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“Yes. I know he is. And he is also scared witless.”
Molly laughs. “Sounds like you guys are pretty close.”
“Dex? He’s one of my oldest friends. We trained together at the National Fire Academy, and it was Dex who persuaded me to come down here to cover for him. There’s not much we wouldn’t do for each other.”
There’s a pause in conversation as Molly walks on into the backyard. She turns to face me and says, “So, just a temporary stopover kind of thing?”
“Yep. Just a few weeks, then I’ll be back to the city. It’s all very quaint round here, but I think I’ll be ready for a livelier more happening place again, you know, with more going on, after the peace and quiet of Oak River.”
“Peace and quiet?” Molly shakes her head. “You haven’t met the neighbors on the other side.”
I’m not sure if Molly is joking or not, but I feel I’ve taken enough of her time and the guys in the truck will surely be getting restless.
“Whatever you decide, Cam Wickham, it’s been a pleasure to meet you. Mostly. And if you want any book recommendations, please come and find me at the library.”
“You’re a librarian?”
“That’s right. I hold the key to knowledge and imagination.” Molly winks then walks to her house and up the wooden steps. “Goodnight Cam and thanks again for the ride in the firetruck.”
I stand for a few moments and watch Molly as she finds her key, unlocks the door, and lets herself in. Part of me wants to follow, but then I remember the guys in the big red firetruck. I shake the idea from my head and climb into the cab.
“I’d say that was a sealed deal, right there, Mr Wickham,” Dex says from the passenger seat, slapping me on my shoulder as I start up the engine. “What do you say, Charlie?”
Dex flashes his smile at Charlie on the back seat who responds with a low, “Uh-huh.”
“We’ll see, gentlemen,” I say checking the rearview, as I push the truck into gear, slowly inching out onto the road. “Like I said, there are other properties in town that I’d like to take a look at before I decide where I’m going to be staying.”
Dex turns to Charlie in the back.
“Yeah right, buddy.”
Chapter 3
Molly
As soon as I’m safely behind the closed front door of my house, I laugh.
“Molly, you idiot!” I reprimand myself. The wink. What was that? The ‘key to knowledge and imagination’? Really, girl? Get. A. Grip. A ride home with handsome firefighters and I have gone to pieces. I tell myself to stop behaving like a giddy teenager and get it together. I drop my coat and kick off my shoes but I’m still standing in the hallway. I give myself a shake which would have looked very strange if anyone was looking in through the window. Taking a deep breath, I look at my reflection in the hall mirror and pull a face at the stupid girl who is pulling a face at me. My heart races with a confusing blend of anticipation and wariness. It was just a ride home. Let. It. Go.
As I’m having this thought and still staring at my reflection, there’s a knock at the door. My first thought is, Oh, it must be Cam. So, I fling open the door as if I’m Doris Day. Thankfully, it’s not Cam. It’s Ernie Thompson, the neighbor down the street.
“Sorry to bother you, Molly. And I wouldn’t but… is Sinatra here? Only he’s gone again.”
“Hi, Ernie. Er no. I’ve only just got home.”
“I know. I saw you with the fire department. You seemed pretty pleased about it.”
I open my mouth to explain about the fire and getting a ride home but think better of it and close my mouth up again. Ernie clears his throat and continues.
“He’s been missing since breakfast, and I know he likes to go on his little adventures.” Ernie looks sheepish and rubs the back of his neck. My eyes dart to the ceiling recalling a few of Sinatra’s little adventures; all the times he has escaped from Ernie’s yard. “But it’s dark and I’m worried now.” Ernie’s unruly eyebrows point up to his receding hairline. He reminds me of one of the Seven Dwarves in Snow White when they gather around the grave: a picture of sadness and miserable loss. “He’s only a little dog.” Ernie sniffs. “He thinks he’s big and tough, but I’m scared for him.”
“Oh, Ernie.” My elderly neighbor is clearly worried. His hands are shaking, and tears are welling up in his watery blue eyes. “That dog of yours, huh?” I dump my bag. Then reach down to the floor for my coat, shoving my arms in the sleeves as I take a flashlight from the shelf under the mirror. I slip my shoes back on.
“Come on, Ernie. Do you have those treats he can’t resist?” Ernie nods and rattles the packet in his pocket. “Don’t worry. We’ll find him.”
It wasn’t the first time Sinatra, a small dog of dubious parentage – definitely dachshund, possibly whippet - had taken off. But I decide that now is probably not the right time to remind Ernie that he really should get his fence Sinatra-proofed, instead of patching up holes and filling in burrows. The little scallywag has an insatiable curiosity and spectacular breaking-out-of-jail skills. He’s a devil in dog's clothing and my neighbor, Ernie, loves him.
Since moving to Bristol Lane, I have been inadvertently involved in Sinatra’s misadventures and misdemeanors. I have wrestled stolen washing from him in my backyard. I have chased him down the street because he wanted to get friendly with a very pretty poodle who was passing by. He slipped out of his collar and charged off after her. He stole a string of prime pork sausages from a specialty meat stall at the weekly farmers’ market. Everyone chased him that time. And he almost caused a road accident when he shot out, onto the street, heading for home. And it’s not only food that goes missing when Sinatra is around. Mrs Bevan, Ernie’s neighbor on the other side, has lost countless items that, miraculously, turn up in Ernie’s yard. Sinatra collects things from other people like trophies: shoes, belts, wallets, keys, and garden ornaments. Other people’s things that all need to be washed and returned to their rightful owners.
