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She pulled a chair to the spotting scope and continued looking north. A flash of light caught her eye and she focused on it. A four-wheeler bounced along the Forest Service trail, and fire bloomed in its wake. She refocused on the rider—fire started underneath their outstretched hand. A drip torch! The rider was deliberately setting the fires, using the tool wildland firefighters used to set backfires when they had to. She dialed 911 and reported the position and direction, which was too close to her property. Then she dialed Tom. “It’s arson. Someone on a four-wheeler is using a drip torch, and they’re coming this way. I’ve reported it, and they’re sending law enforcement. But the local fire and police departments are all responding to Gold Creek first for evacuation notifications. The fires are already growing there.”
“I heard that on the scanner.” Tom’s voice was urgent but calm. “We’re notifying the neighbors and moving the cows to the river. Are you staying there or coming down to help?”
She tracked the four-wheeler. “I think I’d better stay for a while, so I can tell the police the criminal’s location. The 911 operator told me she’d pass my number to the responding officers. And once they’re in range, my cameras will record for evidence.” Drip torches were common in the area; a lot of ranchers and farmers used them to burn fields in the spring, too. Unless law enforcement caught the person in the act, the arsonist could drop the torch and speed away, never to be found.
“Okay. Be careful, and if it looks bad, don’t wait too long. We can replace the house, but you’re irreplaceable.”
She wanted to join Tom, but she had an obligation to help catch the criminal. The fire could burn not only her place, but the Rocking B Ranch, their neighbors across the street, and well beyond that, if conditions were bad. The sooner they stopped the arsonist, the easier the fire would be to contain. Her house was fairly safe—it would take a tornado of fire to overcome her protections. But those did happen. “Be careful. The cows are replaceable, too. I love you.”
“I love you, too. See you soon.”
She watched the four-wheeler, fire spewing in its wake. If only she had a way to record from the scope! But she didn’t, and in the end, it didn’t matter because they were rolling closer with every second.
Her phone rang. “This is Deputy Smith. Am I speaking with Victoria Meadows?” His voice was high-pitched and grated like nails on a chalkboard.
“Yes, please call me Wiz.”
The wail of a siren was loud in the background, but she thought she heard a sniff. “Right. Are you still tracking the four-wheeler?”
“Yes, I am. He’s just turned from the crest trail on to the connector trail that goes to the Rocking B Ranch Road. I live at the top of the road.”
“Copy that. I’m about ten mikes, oops, sorry, minutes out from your location, on the Eastside Highway.”
“I understand the military lingo. Be aware that the Rocking B Ranch is moving their cows to the river, so you may get blocked temporarily. If that happens, please turn off the lights and siren or you’ll panic them.”
“Yeah, I know the drill. They may not be the only ones, so it may take me longer than my ETA.”
“Copy. Did you want to keep the line open, or shall I call you with relevant updates?”
“Text me. I have to notify residents along the way.”
“Copy. Out.” Wiz hung up the phone, shuddering. The situation was nerve-racking. She didn’t like being separated from Tom and Dad, and for some reason, that deputy’s voice sent shivers down her spine. She’d heard it before, but she didn’t know where.
She watched the ORV get closer, lighting the fires closer together the nearer they got to her property. Was the arsonist targeting her, the Rocking B, or something else? Or was the person mentally disturbed? Or an insurance scammer? She had no way to know, but whatever the reason, the perpetrator was succeeding. Plumes of black smoke billowed into the sky to the south, growing higher and bigger. If the wind shifted, the whole valley could go up in flames. She put her camera to the lens of the spotting scope and snapped some pictures. The person wore a plain black helmet and military camouflage clothing. Neither were unusual here, although a lot of riders didn’t wear helmets. But the use of a drip torch implied someone who burned fields or forests on a regular basis. Which could be just about anyone who lived in the local area, since Montanans still burned fields in the spring and lots of people had wildland firefighting experience.
A text came in from Tom. “Cows and horses gathered in the west field. Going back the house for the tractor and emergency packs.” Wiz sent him a heart in return. They had all their critical records and keepsakes packed in bins, along with basic supplies in bags. Hers were in fire-safe vaults, but she had a pre-packed bug-out bag. Being ready for an evacuation was part of the price of living in Montana.
Her phone rang—the deputy. “Yes, Deputy Smith?”
“Hey, I’m at your gate. Where’s the perp?”
She checked the spotting scope. “Still on the connector trail, up in the forest. Seems to have slowed down.” She brought up the camera on her gate. The SUV was the right color and had the right badge on the side but didn’t have lights. The deputy’s face was shadowed by the interior and his hat.
“Huh. I can’t get up there in the patrol car. Can I come up and look?”
The man’s voice made her skin crawl, but she didn’t know why. She didn’t want him in her house but didn’t have a good reason to keep him out, either. “I’m not sure what good it will do you. The person is wearing a helmet. I can send you a picture.”
“I need to see how fast he’s traveling and how he’s riding. I know a lot of ORV people, and I know how they sit their machines. You do want to catch this guy, right?”
She shivered. The combination of impatient arrogance and an odd gloating tone set her back up. She had a bad feeling about the man, but he was law enforcement. “Of course I do. I’ll open the gates. Park in front of the house, and walk straight through the house toward the kitchen. The stairs are between the dining room and the kitchen. You’ll have to climb two stories.”
“See you soon.” The phone went dead.
She couldn’t pin her nervousness down. A stranger in her house was difficult, but her uneasiness went far beyond that. She made sure her internal and external cameras were recording and the video was uploading to the cloud, via her normal internet and her backup. The man entered her house; his uniform shirt strained across his large belly, and his hat shaded his face. He wore a standard police-style belt with a pistol, taser, and a radio. He looked the part, but something was off.
She checked all her weapons and opened the small pistol safe built into the observation deck wall at the far end from the stairs. She turned, facing the stairs, the spotting scope to her right, the open safe behind her, and her weapon loose in her holster. In her left hand, she held her phone a little behind her leg, with two nines entered and her thumb on the last nine.
Footsteps plodded on the stairs, then heavy breathing echoed too. The deputy wasn’t in shape if two stories made him pant. She shook out her right hand. Some thought she was paranoid, but she was still alive, and she’d learned to trust her instincts. Or maybe she hadn’t; she shouldn’t have let the man in.
