My heart clenched like it always did when people mentioned the resemblance.
“But,” she said, her eyes glassy, “we can’t afford that.”
“No charge.” I squeezed her hand in return. “The farm is so busy this time of year. We haven’t had the opportunity to really assess whether the cabin is acceptable for guests. And we rarely get homecooked meals with the way we’re always working. We’d be grateful if you’d make your famous beef bourguignon in payment for your stay. How about that?”
Her face lit up. “It was my grandmother’s recipe. She was born in France, you know. Ooh, Carl. We’ll need to stop at the market today so I can pick up the ingredients.”
While we finished cleanup and inspected the rest of the house, I texted Josh, letting him know that the Glovers were on board and to expect them soon.
As we headed back to the station, smoke clinging to our skin and gear, the mood shifted, adrenaline waning and silly chatter taking over.
“Clean work,” Chief said proudly. “Lawrence, you ran that interior perfectly.”
“Thanks,” I replied, surveying the Green Mountains in the distance.
“Don’t stroke his ego too much,” Chris teased, his eyes on the road. “He’s already got a baby and a murder mystery to star in.”
While the rest of the crew laughed, I shot a dirty look at the back of his head. Asshole.
“Seriously,” Magnus said, his face full of twenty-year-old innocence. “Why would anyone kill a person in Maplewood? We’re America’s most charming small town. Nothing bad happens here.”
“Charm doesn’t mean safe,” Martin said. “Could have happened anywhere. Wasn’t it your farm Jasper?”
I grumbled unintelligibly in response. No way was I going to offer up details to anyone.
“Maple syrup, the FBI, a body, a secret baby.” Chris hooted. “Those Lawrences have all kinds of secrets.”
A growl rolled out of me. Dammit. My family had always been held in high esteem. How the hell did we end up wrapped up in this bullshit? And on top of that, Evie and Vincent were getting pulled into this harmful gossip. And that’s where I drew the line. My skin itched, not from the smoke or the fine mist of chemical retardant, but from the rumors that were no doubt being mentioned in places other than this rig.
“Can it, Polanski,” the chief snapped before I could lay into Chris. “The Lawrences are not the Corleones of Vermont. This unfortunate situation is just that. It’s a tragedy, Will’s death, and not a topic to be chattering about.”
Lips pressed together, I gave her a nod of thanks.
“Our job is to counteract the shitty things that befall our town,” she reminded him. “To help and assist and serve. Don’t forget that.”
Chastened, Chris nodded, his focus never leaving the road ahead of us.
The cab had just fallen silent when Martin perked up, waving his phone in the air. “My brother-in-law will be out at the Glovers’ on Monday to do a full clean and repair the damage.”
Good. The best way to prevent these fires was annual cleaning and inspections of the old brick chimneys, but the upkeep could be expensive, and many people, especially elderly couples on fixed incomes like the Glovers, couldn’t afford it.
“We can set up the positive pressure fans tomorrow,” he added.
“Did you really offer them a place to stay?” Magnus asked, brows pinched in confusion.
“We serve the public,” Chief said, turning in her seat to look at him. “Putting out the fire is only a small part of that service. Up here, we have to rely on each other.”
“So Jasper finds them a place to stay, and Chris’s brother-in-law fixes the chimneys?”
We’d had several people stay in the cabin over the past few months. Josh, who could not exist without a project to keep him busy during his downtime, had renovated it last year. At the time, Jess had planned to move back, bringing her two daughters with her. Instead, she reconnected with her college sweetheart and stayed in New York. Rather than use the cabin, they’d decided to convert one of the old barns into a summer house for their family.
Josh had mentioned renting the place out several times, but he’d yet to get around to it. So it was the perfect solution for the Glovers.
“In this case, yes.” Chief nodded. “The Glovers are elderly, and they have no family left in town. It’s the least we can do.”
As we rumbled back to the firehouse, Mrs. Glover’s comment replayed in my head. She’d said that I looked like my dad.
Sighing, I closed my eyes and tried to picture his face. It had been close to fifteen years since we lost him. The ache to see him, to talk to him and introduce him to Vincent, hit me hard. He’d know what to say to encourage me, to make me feel capable. He’d make me believe that I had a shot in hell of living up to him. That I could be the kind of father he was.
