“HOW’S YOUR MANDY DOING, Sebastian?” Frankie called over her shoulder to where Sebastian was sitting in the back. She wasn’t trying to distract herself, exactly. More like centering herself before they rolled up on someone’s life being significantly altered.
“She’s doing great,” Sebastian said. “I’ve heard nightmare stories about teenagers, but so far so good.”
“I’m going to pretend the teenage years don’t exist,” Fletcher declared. “I’m not sure I’ll survive it with Charlie. Paige might, but not me.”
Frankie rolled her eyes. If there was a more proud father in Butterfly Harbor than Fletcher Bradley, she wasn’t sure she’d met him. And that was saying a lot. Charlie wasn’t his biological daughter, but he’d slipped effortlessly into the father role almost from the moment Charlie and her mother, Paige, had hit town. In a lot of ways, but especially in how Fletcher was with his little girl, he reminded Frankie of her father and herself. There wasn’t anything he didn’t think his little girl could do, and he encouraged and supported her 24/7.
“Well, I haven’t survived the teenage years yet,” Sebastian offered.
“Here we go.” Frankie could see thick gray smoke billowing into the sky from the back of the two-story saltbox. She killed the siren as they pulled up in front of the home with an overgrown front lawn and a wheelchair on the porch. The door burst open and Shirley Desmond flew out, silvery-gray hair flying about her frantic face, her ripped flowered housedress fluttering around her knees. “She won’t come out!” Shirley cried as she ran toward them. “Amelia’s still upstairs and she won’t come out. I’ve screamed and screamed—”
Frankie dropped out of the engine and raced around to catch Shirley by the arms. “Where’s Ivan?”
“In the hospital. He was admitted last week. Pneumonia. But my girl. She’s up there. She won’t come down.”
“All right. Shirley, you need to calm down,” Frankie ordered. “Let us do our work, okay? Where’s the fire?”
“Kitchen. I bet I left a potholder on the stove. It must have caught. I can’t see much—”
“All right.” Frankie scanned the growing crowd and spotted BethAnn Bottomley in all her designer finery. “BethAnn!” Frankie waved her over.
BethAnn puffed up as if being announced the winner of a beauty pageant. “Yes?”
“Would you please stay here with Shirley? I don’t want her going back inside. You hear me, Shirley?” She caught the older woman’s face in her hands. “I can’t worry about you and Amelia. You trust me, don’t you?”
“I—Yes.” Shirley blinked, and two big tears plopped onto her cheeks. “Save my girl, Frankie.”
“I’ll get her.” Frankie nodded, and when she turned back, she saw that Fletcher and Sebastian had already dragged the connector hoses out to get the hydrant water running through the engine. Frankie retrieved her helmet and facemask just as the SUV pulled in behind the engine. Roman, Kendall and Kurt Murphy sprang out.
“What do we have?” Roman demanded.
“Kitchen’s in the back of the house. Sounds like a stove fire.” Frankie filled him in. “Daughter’s in a second-floor room. Won’t come out. We need to go up. Now.”
“You said the daughter’s special needs. What’s her situation?” Roman walked beside Frankie as she headed up the walkway to the porch.
“She’s autistic. Mostly uncommunicative with strangers, but I know her a little.” Frankie could only hope Amelia would remember her, otherwise this was going to turn into a fight, which would only compound the situation.
“Right. Kendall and Fletcher, head in with the hoses,” Roman ordered. “Let’s hope we get lucky and it’s confined to the kitchen. Report in when you get a look. Kurt, you’ve got RIC duty.”
“Understood,” Kurt said with a slow nod. Being the rapid intervention crew or individual meant he would remain on standby in case any of the firefighters going into the house needed help.
“Keep an eye on those hoses, too,” Roman added.
“Understood.” Kendall hefted the nozzle and hose over one shoulder and dragged it and Fletcher with her.
“Let’s go—” Frankie said to Roman, but she found he’d walked away and was talking with Shirley. “Chief, we need to—” Frankie heard the distinctive release of the fire extinguishers inside. Puffs of white mingled with the gray snaking out the front door. “Chief!”
Roman held his hand out behind him as if to say hold on. He was nodding as Shirley rattled on, hands flailing in panic.
Frankie’s pulse kicked in double time as Kendall reported in through the intercom in her helmet. They didn’t have time to waste chatting. Smoke continued to churn out of the house, even as Kendall said they were getting it under control.
Her blood pounded in her ears. They had to get in there, get Amelia, in case the fire sneaked past them or hit a gas line. She looked back one last time then, realizing Roman wasn’t done with his conversation, went on ahead. She pulled on her mask, tucked her helmet down low on her head and stepped into the smoke.
Once inside the house, she noticed that most of the fire had been contained by the extinguishers. The thick smoke was still billowing. Blinding. It always stunned her how pitch-black a house could get with even the smallest fire. As she turned toward the stairs, she saw Kurt reach out and yank open the second window in the kitchen while Kendall doused the flames. Unshakable Kendall, who had served multiple tours in Afghanistan and barely lived to tell the tale. Now here she was again, right in the middle of the action. No hesitation.
“Frankie!” Her name snapped in her ear as a hand clamped around her arm. Foot on the first stair, she looked back into the most ferocious glare she’d ever seen. “Don’t you ever do that again, you hear me?” Roman demanded. “You wait for backup!”
