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Lucky is freshly bathedand wearing a big, red ribbon around his neck when the news crew arrives to set up. Sam, who went home to change into his uniform, looks like a movie star under the production lights, and I blush a little, thinking about how good he looks out of his uniform, too.
My staff and I are allowed to watch as long as we agree to be silent, and we hurry to our designated spot as the interviewer picks up his microphone and stands beside Sam.
“Tonight, we bring you a very special update on a local hero and the dog that he saved from a building fire last week. Firefighter Sam Sutton, who rushed inside the building to save Lucky, is here with us. Sam, tell us about that night,” the man starts.
“Well, we were called to a fire in progress in an abandoned building, and I was one of the first to arrive. When I got there, I heard something coming from inside the structure. I wasn’t sure, at first, if it was a dog or a child, so I rushed in to find Lucky scratching on an inner door trying to get out. I pried the door open and scooped him up. He was shaking and crying but still licked my face when I took him in my arms and carried him to safety. When the fire was contained, I took him home with me, and when no one came forward to claim him, I brought him here to Happy Hounds Shelter where Sara Clarkson, the owner, has been caring for him.”
The cameraman zooms in on Lucky, and he howls and wags his tail. Apparently, he also enjoys being in the limelight.
“And has an owner come forward?” the newsman asks.
“Sadly, Lucky hasn’t been reunited with an owner and will soon be placed for adoption.” Sam then looks over at me and adds, “If I could take a minute, I’d like to introduce Sara.”
The production assistant waves at me and points, telling me to get in the shot. I’m mortified, but one of my staffers gives me a nudge to get my legs moving, and I stand beside Sam as he stares intently at the camera and speaks.
“Sara here gives all of her time and resources to finding forever homes for stray and unwanted dogs and, with the help of her volunteers, gives those animals a second chance. She could really use support from the community, so if you want to help Lucky and his friends get the medical care, food, and essentials that they need, please visit the Happy Hounds Shelter website and make a donation today.”
“Sara, would you like to add anything?” the newsman asked, leaning over to give me a mic.
“Um, yes. If you’re looking for a new pet, we have several adoptable dogs ready to go to their forever homes. We’re open daily from nine to six and closed on Sunday. Please come by.”
“Thank you, Sam, Sara, and of course, Lucky. We’re glad to hear that Lucky is safe and in good hands.”
The news crew packs up and leaves while I take Lucky back to his kennel. When I return, Sam is the only person left in the building. He’s holding his phone, his dark eyebrows pulling together. “Sara, the guy who was here the other day looking for his lost dog, where’s his contact information?”
“It’s back here, behind the desk,” I tell him and pull the piece of paper off the corkboard and hand it to him.
He looks at the phone number then back at his phone and says, “We need to go, now. Go get Lucky. He’s coming with us.”
8
The Arsonist
Sam
Ianswer my phone and it takes a moment for the person on the other end to speak.
“Sam Sutton, local hero. It saddens me that you didn’t return my call from this morning,” the man says.
“Who’s this?” I ask, having all but forgotten about the missed call and voicemail from earlier.
“I just saw you on the news and had to tell you what a pathetic piece of shit you are. Winning the hearts of the sentimental idiots by rescuing a dog from a fire. I bet you get hard thinking about what a big hero you are,” he taunts, and I clench my fists.
“I asked who the fuck you are. Too chicken to tell me?” I spit into the phone.
“You think it’s okay to ride my coattails and steal my glory? That makes you pathetic and desperate.” The man continues to chide me.
“I’m gonna ask you one more time, and if you’re a man and not a pussy prank caller, you’ll tell me. Who the fuck are you?” I growl, gripping the phone so tightly I won’t be surprised if it breaks.
“I’m the one whose masterpieces you destroy,” he tells me.
“Are you telling me that you’re the one setting the fires?”
“Bingo.”
“So, why are you calling me? I didn’t ‘destroy your masterpieces’. The whole department did.”
“But they aren’t using me to better their positions. You are. You’re the one whose face is on the news. You’re the one who got a pretty, young girlfriend out of the deal. YOU are trying to steal my glory, so it’s time for me to make this a little more personal for you. Let’s see how quickly you fold when the stakes are higher, closer to home.” His voice is flat, and with the way he’s speaking so nonchalantly about the fires, my temper flashes.
