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Authors: Dave Hugelschaffer,Dave Hugelschaffer

Tags: #Fire-fighting, #Series, #Murder-Mystery

One Careless Moment (32 page)

BOOK: One Careless Moment
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For a minute, I just lie there, my chest heaving, staring into Telson's beautiful face. Maybe I died and this is a mirage, just a last flickering memory.

“How do you feel, Porter? Can you talk?”

I spit a little more water. “How — how did you get here?”

“Pontiac,” she says.

For a moment she looks intensely serious and suddenly we both laugh, freed from the panic of near death. The laughter dies quickly as I remember Harnack. Despite Telson's protest, I struggle to my feet, looking wildly around, expecting Harnack will be waiting, hiding in the shadows. Then I see him, sprawled face down on the floor next to the tub, a bloody spot on the back of his head, the shovel lying close by. For a moment we both stare at the prone form.

“I think you killed him.”

“Maybe,” says Telson, kneeling at his side. I pick up the shovel, hold it ready, just in case.

“No,” she says, glancing up at me. “He's still alive.”

Telson uses her cellphone to call 911 while I stand over Harnack, waiting for him to move, to stand and come at me again. But he's out for the count.

“Why are you here?” I ask again.

Telson gives me a brief, ironic smile. “I could ask you the same thing.”

I nod, feeling like a heel.

“I'm here,” she says pointedly, “because I heard about the fires.”

“You're here for work? As a reporter?”

“Should there be another reason?”

I frown, not sure how to respond to her loaded question. Are we done?

“I don't care why you're here,” I say, glancing down at Harnack. “I'm just glad you came.”

As we watch, Harnack moans, lifts his head a little.

“Me too,” says Telson. “Now we're even.”

There's a knock on the door — it's Phil, Cooper, and most of the rest of the crew. They've been talking about Harnack, explains Cooper, discussing my suspicions, and they want to talk to him. They look to be in a lynching mood, so I explain that Harnack is indisposed at the moment, open the door enough that Cooper can see Harnack lying in the dirt. I need Harnack in one piece, so he can explain to Castellino what really happened that day on the ridge. Cooper and company don't budge. Thankfully, we're rescued by the emts, who bundle Harnack into an ambulance. I'm bandaged; I have a nasty cut on my temple, an impressive swelling on my forearm. The emts usher me into the ambulance, where I sit on a vinyl bench, look down at Harnack strapped to a spine board. Then we're rolling, down the winding drive. A procession of vehicles follow, intercepted on the main road by a sheriff 's black-and-white suv. Harnack moans again, tries to lift his head but finds he's strapped down, in a cervical collar. An emt, a young bald guy sitting across from me, leans over to check on Harnack.

“Just relax. You're in an ambulance, headed to the hospital.”

Harnack blinks, looks a little confused. I lean over him, so he can see me.

“Hi, Lyle.”

His eyes widen — both equally responsive to panic. “What are you doing here?”

“Just hitching a ride,” I say, touching the bandage on the side of my head. The emt watches both of us, frowning, no doubt wondering about the wisdom of conveying combatants simultaneously. “Don't worry,” I assure him. “I don't think he'll attack again.”

The emt sits back but doesn't look particularly reassured.

“Soon, it'll be time to talk,” I say to Harnack. “Time to come clean.”

Harnack swivels his eyes toward the emt. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

I crouch, slowly, so the emt knows I'm not doing anything threatening, whisper in Lyle's ear. His eyes widen. He's silent for a few minutes, then whispers a single word: “Okay.”

Soon we're in town, backing into the ambulance bay at Emergency. Harnack is rolled out, rushed away. I watch the ward doors swing shut. Then someone taps me on the shoulder. It's Castellino.

“We need to talk.”

I nod. Finally, I have something to tell him.

EPILOGUE
•

WE MEET AT the Filling Station — Del, Telson, and I. We're seated at one of the wooden tables, close to a window. I'm on a side by myself, my arm in a sling. Telson and Del are on the other side. A waitress comes — the same one that requested my autograph — and starts to tell us the specials.

“No thanks,” Telson says crisply. “We won't be here long.”

“Just coffees,” I tell her.

Coffee is poured in silence. Telson is still pissed that I lied to her. I struggle to find a way to break the ice and smooth things over. When the waitress leaves, I nervously clear my throat. “I thought it would be a good idea to get together, so we could talk about what happened.”

“This should be interesting,” says Telson, stirring her coffee.

“I lied to you, Christina, and I'm sorry, but there was a very good reason.”

“Yeah, you've got the hots for Red over there.”

I glance over at Del, with her rusty red hair.

“No, Christina, that's not it.”

“Really?” She raises an eyebrow.

“Of course not. That's silly —”

“Silly?” She glares at me. “You two were naked together in the hot tub.”

“We weren't naked. I had just been to the squatters' ...”

I'm stumbling badly. Bewildered, I start over.

“Look, Christina, the squatters were putting pressure on me to find Karalee's killer. I was worried what might happen if I didn't deliver. That's why we sent Melissa away —”

“You're comparing me to a child?” says Telson.

