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MAGGIE KENNEDY-O’KEEFE
Tuesday, June 16, 2020
Last night, after finding Shaun’s name in the interview transcripts, I couldn’t sleep. That and Shaun’s less-than-enthusiastic reaction to me taking on Eve’s case had me tossing and turning all night. Could he have seen or heard something that might lead to Eve’s killer?
And I had forgotten about my ultrasound appointment. How could I have forgotten something so important? I had been counting down the hours until I could see the comma curve of her spine, count her fingers and toes, hear the pulsing thrum of her heart. Already this case has me addled, forgetting the most important things.
When I woke this morning, Shaun was already gone. I had hoped to ask him about seeing his name in Eve’s file before he left for the day. It probably meant nothing but still I was curious. It kept me wondering if Shaun might have seen something he didn’t even realize was important.
I dump cat food into the bowls and Skunky and Ponie come running, winding their sleek bodies around my legs in appreciation. I check the calendar on the wall while I toss back my prenatal vitamin and take a swig of water. I grab a banana and a muffin from the kitchen counter and head out the door. The morning sky is bright blue and cloudless and already hot. Someone is burning brush off in the distance. Stupid because of the dry weather. We need rain and it’s careless to burn leaves and weeds in these dry conditions.
I drive up our lane past the big barn and the orchards and the old saltbox barn near the main road. A flicker of light in a window of the small barn catches my eye. This makes no sense. The old barn isn’t wired for electricity. We use it as a catch-all space for orchard supplies and a four-wheeler and a snowmobile that we use to get around the property.
I pull the car to the side of the lane and put it into Park. Most likely what I saw was a reflection from the morning sun glinting off the pane of glass but I still want to check it out. I walk toward the window but I’m too short to peer over the ledge so I move to the barn doors. That’s when I see the thick iron padlock lying in the tall grass. With difficulty, I bend down to pick it up. It’s been snapped with a bolt cutter.
Dammit,I think, we’ve been robbed. There are thousands of dollars’ worth of equipment in there. We are going to have to get a better security system. I fling open the barn door and a whoosh of heat and black smoke sends me reeling backward.
I clutch the door frame to catch my balance and peer through the haze. The fire is concentrated in the far left corner of the barn and isn’t out of control just yet. There’s still time to put it out. I scan the space in search of something to smother the knee-high blaze. I spy an old tarp draped over the riding lawn mower and yank it free.
Within seconds the flames unfold themselves from a crouch and scale the wooden walls until they are licking the rafters. It’s too late. I should have never opened the barn door. My eyes burn and I wipe away the tears. The oxygen only fuels the fire and a thick fog rolls over me and my nose fills with a biting, chemical odor. My lungs suck in the dense smoke and I struggle for breath. There’s nothing I can do to save the barn and its contents. The air around me cracks and pops and I know I need to get the hell out of here. Hot sparks rain down on me and I can hear the sizzle of fabric burning and feel the sharp bite of fire against my skin. I turn and bumble blindly toward where I pray the barn door is.
Once outside I lurch toward the road. All I can think about are the bags of fertilizer stacked against the barn walls and the grease and gasoline pooled in gas tanks. I’m barely aware of hands grabbing at me, pulling me away from the flames.
“I was driving by and saw the smoke,” the man says, guiding me to the top of the lane. “I called 911. What happened?” Out of breath, I lean against my car, coughing.
“I don’t know,” I gasp. I think of the broken padlock lying in the grass. “At first I thought someone had tried to break in, but when I opened the door there was a fire.” I spit out a wad of black phlegm. This can’t be good for the baby.
“You’re hurt,” he says, reaching for my arm. I look down and see a constellation of blisters across my arm. I’m suddenly aware of pinpricks of pain across my shoulders. I crane my neck and see tiny singe marks dotting my shirt. I was lucky I wasn’t burned alive.
“It happened so fast,” I rasp. “I have to call my husband,” I say, opening my car door and reaching inside for my phone. His phone rings and rings. Finally, he picks up.
“The saltbox is on fire,” I tell him over the roar of the fire. “Come home,” I say hoarsely, my throat stinging from the smoke.
“Are you safe?” he asks. The house is well away from the barn but I know how quickly fire can spread, especially in a dry season.
“I’m okay. Someone stopped and called the fire department.” We disconnect and the man and I watch helplessly and in a matter of fifteen minutes the barn burns and crumbles, collapsing in on itself in an ashy heap. It’s a total loss.
“Where are they?” I ask, my teeth chattering despite the waves of heat rolling over us. “What’s taking so long?” I can only hope that the fire department will get here soon and contain the blaze before it can move to the orchards.
Finally, in the distance comes the wail of sirens and a caravan of bright red fire engines comes into view. I wave my arms to let them know where to go as if the heavy smoke and burning rafters aren’t enough clues.
“She needs to be looked at,” the man tells a paramedic who leads me to the back of her vehicle.
“I’m fine,” I say. “Just a few small burns.”
“How much smoke did you breathe in?” the paramedic asks.
“Some,” I respond and promptly begin coughing. My throat feels like I swallowed glass.
“How far along are you?” she asks.
“Seven months?” I murmur.
She quickly slides an oxygen mask over my face and begins taking my vitals.
“We’ll take you in and have you and your baby checked out by the docs.”
I know she’s right, but I don’t want to leave. I want Shaun. If it wasn’t for the baby I’d stay put. “Okay,” I acquiesce. “My husband is on his way here. Can someone let him know that I’m okay?” The paramedic waves over the man who stopped to help me and tells him we are heading to the hospital over in Willow Creek just as a precaution. The man promises me he’ll let Shaun know I’m perfectly okay and that I promise to call him when I’m done getting checked over.
I lie down in the back of the ambulance and suck in the clean, fresh air from the oxygen tank. I try to close my eyes but all I can see are angry flames scaling the barn wall and engulfing the rafters. I lay a hand over my abdomen waiting for the baby to move. Come on, I urge. There’s no way you could have slept through all that. Unless you take after your dad. He can sleep through anything.
I think of the cut padlock and the weird phone calls from last night. Then there’s the origami figure left on my car. Are they all related or strange coincidences? I rack my brain trying to think who might have it out for me. It could be any number of dirtballs and criminals that I’ve come into contact with. The most obvious is my involvement in investigating the recent arsons in the area. If our barn fire and the arsons are connected, what are the chances my barn was chosen randomly? All I can do now is wait and see what the fire marshal determines as the cause. Whatever the reason, someone has crossed a line. They have stepped onto my property, come to my home, and that is not acceptable.
The baby shifts, swinging an elbow or a foot in the process. I laugh with relief. “Don’t worry,” I whisper to her, imagining that she is pressing her fingers flat against the walls of my uterus so that only a thin layer of skin separates our hands. “I’ll protect you.”
