Spontaneous Combustion Read online

  Shannon felt like saying that at this moment, talking about her job was right up there with sticking pins in her eyeballs. Instead, she did her best to be polite, and ended up agreeing to an interview the following day. Might as well get it over with.

  “We’ll want photographs of you at the station,” Melissa said. “I know your chief said you’re starting days off, but maybe you wouldn’t mind going over there—”

  “Nope, that would be fine for photos. But I’d prefer doing the interview at my place.” She knew the guys. They’d find endless excuses to listen in. She gave the woman her address, thinking that she’d have agreed to almost anything just to get off the phone. She needed to use the bathroom.

  When Melissa finally hung up, the damn thing rang again almost at once, and this time Shannon let the machine pick up as she headed down the hall.

  Behind her, she heard her brother Sean say, “Shannon, are you there? I don’t know if you heard, but that damn warehouse reignited. The word’s out that it was—”

  Shannon snatched up the phone just in time to hear Sean say, “Arson.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “SEAN? I’m here, talk to me. What happened?” Shannon could feel adrenaline pumping. Her stomach hurt all of a sudden.

  Having a fire reignite was a black eye for the entire fire department, but particularly for her and the other truckies, whose job was to see that such a thing never occurred. In her head, she started frantically reviewing what they’d done.

  Sean’s voice was somber. “There was an explosion just after ten this morning. It set off a new blaze. We just got back to the station.”

  Shannon felt herself tense. She knew in her gut there was bad news coming.

  “Dan and Sam Prophet were there when the thing went off.” Sam Prophet was the arson squad investigator.

  “Oh, no. Oh, Lordy, Sean.” Shannon placed a hand over her pounding heart. “Are they—”

  “They’re in hospital. Dan’s got a concussion, contact burn to his side—not good but not too bad. Sam’s in worse shape. He has a compound fracture of his leg, dislocated arm, six-inch gash on his shoulder. They’re both lucky to be alive at all. They were close to the blast when it went off. Fortunately, we got them out in time, because within minutes it turned into an inferno.”

  Shannon swallowed hard. “I just don’t get it. What caused an explosion?”

  “Not what…who? Sam figures an arsonist. Apparently he now thinks the blaze yesterday was arson, as well. There’ll probably be no way of telling because this one today burned pretty hard before we got it out. They’re sending in a bomb squad specialist anyway, to investigate.”

  “Anybody we know?”

  “Nora Keyes. She’s a detective with the police department.”

  “I’ve never met her. I hope she finds out who’s doing this.”

  “Me, too. Gotta go, sis. I haven’t even cleaned up yet.”

  “Thanks for calling me, Sean. I’m going over to the hospital right now to see how they are.”

  “Call me back and let me know how they’re doing. We’re all pretty concerned about them down here.”

  Shannon promised.

  Controlled chaos pretty much described the scene at the hospital. Whenever a firefighter was injured, fellow members who were off duty gathered immediately to see what they could do to help. The waiting room was packed with firemen.

  Sam was still in surgery, but after Shannon had been there a few minutes, an orderly pushed Dan, on a gurney, out of a treatment room. His dark brown hair was singed along one side. His ears were fiery red, and there were raw, red burns on his cheeks as well as his arms and hands.

  Shannon felt her gut contract. The firemen were like family, and it hurt to see one of them injured. It always brought home hard that their job was risky.

  In a moment, Dan’s stretcher was surrounded. Shannon hung back a little.

  “Chief, hey, man, how you doing? Anything we can do? Anything you need? Something you want done at home?” Voices crisscrossed one another. Everyone wanted to help, needed to show their support and their affection.

  “Hello, guys.” Dan’s voice was rough from the smoke he’d inhaled. “Thanks for coming down. I’m fine. I want to get out of here, but they’re making me stay a couple more hours. You wanna do something, send Sam good thoughts. He needs them more than me.”

