“But it’s caffeinated, right?” he asked as he grabbed the mug and opened the door.
“Of course.” Rose Noire looked mildly affronted that he’d doubted her, but given her fondness for trying to reform everyone else’s caffeine habits with odd-tasting herbal concoctions, I could understand why he’d asked.
Rob ran out. I finished fastening the last buckle holding bits of gear to Michael’s belt.
“Thanks,” he said, giving me a kiss. “And yes, I’ll be careful.”
“Where’s the fire?” Rose Noire asked.
“At one thirteen Clay County Road,” I said. “Whatever that is.”
“The New Life Baptist Church.” Michael frowned. “At least I think. It would help if they just came out and said it.”
“Sounds right to me,” I said. “Somewhere in town—you can have Rob look it up on his cell phone well before you need to make any turns.”
“Good idea.” Michael took the second travel mug, murmured his thanks, and followed Rob.
Rose Noire and I looked at each other. We knew many of the New Life congregation—particularly Henry Burke, our local police chief, and his wife, Minerva. And I’d been over at the church last night when a friend who had to work the night shift asked me to take her daughter to choir rehearsal.
We heard Michael’s car start up and race off.
“It’s four twenty—a.m.,” Rose Noire added, as if she thought I might not have noticed the darkness. “I doubt if there would be anyone there now.”
If she was trying to make me feel better, it wasn’t working.
“Which could mean the fire would have plenty of time to become big and dangerous before anyone reported it,” I said. “Watch the boys, will you? I’m heading over there.”
I grabbed my coat from the enormous Victorian hat rack and my purse and keys from the hall table and dashed out into the bitter cold night.
Then I dashed in again, and upstairs to add another layer of clothes.
Even though I prided myself on how quickly I could get dressed and ready in the morning, I was at least five minutes behind Michael and Rob when I set out. Maybe ten.
A good thing this hadn’t happened two nights ago, when we’d had near-blizzard conditions. Or last night, when the plows still hadn’t finished moving the foot of snow off our roads. All we had tonight was the bitter cold, which meant the huge mounds of snow lining the roads weren’t going away any time soon.
I was relieved when I drew near the New Life Church and could still see its enormous steeple rising proudly into the air, illuminated by floodlights below—and with no flames or smoke.
By the time I pulled into the parking lot, I was not just relieved but downright puzzled. The church looked unharmed. All three of Caerphilly County’s fire vehicles were there, along with four police cruisers. All their lights were flashing. The firefighters and deputies were all standing around in clumps, staring at the church, except for one larger group that seemed to be staring at something at the back of the ambulance.
I scanned the scene. No, the church was fine. Not just the church but the entire sprawling complex, including two wings and a small outbuilding, all filled with classrooms, meeting rooms, and the multiple rehearsal rooms for New Life’s nationally renowned gospel choir. The floodlit façade was serene and unmarred by any signs of a conflagration.
I pulled into a parking space toward the side of the lot, about twenty feet from the ambulance, and close to where Michael and the other firefighters had parked. I was aiming to be far enough away that I wouldn’t be underfoot, but close enough that I might overhear what was going on. And my chosen spot was partly behind one of the mountains of snow that the snowplows had piled up, so maybe the firefighters wouldn’t notice me quite as easily.
As I turned the engine off, I saw a particularly tall fireman detach himself from the group around the ambulance and stride over toward my car. So much for my attempt to stay unnoticed. I braced myself to defend my right to rubberneck, and then relaxed. It was Michael. I opened the door and stepped out.
“The good news is there’s no fire,” he said.
“What’s the bad— Oh, gross!”
The wind had shifted, bringing with it an unmistakable odor, like garlic, rotten eggs, and burned rubber all mixed together.
“Is that what I think it is?” I asked.
“Yes. The church has been skunked.”
Chapter 2
“Skunked?” came a voice from nearby. I glanced over to see that I wasn’t the only spectator. I’d assumed the other cars in the lot belonged to the firefighters, but in several of them I could see people huddled, with their motors still running, trying to keep warm. Other spectators who were more hardy—or perhaps, like me, had taken the time to dress for the weather before coming out—stood by their cars, talking in twos or threes as they stared at the church. It was one of those groups that had overheard Michael’s words.