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“You’re breaking up, Cal. Say again.”
Hurrying in the direction of home, I skidded a bit on the now-slick trail, hoping I wouldn’t fall on my ass and wind up covered in mud. I didn’t have the time.
The house was dark. The storm had knocked out the electricity, probably all over Lake Bluff. The phones would be ringing off the hook at the station, where at least we had a generator. I don’t know why people thought the sheriff’s department could do anything, but whenever we lost power the switchboard lit up to tell us all about it.
“Grace.” Cal’s voice was much clearer now that I’d escaped the interference of the towering pines. “Look to the north.”
I squinted, then frowned at the orange glow blooming against the midnight sky, right about where that weird flash of sparks would have landed.
“I’m on my way.” I hurried into the house.
With no electricity and no moon spilling in through the windows, the place seemed foreign. Corners of furniture reached out and smacked my shins. I could stop and light a candle, try to find a flashlight, although it probably wouldn’t have any working batteries, but I was possessed by a sense of urgency.
I kept seeing that orange glow in my head, and I didn’t like it. Forest fires were dangerous. They could sweep down the side of a mountain and right through a town. They’ve been known to jump highways and waterways, leaving behind acres of blackened stumps and devastated dreams.
I stumbled up the stairs to my room, found a towel, tossed the damp robe into the tub, then put on the same uniform I’d just taken off. As I shoved my .40-caliber Glock into the holster, I stepped onto the second-floor landing. The window rattled, and I turned in that direction.
A great black shadow loomed, and my fingers tightened on the grip of the gun. Wings beat against the glass; a beak tapped. I couldn’t catch my breath, and when I did I emitted a choking gasp that frightened me almost as badly as the bird had.
Then the thing was gone, and I was left staring at the rain running down the windowpane. How odd. Birds didn’t usually fly during bad weather.
Heading downstairs, I dismissed the strange behavior of the wildlife in my concern for Lake Bluff and its citizens. I hoped the deluge had put out any fire caused by the lightning, but I had to be sure.
I ran through the rain and jumped into my squad car, then headed down the long lane that led to the highway. Once there, I hit the lights and the siren. I wanted everyone who might be stupid enough to be out right now to see and hear me coming.
My headlights reflected off the pavement, revealing sheets of water cascading over the road ahead of me. The trees bent at insane angles. My wipers brushed twigs, leaves, and pine needles off my windshield along with the rain. I glanced in my rearview mirror just as a huge tree limb slammed onto the road behind me.
I fumbled with the radio. “I have a ten-fifty-three on the highway just north of my place. Tree limb big enough to jackknife a semi.”
“Ten-four, Sheriff.”
My dispatcher, Jordan Striker, was mature beyond her twenty years and as sharp as the stilettos she insisted on wearing to work. She was Cal’s daughter, and while the two of them didn’t see eye-to-eye on much, they shared a sense of responsibility to the community that I admired.
Jordan’s mom had hung around Lake Bluff after the divorce, but the instant Jordan turned eighteen, she was gone. I never did hear where.
Jordan dreamed of attending Duke University. She had the grades but not the money, which is how she’d ended up working for me.
“I’ll send a car as soon as I can,” she continued. “Everyone’s out on calls. Storm’s something else.”
“Try the highway crew. We need to get that tree off the road. Some dumb ass who doesn’t have the sense to stay in during a mess like this will run aground on the thing, and then we’ll have a pileup.”
“The world is full of dumb asses,” Jordan agreed.
As I said, wise beyond her years.
I continued toward the area where I’d seen the orange glow. The sparks had appeared to fall near Brasstown Bald, the highest peak in the spine of mountains known as Wolfpen Ridge. Despite the name, there were no wolves in the Blue Ridge, hadn’t been for centuries.
Static spilled from my radio, along with Cal’s voice. “Grace, take the turn just past Galilean Drive. Careful, it’s a swamp back here.”
I followed his directions to the end of what would have been a dirt road but was now a mud puddle. Illuminated by the flare of headlights from his squad car, Cal wore a yellow rain slicker and the extremely ugly hat that came with our uniform. A hat I never wore unless I had to.
With a sigh I slipped into my own slicker and slapped the wide-brimmed, tree-bark brown Stetson wannabe on top of my still-damp hair, then joined Cal at the edge of the tree line. “Where’s the fire?”
“Not sure. I saw it. So did you. So did everyone in a mile radius. But by the time I got here, nothing.”
Considering the wind and the rain, the fire had probably gone out. However, the proximity of the town required us to be certain. All we needed was for the thickness of the trees to protect one small ember, which would smolder and burst into flames the instant we turned our backs.
“You sure this is the place?”