  Shannon found a moment to silently put a hand on the fire chief’s arm before the orderlies took him off to his room. Then, along with the others, she waited for word about Sam. It took the best part of an hour before a doctor finally came and told everyone that Sam was out of the operating room. His fractured leg had been repaired successfully, and he was in recovery.

  There was nothing more to be done, so Shannon drove home, thinking about the fires, sickened by the fact that two men she respected and worked with had come close to dying because of arson.

  Why? Who would do such a thing? Was the second explosion a deliberate attempt at covering up whatever had caused the first fire? What had been in the warehouse? What could be important enough to warrant a near homicide?

  Drugs, probably, but there was no way of knowing for sure. She thought again of the man in the silver. This arson thing put a whole new spin on both his presence and his disappearance. What was he doing there, and why had he been so elusive?

  More important, where the heck was he now?

  At home, Shannon fed the dogs and took them for a little walk. As she headed down the sidewalk, she knew the three of them looked ridiculous, and somehow that lightened her mood. Gigantic Cleopatra minced along like the petite, svelte little dog she believed herself to be, while tiny Pepsi swaggered and growled and postured as if he were the Saint Bernard.

  They made her laugh, and temporarily, she forgot about arson and injuries and men in silver suits, giving herself over to the perfection of the California day and the ridiculous antics of her animals.

  It wasn’t until bedtime that she remembered the interview she’d promised to do the following morning. She lay awake then, wondering if the interviewer would question her about the warehouse fires, and worrying over what she ought to reveal. Should she mention the man in the silver? She wouldn’t say anything about arson. But what if the interviewer asked her why the second fire had ignited? She couldn’t make up her mind how to answer that one, and it took hours before she finally slept.

  SHE SHOULD HAVE GUESSED from her perky voice that Melissa Child would be a tiny, fashionable woman with meticulous makeup. That brand of fellow female always made Shannon tense, because she and they were at opposite ends of the feminine spectrum.

  In contrast to Shannon’s thick black braid, Melissa had a short and carefully careless streaky blond hairdo. In a fit of fashion nerves, Shannon had pulled on her newest jeans. Melissa wore a pair of cream silk cargo pants that Shannon couldn’t help but covet. The woman also had eyes the exact color of violets. Was she wearing colored contacts? Shannon couldn’t tell.

  Melissa had arrived at Shannon’s house exactly on time, and she even managed to smile when Cleopatra put her massive head on the cream silk pants and drooled.

  The interviewer was a little less forgiving when Pepsi lifted a leg beside her fashionable high-heeled sandals.

  Fortunately, Shannon intervened before more than a few drops had hit their mark. While she exiled the dogs to the backyard, Melissa set up her tape recorder at the kitchen table. As she started the recorder, Shannon served coffee and the cinnamon buns she’d bought.

  Shannon’s stomach did flip-flops as Melissa clipped a mike to her shirt. Lordy, she hated this. What should she say when the warehouse fires came up?

  But the first question was easy. Melissa simply asked how long she’d lived in Courage Bay.

  Shannon took a deep breath and realized her voice was actually working.

  “I was born here,” she explained. “My family’s been here for generations. In fact, there’s a family legend that says one of my great-great-grandmothers o
n my father’s side was a high-born member of the Chumash native people.”

  Melissa’s eyebrows rose and she said enthusiastically, “So you have native heritage. I should have guessed from those wonderful cheekbones and your lovely black hair. Where do the amazing blue eyes come from?”

  “My great-great-grandfather was Irish.”

  “Ahh. The eyes and the creamy skin.” Melissa sighed. “Lucky you.”

  Shannon wanted to squirm, but she remembered what Lisa had said about compliments. Just say thank you, her friend had advised.

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re a beautiful woman, but I expect you know that already,” Melissa purred. “Now, what made you decide to become a firefighter?”

  “It’s genetic,” Shannon told her, relieved beyond measure to talk about something besides her hair and skin. “I’m a fire department brat. Firefighting is the family business. My father was a fireman all his life. He retired six years ago. My brother Patrick was a fire chief, and my brother Sean’s on the opposite shift to mine. He’s actually a smoke jumper, but he also works at the firehouse.”

