Lyle gripped the wheel of the black minivan. Beside him, Ross was yakking about the AA meeting they had just attended.
A thaw earlier that week had left the highway clear, but the temperature had plummeted the night before. The minivan’s heater was cranked up full blast. “Crazy weather,” Ross said. “One day, you figure it’s time to dig out the summer clothes, next day it’s colder than a witch’s tit. Must be all that global warming crap.”
Lyle sneezed and reached for a tissue in the box on his lap.
“Bless you,” Ross said.
“Fine thing to come down with a cold today,” Lyle grumbled.
“Yeah, like the missus was sayin’…”
Lyle tuned out Ross as they approached Braeloch. He had told the Collins girl that he was sorry. But that hadn’t been enough for her. She wouldn’t let it be.
Lyle pulled up in front of Ross’s bungalow. “Here you go.”
“Thanks. Be seein’ you next week, then.” Ross stepped out the van and gave a wave. “Take care of that cold.”
Lyle gave him a curt nod and drove back to the highway. He glanced at the dashboard clock. Almost nine. He’d made it back in good time from the six o’clock meeting.
“Wish Ross wouldn’t talk so much, but he’s all right,” he muttered as he picked up speed on the highway. “Thank God for the AA fellas. Got me through the worst of it. Confession with Father Brisebois set me square with the Lord, but it wasn’t the same as goin’ over it with the guys. Father, he’s a good man but he don’t understand how the devil can live in a bottle. Pull you in and suck out your soul. The boys do, though. They been there.”
Lyle slowed down as his headlights picked out the edge of his driveway.
“She should’ve got the letter by now. She’s gotta understand. She’s gotta help me stop this thief from taking from good folks like Pearl. She’s a big-shot lawyer now, so to catch a thief, that’s her job.”
He braked suddenly as he pulled into the driveway. He blinked and stared through the windshield.
The garage door was open.
“No way. That sucker was down when I left. Gettin’ old but I ain’t senile.”
He rolled down his window and stuck out his head. He squinted as he tried to see into the depths of the garage where the headlight beams didn’t reach. Tools on the tool rack, snowblower, lawnmower. All in their proper places as far as he could tell.
“Anyone in there? Show yourself if you know what’s good fer you.”
He sneezed and reached for another tissue. “Just what I need. Damn punks!” He rolled up the window and pulled into the garage.
He heard a metallic clatter behind him as he got out of the minivan. He gaped as the wooden garage door slammed down with a thud. He made his way cautiously toward it in the pitch-black garage.
“Hey!” He pounded on the garage door. “Hey!”
He groped to find the chain for the ceiling light and yanked it. In the bulb’s dim glow, he saw a large stain on the floor.
“What the…”
He touched the walls. Damp.
He held his fingertips against his nose. “Gasoline. With my cold, I couldn’t smell it. The place is soaked in it.”
He staggered as pain shot through him. He clutched his chest and bent over. Then he straightened, breathing deeply.
He heard a whoosh as he lurched toward the garage door. Flames licked its bottom and side edges. He fumbled for the metal handle, then jerked his hand away. It was hot.
He groped in his jacket pockets, pulled out a pair of gloves and groaned. “Wool. No insulation. No leather palms.”
He slipped them on but he needed something more for protection. “A rag. If I get a rag around the glove, I may be able to grab the handle.”
He stumbled and reached out to the wall on his right. “Gotta be one around here. If I could just…”
He spilled the contents of a plastic storage box on the floor. Half-full paint and varnish cans clanked as they hit the concrete. No rags.
Flames danced on the door and surged up the walls. He groped for the van’s door handle and pulled himself inside. “Get her started. Maybe I can crash through.”
He fumbled for his key and stuck it into the ignition. He was about to start the engine when he gagged, clutched his chest and gasped in pain.
He slumped against the steering wheel, unable to lift his hand to the ignition. He knew that when the flames hit the gas tank, the minivan would become a fireball.
“Lord, please make it quick.”