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She scoured the neighborhood, talking to anyone who would speak to her. Homeowners, awakened by the sound of sirens, stood outside their houses staring up at the plumes of smoke billowing into the sky far too close for comfort.

Around ten o’clock in the morning, she ran back to the house and called the newsroom. This time it wasn’t Albert who picked up.

“Archer?” she asked, surprised that the reporter was stuck on rewrite.

“Johnson, I heard you were up there,” he bit out, sounding every bit as angry about the fact that she was at a scene and he was behind a desk as she expected him to be.

“What are you doing on rewrite?” she asked.

“It’s a holiday weekend and we’re shorthanded. I called in thinking I’d be sent to the scene, but…”

She had been there, and they had needed a rewrite man to relieve Brad.

“Packard wants us to assist the Evening Express,” he said.

A little fizzle of excitement flickered in her. Her reporting was going to go into the Los Angeles Evening Express, the Herald Times’s sister publication that published in the afternoon. While writing for the Herald Times was good, getting a byline in one of the Los Angeles papers was a very big deal.

“What have you got for me?” asked Archer.

She relayed a few quotes and some information she’d gotten from a fire chief on the scene.

“It’s the wind they’re the most worried about,” she said. “Right now it’s blowing away from Altadena, up into the San Gabriel Mountains.”

“Good thing there’s no Santa Anas right now,” muttered Archer.

“No one knows how long that will be the case. The wind could shift. If it does, we’ll be looking at mandatory evacuation orders for this neighborhood.”

“Let me know as soon as you hear anything more.”

“I’ll call you back,” she promised.

As she trotted down the steps to the front yard, she found Matt had taken up Miss Pearce’s position out front with the hose.

“Where is she?” Theresa asked, slowing to stop in front of him.

“I sent her in to get something to eat. I didn’t like how pale she was looking. Are you working?” he asked.

She nodded. “I’ve been filing whatever I can.”

“Good. Make them regret not giving you the job.”

Impulsively, Theresa went up on her toes and gave him a swift kiss. “I will.”

She had started to walk away when Matt called out to her, “Did you know?”

“Know what?” she asked.

“That my grandfather worked for Miss Pearce?”

She shook her head. “Your last name is Saunders. I had no idea.”

“My mother’s maiden name was Macalister. Pamela Macalister.”

“In all these years, has Miss Pearce never told you about the connection to your grandfather?” she asked.

“Never once.” He frowned. “Why would she not tell me? You don’t think they—”

She shook her head. “I don’t know.”