  “So you knew as a teenager what you wanted to do?”

  “Nope.” Shannon shook her head. “I went to college and sort of thought I wanted to go into medicine.” That had made her mother ecstatic. More than anything, Mary had wanted her daughter to be a doctor. “So I took maths and sciences, and when it came time to really make up my mind, I realized I didn’t want to spend seven years training. I did want to help people, though, so I became an EMT, an emergency medical technician. I did that a couple years and realized I really wanted to be a fireman. The EMT training was good on my résumé.”

  “Was it tough to qualify?”

  Shannon was feeling a little more relaxed. This was familiar ground. “Yeah, it sure was. There were five thousand applicants for thirty positions.” She still felt incredible gratitude that she’d made the cut—and remembered that her mother had burst into tears when she’d given her the news. Not joyful tears, either.

  “The written exam isn’t too bad. It’s a general intelligence thing, but the physical is another story. I’m lucky, because I’m really strong. I had to train hard to complete the physical requirements, but most guys do, too. The physical part of the exam is tough for everybody.”

  Melissa nodded. She tipped her head to one side like a curious parakeet. “So what did your training consist of?”

  “Running upstairs with a hundred pound dummy over my shoulder, dragging weighted duffels across a gymnasium. Scaling walls. Lifting weights. Shinnying up ropes. Doing push-ups and pull-ups. Running, short and long distances.” Shannon grinned and added, “And lots of vomiting, just from sheer physical exertion.”

  Melissa pursed her mouth and whistled. “Impressive. I can’t even do one push-up myself. And once you got through the preliminary testing, what then?”

  “Three months at the training academy.”

  “What do you wear to work?” Melissa asked, her violet eyes traveling up and down Shannon’s jeans and simple blue T-shirt.

  “My uniform, with my turnout gear over the top when we go on a call. Sweat clothes for working out. And the first thing I do at the beginning of my shift is put my turnout clothes and all my gear near the truck, so I can grab them fast when there’s an alarm.”

  “What’s turnout gear?”

  “Protective boots, pants, jacket and helmet. And a breathing mask for heavy smoke.”

  “And you work twenty-four hour shifts. Where do you sleep?”

  “In the bunk room with everyone else. There’s dividers between the beds, but no private rooms.”

  “And do you have your own bathroom?”

  “Nope, it’s not practical with two women and nineteen men. Well, usually nineteen. We’re one man short at the moment.” The position had been posted and the crew was waiting to see who’d fill it.

  “That must be a stretch for you gals, sharing a toilet with all those guys.”

  Why were people always so interested in these basic things? Sooner or later, almost every woman Shannon talked to got around to the sleeping arrangements and the bathroom facilities at the firehouse. “There’re two bathrooms, but only one common shower room. All of them have a two-sided sign on the door, the male and female symbols. Dana and I just turn the sign over if we’re in there.”

  “Do you have to do more household chores than the men? More cooking, for instance?”

  Shannon laughed and shook her head. “Everyone takes a turn. The only time you do more cooking is when you’re a probie, and that’s a year of challenge all around, but everyone’s treated the same when they first come on. You’re always learning or drilling or cleaning, and you’re not called by your name. It’s ‘boot’ or ‘probie,’ or ‘hey, you.’ It’s pretty cruddy. But it’s not gender selective.”

  The questions so far had been a little frivolous, Shannon mused, but they were probably valid. Maybe readers would be interested in what she wore and where she peed. So far, she hadn’t had to say anything about the warehouse or the man in the silver.

  “How does it feel to be in the minority, one of two women among so many men?” Melissa asked next.

  It was another question women asked her all the time. Shannon smiled and shrugged. “We’re a team,” she explained. “Male and female doesn’t really enter into it. We have work to do, and we do it. We’re a tight knit group. We have to be, because often our very lives are dependent on our buddies.”

  “Have you ever experienced sexual harassment on the job?”

