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33
Sean pushed against his father’s arms and shouted, “Grandma!”
Savich set him down, and his son ran to his grandmother, Senator Robert Monroe smiling really big at her side.
Minna Savich scooped Sean up and squeezed him so tight he yipped. She looked into her son’s eyes and saw huge relief, mirroring her own. She looked him over, then Sherlock, and closed her eyes a moment, squeezing Sean again. “I never prayed so hard in my life.”
Senator Robert Monroe looked toward the smoke still pluming upward, then back at Savich and Sherlock, and slowly nodded. He patted Sean’s small shoulder. Sean looked up. “I’m glad you brought Grandma over, Uncle Bob.”
Savich started to say something, but Minna said over Sean’s head, “You have Bob to thank for our getting here so fast. One of his friends at Metro called him on his ham radio to alert him about a 911 call to your home, Dillon. He picked me up, and here we are.”
Savich felt surprise at the brief stab of resentment he felt at seeing his mom with Senator Monroe, though they’d been together for several years now. He remembered he’d once disliked the senator on principle—he wasn’t Savich’s dad—but he’d proved he could stick and he loved Sean. Savich shook the senator’s hand. “Thank you for helping, sir, and for bringing my mom.”
Sean was leaning back in Minna’s arms, talking a mile a minute, about how Mama ran back into the burning house and Uncle Griffin, too, to get his great-grandma’s painting, you know, the really big one over the fireplace. His basketball was still stuck in his closet—if it got real hot would it melt? Would it still bounce? Minna listened with half an ear, though Sean would never realize it, her eyes on Sherlock. Her face was streaked with smoke, but her breathing seemed fairly normal, thank heaven.
Senator Monroe scooped up a barking Astro and held him up for Sean to hug.
Sherlock said, “So Sean’s told you most of it already, except that someone dumped gasoline in through a smashed kitchen window and outside the kitchen door. The firefighters say they contained it in the kitchen and saved the rest of the house. And we got out all safe and sound, didn’t we, Sean?” She hugged him, couldn’t help it. It had been too close, too close.
“You’re saying someone set fire to your house? It was arson?” Minna’s voice climbed two octaves as the enormity of it hit her.
“Yes. Our firefighter neighbor told me we’ll have an arson inspector and the police department working together on it.”
Minna put her arm around Sherlock, Sean between them, hugged them both close. “You and Dillon will catch the people who did this.”
“You can bet on it,” Sherlock said. “We’re working two current cases. You know there’s a connection to one of them.”
Senator Monroe said, “At least you won’t have any problems with the insurance company. I’m a senator, and you’re FBI. Do you think they’d want to mess with either of us?”
For the first time that night, both Savich and Sherlock grinned.
Minna said, “Bob’s house in Hannibal, Missouri, burned down a couple of years ago—ancient wiring that finally gave up the ghost. Bob knows exactly how to deal with them.” She saw Ethan Brothers, the family insurance agent, speaking with a firefighter, and gave him a big shark smile. Minna added, “You’ll come to my house tonight. We’ll see to clothes and whatever you need tomorrow.” She drew Sherlock and now Savich into her arms, sandwiching Sean again. “When Bob called me about the fire, I was so scared.” Her voice caught, and she began to cry.
It was Savich who held her close and whispered in her ear he loved her while Sean patted her face. “Grandma, please don’t cry. Are you sad because you weren’t here and Mama had to carry me down the stairs?”
Minna sniffed, swallowed. “Maybe after she carried you down, she’d have come back for me.”
“Mama’s real strong. She could do it.”
“Here now, Minna,” Senator Monroe said, “tears are for sad occasions. Most of the house will be good as new once it’s repaired. And everyone is all right. As for the man who set that fire, his days are numbered.”
Savich found himself looking at the people he loved, finally accepting that they were safe and unharmed. He felt so thankful it smothered his rage, at least in this moment. It wasn’t important right now. He had things to do.
He called Ben Raven, who told him their people and the arson investigator would set up a forensic team. He accepted a check from Ethan Brothers to cover short-term living expenses. He made the rounds of their neighbors, thanked them for their care, and where did anyone get doughnuts this time of night? He listened to their outrage at someone setting fire to his house, and underneath it he heard their fear that something far worse could have happened, maybe to them. He knew there was no way to reassure them, except to find the person who’d done this. He walked with Captain Ells, the fire chief, and Luke Mason to the back of the house and looked into his burned kitchen. The appliances were scarred and black, but still in one piece. His once-proud coffee machine, what was left of it, was melted into the counter. The cabinets, table, and chairs had burned to cinders. All the dishes, pots, and pans were scattered, breaking where they’d dropped, or melted. The beautiful oak floor was still intact, and amazingly, he saw a single black mug lying on its side in the sink, unharmed. It was his gift from Sean last Christmas. MY DAD was written on it.
Savich looked up at the ribbons of black smoke still drifting slowly upward out of what was once their kitchen. For the first time, he realized how noxious the smell was and knew it couldn’t be good for Sean, or any of them.
When he, Luke Mason, and Captain Ells rejoined his family, Savich shook the firefighters’ hands and thanked them for saving his house. Ells said, “You’ll get this figured out, Agent Savich. Right now, though, it’s time to take care of your family.” Griffin gave him a doughnut. Ells laughed and ate it. “Sorry, guys, here come the media. Looks like you’re newsworthy, Agent Savich.”
The media was all they needed. Savich hadn’t even thought of them and was surprised they’d come. How did they know so fast? One of the firefighters or dispatchers, no doubt. Three reporters and their cameramen piled out of their cars and vans, all of them homing in on him, questions flying from six feet away.
