3. Jack
3
JACK
HOT DIGGITY DOG
“E ngine one, we have a report of smoke coming from 632 Mermaid Court . Stand by for cross-streets,” the dispatcher said as tones dropped.
“Dude, that’s your place,” Drew said as we jumped into our gear and hauled ass into the rig.
Panic hit me like a backdraft, then realization set in. That wasn’t my place. It was my street, but my house was 634.
“Why does dispatch always say, ‘stand by for cross streets?’ There’s what—five whole streets on the island?”
I strapped in as the engine screeched out of the bay and pulled onto the road.
“Is 632 to the left or right of you?” he asked.
I had to think for a minute. We were nearing the end of another twenty-four hours packed with non-stop calls, and my brain was fried.
“I think it’s to the left. The Whitlock place.”
Captain whirled around from his seat. “ What’d you say, Wharton ?”
“The house is the old Whitlock place. I’m next door.”
“No one should be out there,” he said.
I shrugged. “ Maybe some kids drove up from Beaufort and were dicking around the property.”
“ Bulldozer ,” Drew sang. “ It’s overgrown and it’s gonna come down one way or another. If they bulldoze it and clear it, at least the mess won’t end up in the ocean.”
He had a point.
Two turns later, we came to a screeching halt in front of the old Whitlock place. A tin can car sat in the cracked driveway. The bumper was being held up by a decrepit piece of duct tape and sported a “ Please don’t hit me. I don’t know how insurance works.” bumper sticker.
“You got a new neighbor you didn’t tell me about?” Drew asked as we piled out of the rig to assess the property. Smoke lingered in the air, but I couldn’t see it. The smell though—it wasn’t the acrid odor of a structure fire or the musky scent of burning foliage and wood.
It smelled like charcoal and hotdogs.
Tall grass swished under my boots as we divided and conquered. Drew disappeared below the wraparound deck, cautiously staring up at it as if it were going to come crumbling down at any moment.
I circled to the other side, carefully studying the structure. Thanks to my boots and turnouts, I was a little less concerned about getting bitten by a cottonmouth than I had been the other day. Not completely unconcerned, just a little less.
Colorful swearing with a feminine flair filled the air. I hustled around the house while continuing my check. Drew beat me to the other side and found the source of the smoke.
A woman with wavy hair that was somewhere between brown and blonde was hopping from foot to foot, waving her hands around, and hissing like she was in pain. “ Little bastard! Stupid fucking hotdog! Dammit !”
“Everything alright, ma’am? We received a call about smoke coming from the house,” Drew said.
She made another attempt at grabbing the hotdog, only to jerk her hand back and hiss again when it was too hot to touch. The thing was charred to a crisp. Anger and frustration danced in her eyes.
“I’m fine. I’m hangry. And I don’t have any fucking tongs,” she snapped.
“Are you aware that this is private property?” Drew pointed over the dune. “ You can grill on the beach, but not by the house.”
“This is where the grill is,” she clipped as she reached for the hotdog again. “ I’m not dragging it up and down a sand dune.”
A hotdog bun was waiting on a paper plate that was resting on the lid of a plastic cooler. A small bag of instant-light charcoal was propped up beside it. She had an off-brand bag of chips and a bottle of generic ketchup.
“Even if you were allowed to be here, it’s still not advisable to have a grill this close to the house, even if it’s a little one. Ten feet away from any structures or flammable objects.”
The woman let out a frustrated growl.
Before she burned her hand completely off, I bit the tip of my glove and pulled it off with my teeth, grabbed the hotdog, and dropped it neatly into the bun.
Wide eyes met mine in a flash as she whipped around and stared at me as if I had done something insane.
Our radios chirped. “ All clear out front.”
While Drew tried to talk the trespasser into leaving, I stepped away and keyed in my radio. “ Source of the smoke identified.”
“Need assistance?” the chief clipped.
“Nah. Anderson’s got it handled.”
“Meet you back at the truck.”
A heavy hand clapped on my shoulder as Drew came up behind me and nudged me back toward the road.
“Look’s like you’ve got a new neighbor,” he said as we trudged through the tall grass.
Thanks to Drew , the embers in the grill had been snuffed out with a bucket of ocean water, and the tiny grill had been moved a respectable distance from the house.
“What the hell are you talking about?” I said as I glanced over my shoulder and spotted the woman sitting cross-legged on the ground, with the plate on her lap, munching on chips.
There was something about her posture that seemed heavy. Her shoulders were hunched over her lap, like she was bracing for impact. Thick hair in bronze waves was tucked behind her ear. The sleeve of intricate tattoos on her left arm made her look tough, but there was vulnerability there too.
She stared at the house as she ate, as if she was seeing something no one else could. It was clear that she was completely unconcerned with the firefighters milling about.
Drew cracked a smile and bumped me with his elbow as we loaded back into the engine. “ She’s hot. Don’t be surprised when I show up at your place, pretending to be your roommate so I can be neighborly.”
“Who the hell is she?” I asked as I craned my head toward the window to steal one last peek at the house.
“Juniper Whitlock’s great-niece.”
That wasn’t what I had expected at all.
Drew sensed my surprise and kept going. “ Apparently she’s here to renovate the place so she can put it on the market.”
“Is she some kind of wizard who can clone herself by snapping her fingers? It would take a whole crew months to get it market-ready.”
Drew just shrugged. “ Maybe she hired a construction company to come out to the house and she’s just here to supervise.”
That was the best-case scenario, but there was something about her that lingered in my mind.
I had never seen someone look haunted.
“Bro. Don’t even go there.”
I blinked out of the daze. “ What ?”
Drew punched my shoulder. “ Hooking up with a summertimer is fun at the time, but you always turn into a broody bastard when they leave.”
I raised an eyebrow. “ When was the last time I hooked up with a summertimer?” Drew and I had our fair share of flings with seasonal tourists, but the frequency of my escapades had tapered off over the years.
“I’m just looking out for you,” he said. “ Besides , if you don’t hook up with her, that means I can.”
I punched him in the shoulder.
“Children,” Chief groaned. “ Knock it off or I’m going to have to change the schedule back to you two idiots being on separate shifts.”
Drew and I settled down for the rest of the ride back. By the time we arrived back at home-sweet-fire-station and started on the gear checks, I still hadn’t gotten her out of my head.
What had to happen to make a person look like that? So sullen and defeated. Was it just the state of the house or something more?
“I know that look,” Drew said as we went through the post-call routine. “ You’re still thinking about her. I’d put money on you clocking out in the morning and running over there to see what the deal is with your new neighbor.”
“I thought you said that’d be you,” I countered. “ I charge rent to fake roommates, by the way. Property taxes aren’t cheap.”
But Drew was right. I had already started formulating my morning plan. If luck was on our side, we’d have a q-u-i-e-t night, get some shut-eye, and I’d be well rested and neighborly in the morning.
Neighborly. Right . That’s what I’d call it.
“Just be careful, dude,” Drew warned as he shucked out of his bunker gear and got it situated for whatever fresh hell the next call would bring.
I did the same with my gear. “ Why are you telling me to be careful? When am I ever not careful?”
Drew pressed a hand to his chest. “ Me ? I can handle summertimers. A little crazy, temporary fun is where it’s at. And when it’s over, it’s over. No hard feelings. No calling after. No promises to make it work long-distance. Local firefighters are like catnip for tourists. We’re the summertime fantasy.”
I grabbed the back of his neck in a brotherly shove. “ Has anyone ever told you that you have a wild imagination?”
Drew snickered and spun out of my grip. “ I’m just warning you.”