“Faulty wiring would be my first guess with a lack of lint control,” I observed.
Lucy made a sound that was part groan, part prayer. She dragged a hand through her hair, then flinched when her fingers came away coated with the dust from the fire extinguisher. “We will pay for your suits. I mean, we will eventually pay for your suits because no doubt your suits were very expensive.”
“It’s fine." It wasn't fine, but there were worse problems than two casualties of polyester-cotton diplomacy.
Behind us, Braxton coughed into his sleeve. “There is… a lot of smoke.”
Lucy looked up at the screaming smoke alarm with the weariness of a woman who had run out of patience an hour ago. “Dex, will you please shut it off?”
I took the hint, caught the casing, and twisted the alarm free. It died with an offended chirp. Silence dropped into the room like relief.
There was a soft throat-clearing from the hall. “Is everything all right here?”
A man stood in the doorway with a municipal badge clipped to his jacket and a clipboard tucked under one arm. Middle-aged, clean-shaven, eyes that scanned a room the way mine scanned a blueprint.
Helen introduced the stranger. “This is Alex Mercer. He’s here to inspect the premises.”
His gaze tracked to the extinguisher in my hand, the mess on the floor, the dryer’s last will and testament. “I was coming by to introduce myself and schedule your permit review.”
Lucy’s throat moved in an attempt to swallow. “Of course.”
Mercer stepped inside and took in the room, observing the burnt outlet and dead dryer. His pen hovered over the clipboard. “Do you mind if I take a quick look while I am here?”
Lucy hesitated for a heartbeat, pride and practicality warring across her face. Then she squared her shoulders. “Please do.”
“Are you sure this is the time?” I tried to intercede but Mercer wasn’t having it.
“You will need a licensed electrician to evaluate your wiring. This outlet is warm, which it shouldn't be. The vent was likely clogged causing the fire. Lint is a hazard. The fire extinguisher will need to be replaced and I will have to inspect the tags on the others." Mercer tutted to himself as he made notes.
“Expired last decade,” I supplied, reading the faded tag and fearing the rest were in the same shape.
“Replace them." Mercer didn't blink. “Your smoke alarm isn't working.”
Lucy nodded wearily.
Mercer’s brow lifted. “Who performed the demolition in the other room here?”
“My husband. He found the most beautiful molding,” Helen chirped.
“The tiles came down unexpectedly,” Lucy added quickly.
“Unexpectedly,” Mercer repeated, not smiling. “Is there a permit for demolition in place?”
“We have the purchase and the business license,” Helen offered, as if permits and enthusiasm were cousins. “Kitty made the website. It is very modern.”
Mercer’s pen didn't move. “Demolition permit?”
Lucy’s jaw tightened. “It was on my list for today.”
Mercer glanced at me, then back to her. “And are you currently open to the public?”
“We are softly open,” Helen declared. “Just family for dinner.”
“Just family,” Mercer echoed, eyes landing on me and Braxton.
“We are distant cousins,” Braxton volunteered, a fraction too brightly. “We came to look at the property, didn’t we, Dex?”
“Absolutely,” I dryly stated.
