“And a lot who aren’t,” the chief added. “But most of the college students have gone home. This looks like teenagers.”
I had to agree. I tried to think of a reason why someone old enough to drink legally would take to the woods with a six-pack of Gwent Pale on a night like this, and failed miserably. I saw several other firefighters or deputies nodding as if having the same thought.
“Let’s finish up here before all that water freezes over again,” the chief said. “And—”
A harsh buzzing broke out, as if a tribe of giant, angry, mutant bees had suddenly descended on the clearing. All the firefighters began digging in their pockets. Chief Featherstone pulled his pager out first and pressed a button.
“Box fourteen oh four for the structure fire. Seventy-two Church Street. Engine companies fourteen and two, truck twelve, rescue squad two, ambulance fourteen respond. Oh three twenty-three.”
“Church Street,” the Chief Featherstone said. “Let’s go.”
“Which one is it?” one fireman asked.
“Trinity Episcopal Church,” I called over my shoulder. I was already making tracks for the parking lot.
Chapter 22
Since I wasn’t hauling heavy equipment, I beat all the firefighters and most of the deputies back to the parking lot. But since I was only a civilian, I made sure not to get in the way of any of the emergency vehicles as they roared and squealed out of the parking lot. So I was, of course, the last to arrive at Trinity.
When I pulled into the parking lot, not that far behind the last of the fire engines, I saw five people standing around, stamping their feet and blowing out plumes of vapor as they breathed. None of them was wearing coats, so I suspected they were the night watch, and had evacuated the church in a hurry. And yes, I could see smoke coming out of the church. Out of the basement stairwell, in fact. Not a whole lot, but still. A real fire.
I pulled up to the group of onlookers—I recognized several of them as frequent church volunteers—and rolled down my window.
“Anyone need to warm up?”
They all took me up on it. Four of them, three men and one woman, climbed into the back. It was a tight squeeze, even after we stowed the boys’ car seats in the trunk. The fifth, a plump elderly woman, joined me in the front seat.
“What happened?” I asked, as I rolled my window up again.
“We were playing Parcheesi in the social hall,” one of the men said. “To help keep awake.”
“And we took a break every hour and patrolled,” the plump woman said. “Inside, of course—what a beastly night!”
“And just a little while ago, we smelled smoke coming from the undercroft,” the man went on. “Hank and I went down to check things out, and there was a fire in the furnace room!”
“We emptied the fire extinguishers on it without doing much good,” said another man—Hank, I supposed. “So we called 911.”
“And evacuated,” the plump woman said. “And would to goodness we’d taken the time to grab our coats.”
“Good thing we didn’t,” the first man said.
“Wouldn’t have hurt,” the woman said. “Church hasn’t burned down yet.”
“You didn’t see that fire,” Hank countered. “Meg, can you pull a little closer to the church so we can see what’s going on?”
I started the car again, and carefully crept through the parking lot until I found a spot with a better view of what was going on. Some of the firefighters—including Michael; I recognized him by his height—were dashing in through the front door, dragging hoses behind them while others had gone down into the basement stairwell. But they appeared to have halted there. I could see several of them standing at ground level, holding the hose or their axes, peering down. Then I heard a smashing noise, and the firefighters set up a cheer, and they all disappeared into the basement.
We watched in silence for a few moments.
“Looks a bit more serious than ducks and skunks,” one man finally said.
More smoke billowed out of the basement door, and a little out of the front door of the church. Was that a bad thing? A sign that the fire was spreading? More likely it meant the firefighters were pouring water on the blaze.
I noticed two of Chief Burke’s deputies working their way around the left side of the church, giving the clouds of smoke a wide berth. The chief himself was standing in the parking lot, well out of the firefighters’ way, but visibly impatient for them to finish their job so he could start his.
After a while he spotted my car and strolled over. I rolled down my window.
“Evening, Chief,” I said.