Chapter 5
five
“Fire is never a gentle master.” - Proverb
Though Jocelyn had seen it in news reports and pictures growing up, she had never stepped inside the Cedar Hollow fire station. The brick building loomed before her, older than most of the city itself.
Standing there stirred her resolve. The visit with the Hausers had shaken her confidence, but two days of lying low had steadied her, and she needed to get her focus back.
She hitched her purse higher and pushed through the administration doors. Passing the bay where the engines were parked, a glimmer of childlike curiosity tugged at her. She understood why kids loved school tours here—the unknown world behind those doors held its own kind of power.
“Help you?”
She jerked upright at the voice. A woman stood with a file in hand, sandy brows raised. She was probably in her mid-forties, fit despite being a little top heavy, with blonde hair pulled up into a tight ponytail. Wispy bangs fell across her tanned, gently lined forehead.
“Um, yes,” Jocelyn began. “I wanted to speak with the chief.”
The woman’s shoulders rolled back, making the buttons on her crisp uniform shirt pull tight across her chest. “About what?” Her gaze raked over Jocelyn from head to toe, like she was trying to place her. If she’d known Jocelyn’s mama, she didn’t seem to make the connection.
Jocelyn couldn’t help shifting under that tight appraisal. “I had some questions about a fire from about twenty years ago.”
If possible, the woman’s squint got narrower, her brown irises nearly disappearing. “Why on earth—” Those eyes popped wide. “You’re the girl from the Hill Drive fire.”
Jocelyn’s fingers curled involuntarily into her palms, but she managed a nod. “I want to understand what happened. Were you there?”
Sympathy softened the lines in the woman’s face, and she melted in a maternal sort of way. “No, I wasn’t. I came to this station about seven years ago from Knoxville. Big fire fatality in a town like this, though, you hear about it, even years later.”
A bitterness cloaked Jocelyn’s heart. “Fatality,” she repeated. “That was my mama.”
“I’m sorry, Honey.” The woman gestured toward a row of chairs. “Let me see if the chief’s available. I’m Amber—I handle admin around here.”
“Jocelyn.” She managed a thin smile as Amber disappeared toward the offices.
The plaque beside the door announced it belonged to Chief Eric Ward. The name tickled in the back of Jocelyn’s mind, but she wasn’t sure why.
The other office was marked for the deputy chief, Gabe McCann, and she wondered if he’d also been around that night.
Amber returned with a rangy, copper-haired man in tow. Chief Ward’s still-handsome, weathered face shifted with something more than just recognition. She couldn’t be sure what it was—maybe nervousness? If he had been there that life-changing September, he’d know exactly who she was.
“Jocelyn Murphy,” he said, his quick gait eating the distance between them in a matter of seconds.
She stood as he stretched his hand to her. “Hello.”
“God, you look just like Bonnie,” he murmured.
The words burned against her skin, and she resisted the urge to jerk her hand back.
Ward dropped her hand, shaking his head. “Sorry. I know it’s probably painful to talk about her.”
Jocelyn took a breath, smoothing her expression, though a storm brewed in the back of her mind. “I forget what it’s like to talk to people who knew her.”
He nodded. “Y’all moved away, didn’t you?”
This was at least neutral territory. But if she was going to pursue this case, she needed to get her head on straight and face it all without tripping up. “Yes, Sir. Nan had a friend out in North Carolina who helped us get settled.”
“I’ve been out that way a few times. Let’s talk in my office.”
Jocelyn ran her hands down the skirt of her dress and nodded, following him back. Amber gave her a reassuring touch on the shoulder as she passed like she had some understanding of loss.
Ward’s office was spare and immaculate, blinds raised to let in full daylight. Awards and diplomas lined the walls, but only one photograph sat on the desk—a dark-haired woman with sadness carved into the lines of her face.
He caught Jocelyn looking, and his right hand moved to his left, as if feeling for what was not there—a wedding ring. It had been there not long ago, though. A tan line remained, as did a faint indentation in his skin. Trouble at home, then.
“So, Jocelyn,” he said, scooting a pile of papers out of his way, “what did you want to talk about today?”
His discomfort matched her own, if for different reasons. Faced now with her opportunity to ask her questions, she found herself floundering in uncertainty.