“We don’t have time to play meet the neighbors,” she snapped back. “We have to get Amelia out of here.”
“Agreed. You lead. But we will discuss this later. Kendall! Out here!” When Kendall emerged from the kitchen, he pointed to the licking flames inching toward the staircase.
“Got it!” Kendall confirmed. “Flames in the kitchen are out.”
Frankie flinched, knowing full well their intercoms were linked with the three volunteers who were also on scene and had heard every word of her exchange with Roman.
“Go, Frankie.” He gave her a nudge.
Smoke continued to snake through the house. Wood and plaster crackled and cracked in the distance. Frankie took quick but deliberate steps, assessing each stair’s strength before moving up. They reached the second floor, and when she looked behind them, she saw the smoke beginning to thin.
Frankie turned left, looking for the drawing-covered door toward the front of the house. “Ladder truck?” Roman yelled.
“Can’t wait! Amelia?” Frankie screamed through her mask. She turned the doorknob and found it locked. But at least it wasn’t hot. “Amelia, it’s Frankie Bettencourt. Remember me? I took you for a ride in the fire engine a while ago?”
“Stand back.” Roman pulled her aside and lifted his foot to kick the door open.
Frankie raced in and found Amelia huddled in the corner of her room, an old rag doll clutched against her chest, tears streaming down her face. “Hot. Hot, hot, hot. Too close. Go away. Too, too close.”
“Amelia, it’s me, Frankie.” Frankie kept a distance and crouched down. She pointed to her face, but she knew Amelia didn’t look people in the eye and the mask only made it more difficult. “Amelia, do you and your dolly remember going for a ride in the big truck?”
“Wooo-wooo.” Amelia nodded fast, her thick black hair bobbing around her face. She began coughing.
“That’s right. Amelia, we have to go. Can you come with me?” Frankie held out her hand.
Amelia shook her head. “No go. Stay. Stay here.”
“Hey, Amelia.” Frankie turned at the sound of Roman’s voice as he dropped down beside her. “My name is Roman. May I call you Amelia?”
“We don’t have time—” Roman cut Frankie off with a sharp shake of his head. He was right. She could hear Kendall and Sebastian’s chatter saying the fire was completely out.
“Amelia, I need you to be really brave for a little while,” Roman soothed. “Can you do that? Can you help me get your doll outside? She’s going to be awfully sick if we don’t leave.”
“Dolly sick?” Amelia blinked, looked down at her doll. “Don’t want Dolly to be sick. Hot. Hot, hot, hot.”
“It is hot in here.” The calmness in Roman’s voice made Frankie think they were taking a Sunday stroll. “And that’s not good for Dolly. I can take you outside. Will you let me put this on you so you and Dolly can breathe better?”
Amelia coughed and, to Frankie’s surprise, she lifted her doll up to Roman. “You’ll help Dolly?”
“I’ll help Dolly.” Roman moved closer. “But you have to come with us. It’s the only thing that will help her.”
“Frankie?” Amelia blinked, and tears streaked her soot-stained face.
“Let Roman help you, Amelia. Please. Your mama is so worried about you and Dolly.”
Amelia nodded.
“Check the stairs,” Roman ordered as he reached for a wooden box on the dresser and stuck it in his pocket.
Frankie raced out of the room and found the heat in the hall easing a bit.
“We’re good!” she called and watched as Roman draped Amelia and her dolly over his shoulder. He motioned for her to lead the way. She could hear Amelia crying, then sobbing, but Roman kept a solid hold on her as they descended the stairs, and soon, they were outside.
“Amelia! Oh, Amelia.” Shirley broke free of BethAnn’s hold, leaving concerned neighbors behind as she raced forward. “Oh, my baby.” Shirley dropped to her knees as Roman set Amelia on the overgrown, scratchy grass.
Roman removed the box from his pocket, cranked the gear and opened the lid. The tinny tune calmed Amelia immediately. He waited a moment, rested a hand on Amelia’s face as she relaxed in her mother’s arms.
“Call for an ambulance,” Roman told Frankie, who raced back to the truck and requested one. Before she could hang up the receiver, she looked back to find Roman, facemask back in place, heading into the house.
More sirens sounded as two deputy vehicles arrived. Sheriff Luke Saxon and Ozzy instantly began to keep the observers far enough away that Frankie and her team could do their jobs. Her intercom buzzed. She could hear the conversation between Roman and the volunteers and breathed a sigh of relief when she heard they were coming out. Smoke continued to drift from the house, but things were under control.
“How bad is it?” Shirley asked, fear filling her eyes. “Will I lose my house?”
“However bad it is, you’ll be okay,” Frankie told her as she removed her helmet and mask. “You and Amelia will be taken care of, I promise.” If there was one thing Butterfly Harbor always did, it was take care of their own.
Shirley cried, clutching her daughter and rocking her back and forth to the point that Amelia looked rather irritated, as her music box had stopped.
Frankie waved over Ozzy to stay with Shirley before she went to Roman and the crew. “Well?”
“It’s pretty much wiped out the kitchen,” Roman told her. “Some damage to the front hall. I wouldn’t want anyone living in there until it can be assessed, and the water didn’t help, of course. But it could have been worse.” He looked admiringly at the volunteers who were congregating by the truck, removing their masks and helmets. “It could have been a lot worse.”