem with cowboys. When live for the saddle, you tend to see the rest of the world as a cow. I’m nobody’s cow.”

Boone didn't know what to say, so he said nothing.

"Lamar's proud of you."

"He said that?"

"Lamar doesn't say what he's thinking, you know that. You have to read his signals."

"If he's proud of me, why am I not back on the squad?"

"I guess he thinks you're not ready yet. Or he's not ready yet. In Lamar’s eye, you're
not
the worst kind of firefighter. He saves that spot for the guys who played it safe, who don't do the grunt work or pack gear."

Boone knew that type. They were fire voyeurs, willing to watch, but never willing to step into the fire with his brothers. Last one in, first one out. That kind of guy would get you killed. Which was different from a man willing to get himself killed trying to be a hero. Heroes were dangerous, too. In their own way. He understood that now.