But she swallowed, steeling herself. “As you know, I was young when… the fire happened. I don’t remember a lot of the details. Bits and pieces, of course, but I’m trying to understand what really happened that night.”
Ward studied her, but she wasn’t sure what he was looking for. Maybe he was still thrown by her resemblance to her mama, maybe by the fact that she was almost the exact same age.
He dipped his chin once, apparently approving of whatever he saw in her expression. “Alright. We’ll start with what I know. You can ask me any questions you have, and I’ll answer what I can.”
Jocelyn nodded, rubbing her fingertips along her thumbs. She had to prepare herself.
“I was about ten years into my career with the department,” Ward said.
“Think the call came in around ten p.m.? Some of us had turned in, but I wasn’t asleep yet.
” He looked at the desk between them as he thought back.
“I remember we rolled out fast, headed down First Street. When we turned onto Hill Drive, we could see the flames before we even got there.”
Hearing it from this side felt a little less like walking through her own trauma. It was just a recounting of a story. But it still pumped her blood faster.
“That was a concern,” he continued. “Dry year, trees too close. If they caught, the whole block would’ve gone.” He caught the way she was staring at him and paused.
She had never considered the possibility of the fire spreading.
As a child, her whole world had been that little house, already ancient even twenty years ago.
Run down, though Mama had wanted to fix it up a bit.
Their landlord wouldn’t allow it. But the fact that it wasn’t only about her home, or her mama, made her realize how narrow her focus had been until now.
Ward leaned back, clearing his throat. “John Hauser had been nearby. He’d already gotten you out by the time we arrived.”
That was a memory that still had teeth. Being huddled in John’s arms, watching the flames consume every inch of that house when the sirens screamed behind them, the flashing red painting the trees.
She remembered thinking the light was there to outshine the burning shade of angry that fire seemed to wield.
In memory, the fire always felt angry, consuming out of spite.
It had always seemed miraculous that John had been there, but it struck her as odd now. Jocelyn frowned. “Nearby?” she repeated. “Doing what?”
Something in Ward’s face shifted, expression tightening. “Was his day off.” He shrugged. “Said he was out walking. Saw the fire, saw you in the window. It’s in his nature to step in.”
His words sounded like a compliment, but something about them felt like stiff bristles along her skin.
“It’s what any of us would’ve done,” Ward added. “Thank God he was there.”
She swallowed, thinking about what might’ve happened had he not been. Then her heart ached for what might’ve been if only he’d gotten there ten minutes sooner.
“By the time we pulled in,” Ward said, voice softer, “the house was engulfed, burning too hot and high to get into. We knew your mama was…” He paused, head lowering.
A fist of emotion pressed against her sternum. By that point, only minutes after she’d been pulled out, her mama was already gone. Jocelyn had lost her before she’d even woken up.
“By then, it was only about containing the fire and keeping everyone safe.”
This she knew from reading the news reports about it. It was too far gone to do more than wait it out. But there was still that question that plagued her, that had haunted her steps since she was that little girl in the window.
“What I don’t understand is why she didn’t wake up when the fire started.”
He shrugged like it was a simple matter of a misunderstanding and not her mother’s life. “The fire started in her room. Candle by the window caught the curtain. Medical examiner found alcohol in her system.”
Jocelyn’s temper had her heart thumping harder. “I remember her drinking a glass of wine before I went to bed, but that was it.”
“Might’ve had more after.” His fingers curled slowly into his palms, though his gaze was steady on hers.
Jocelyn’s body went rigid with her rising anger. “Even so, if something had caught fire, she would’ve tried to put it out. And if she couldn’t, she would’ve come to get me. She would’ve gotten us out.”
The tension wound tighter through her, but he expelled a breath, loosening his fists.
“I’m sorry, Jocelyn.” He shook his head. “I don’t have an explanation for that. If all that were true, that’s what would’ve happened. I wish it’d gone that way. Honestly, I do. But the best we could figure, she was too intoxicated to wake up.”
The burn of tears stung in Jocelyn’s eyes. It was stupid to get hung up on that, but it still didn’t make sense. It didn’t seem right.
“Why don’t we call it a day?” Ward suggested. “This is hard, and I want to make sure I give you the right answers. Let’s meet again on Wednesday after I’ve had time to look at the reports. Does ten a.m. work for you?”
She couldn’t force words past the lump in her throat, so she simply nodded and stood, letting him guide her from his office.