  “Nope,” she lied. “A few of the older guys aren’t used to having a woman around, and they gave Dana and me a bad time until they saw that we could do our job, but they give all the probies a bad time, so that wasn’t sexual. It was ordinary. Now I’m just one of the crew. I’m sure Dana would say the same.” She’d guessed Melissa would ask that question, and she knew she couldn’t be honest about it.

  For the most part, it was true that the guys didn’t harass her. But there’d been one man who’d run his hand over her butt in a suggestive way. More than once, he’d made a point of brushing up against her boobs. And he’d deliberately come into the shower room when she’d had the sign prominently displayed. It put her in a really tough position, because he was the battalion chief, Victor Odom.

  Odom was way out of line, but what was she supposed to do or say to the guy? He had the power to make her life hell, so she gritted her teeth and ignored it. He wasn’t around the station all that much, so she could stay pretty much out of his way, which was good. The slimeball gave her the creeps.

  “And what about your social life?”

  Shannon shrugged. “What about it?”

  “C’mon now,” Melissa said with a suggestive wink. “A beautiful single woman like you, and all that beefcake around for so many hours every day. Aren’t you tempted once in a while? Don’t the guys hit on you?”

  “I’ve been asked out on dates, sure. Once in a while I’ve dated firemen, but not often.” Truth to tell, she’d scared a lot of guys off. When she’d first come to the firehouse, one of the other probies had asked her out and kept asking, even when she politely and then not so politely turned him down. She’d finally lost patience and said she’d go out with him if he beat her in an arm wrestling competition. He lost, which resulted in his nickname—Nubs, which stood for no upper body strength. And of course she’d been labeled Biceps.

  The moniker had stuck, and the story was still told over and over again among the firemen. She wasn’t about to tell it to Melissa, however. And she could only hope that no one else would.

  “It’s not a good idea to date the guys you work with,” she said. “If it ends badly it can cause repercussions, because we live in close quarters and have to see one another all the time.”

  “Are there hard and fast rules in the fire department about—what do they call it in the military—fraternizing?”

  “I don’t know of any rules of that sort. I’
ve heard of female firefighters marrying male firefighters. I’m just not personally involved with any of the guys.”

  Melissa gave her a look, switched off the recorder and then leaned in close. “This is off the record.”

  Oh, lordy. She was going to ask about the warehouse fires and the guy in the silver. Shannon tried to stay calm.

  “You’re one gorgeous, sexy lady, Shannon O’Shea.” Melissa opened her mouth a little and ran her pink tongue around her glistening lips. “How about having a drink with me when this is done?”

  Omigod. It finally dawned on Shannon that Melissa was hitting on her.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “SORRY, NO, I CAN’T. I’m, umm…” Shannon knew she was stammering like an idiot, but how did a person phrase this tactfully? She couldn’t just challenge the woman to an arm wrestle. She felt hysterical giggles threatening and did her best to control them, finally managing to blurt out the bald truth.

  “I’m heterosexual, Melissa. Totally.”

  “Bummer.” Melissa wrinkled her nose. “Well, if you ever want to try the sunny side of the street…” She pulled out a card and scribbled on the back. “My private number. And a guaranteed good time.”

  Shannon took it and shoved it in the pocket of her jeans. She’d tear it up at the first opportunity, but right now, she had to get through the rest of this debacle with some show of grace.

  There were a few more questions, and then Shannon felt gratitude and relief when Melissa said, “I think that’s about it.” But then she added, “Could we take some photographs of you down at the station, Shannon? We should have some of you in your uniform and also in your—what did you call it again?—your turnout gear. I’ll have Becky, our staff photographer, meet us there.”

  Feeling like a prisoner being led to the gallows, Shannon reluctantly agreed.

  When they got to the hall, of course, the guys all found excuses to hang around the area where the photography was taking place, especially when Becky turned out to be a willowy green-eyed blonde in a pair of short shorts. And of course they had no way of knowing that the lovely Melissa wasn’t impressed by either their pecs or their patter.