“I'm saying I wanted you safe. The squatters had someone following you. They showed me a picture of you, taken in front of the motel. They were going to come after you if anything happened to their pot gardens. They were using you as insurance.”

“I thought you said it was because they wanted you to find Karalee's killer.”

“Yes — that too. That was their first demand. They gave me three days.”

Telson stares at me. “Well, which is it Porter?”

“It's both,” I say, wishing this were less complicated.

Telson looks disgusted. “You can't even get your stories straight.”

She pushes back her chair, reaches for her coat.

“Listen to me, Christina. I did it because I care about you.”

“You lied,” she says, giving me a murderous look. “Goodbye, Porter.”

“No,” I whisper, but it's too late. I've lost her. I cover my face, try to regain my composure.

Suddenly, both women are laughing. Then it dawns on me.

“Okay ... okay ... you got me.”

Telson sits down, still laughing. “You should have seen the look on your face.”

Both women laugh again, attracting the attention of the other patrons. I feel my face fill with blood, hot and glowing. Telson points out that I'm blushing and I blush harder, until I'm beet red. It's not the most masculine reaction and I shield my face, glare out the window.

“You deserve it,” says Telson.

I nod, embarrassed but too weak with relief to be angry. “How did you know?”

“Del called me,” Telson says. “Told me everything, invited me to the party.”

“You knew when you got there?”

Telson nods. “But I had to teach you a lesson.”

“Lucky for me you did.”

There's a lull as we bask in a sense of relief and renewed companionship.

Telson looks at me. “There's just one thing I don't understand. Lyle admitted that he started the fire that killed Del's father. Basically, he confessed to premeditated murder. It's all over the news. He'll probably get a life sentence. Why would he confess if there isn't any evidence?”

I shrug. “Maybe he couldn't live with his conscience.”

Both women clearly do not believe this. The waitress rolls past again, asking if we need anything. Telson requests a menu. We'll stay for lunch. I use the opportunity to slip away to the washroom, where I pull a piece of paper from my back pocket. It's the bill from the motel. I glance at it once more — at the service charge for the phone call I didn't make, the night I went to rescue Lyle. It didn't take long to figure out the call was made by Del. When I tried the number at a pay phone, Erwin answered. I didn't say anything, just hung up, but that number came in handy once more. I whispered it into Lyle's ear, as he lay on the gurney in the ambulance, gave him a simple choice. He could talk, or I could call Erwin and explain that Lyle was really the one to blame for the death of his sister.

Lyle wisely opted for the first choice.

I ponder the motel bill a moment longer. I could use it to confront Del about how she played me, or I could turn it over to the cops, so they could track down Erwin. But there doesn't seem to be much point. The guilty have been punished. Anything more is just paperwork. I crumple the motel bill into a little ball, toss it into the trash, and return to the table. Telson raises an eyebrow as I slide in beside her.

Del watches, grinning. “You two are such a cute couple.”

“Yeah,” says Telson. “Barbie and Butt Head.”

But she smiles at me — a secret, endearing smile. I think about the fire on the ridge. Being trapped in the flimsy shelter. About everything I had to lose. “Christina,” I say, and she meets my gaze. Her eyes are deep and open, and for a long moment we just look into each other. I'm sure she'll say something intentionally abrasive to break the moment, but she doesn't.

“Yes, Porter,” she says finally. Her smile is wistful, a little afraid.

“Christina, there's something I've been meaning to ask you.”

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
•

I would like to thank the following members of the United States Forest Service for their interest and friendly co-operation while I was researching this book. Without exception, every one of them gave generously of their time. Timothy G. Love, Chief Ranger, allowed me full access to his staff. Becky White, Assistant Fire Management Officer, answered my many questions on USFS fire operations. Jon P. Agner, Fire Management Technician, provided insights into district fire investigation procedures. Bill Oelig provided information on the use of fusees. Paul Steensland, Senior Special Agent, provided information on the criminal investigative branch of the Forest Service. Special thanks to Dick Mangan of Blackbull Wildfire Services, who provided me with a copy of Investigating Wildland Fire Entrapments (usda 0151-2823-mtdc), for sharing his extensive experience in investigating these tragedies, including the investigation of the South Canyon disaster at Storm King Mountain. Thanks to Mike Dietrich for providing pictures of the usda Honor Guard. I would like to extend my appreciation to Paul Broyles, Chief of Fire Operations for the US National Park Service, for providing information on fire investigation and incident management teams and a copy of the video NFES 1568; Using Your Fire Shelter. Many thanks to Mike McMeekin of the Missoula County Sheriff's Department for his detailed responses to my many questions regarding homicide and arson investigation. Deputy Sheriff Scott Newell provided valuable insight into crime scene procedure.

Pat Swan Smith, of the Seeley Lake Rural Fire District, provided information on the functioning of a volunteer fire department. Cpl Gordon Petracek, Forensic Identification Specialist, Royal Canadian Mounted Police, provided information on fusee residue. I would like to thank Marc Gamache of the Alberta Forest Service, a friend and former co-worker, for sharing his experience regarding fire operations in Montana. Also Blake Sproule, for his judicious editing.

BOOK: One Careless Moment
3.33Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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