Fishing, Festivities, & Fatalities by Mary Seifert

Author:Mary Seifert
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: amateur sleuths, holiday stories, cozy mystery series, pets in mystery stories, mystery series for women, christmas mystery stories, murder mystery series books for adult
Publisher: Columbine Publishing Group, LLC

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CJ lifted Carlee’s chin and assessed the damage. He gave words of profound parental wisdom. “The pendant belonged to her in the first place, I would say.”

Carlee nodded, almost in tears. “I didn’t mean to take it to keep but I couldn’t very well leave it where I found it, could I? I’m glad she has it back.”

CJ nodded, turned to us, and said, “Drew called. They need drivers and vehicles to take some of the homeless at the park who require transportation to another temporary shelter. Steve, can you help? You might have room in your truck for a few of their belongings.”

Steve moved toward the door when he heard ‘they need.’ I grabbed my keys. “My Focus will hold five.”

“What’s burning?” said Dad.

“We don’t know yet. May Carlee stay here with you, Ida?”

Ida nodded, and Carlee took a seat next to her on the piano bench, wrapping her arms around the little lady. Their dog Renegade wriggled inside and plopped himself next to Maverick. Both tilted their heads expectantly.

“I’ll help,” said Brock, punching off his phone. “I got an okay from my mom.”

CJ looked like he wanted to protest, but he thought again and jerked his head. Brock gave Lorelei’s hand a firm squeeze and followed.

We headed out again, toward the county park. There were some gawkers mingling among the line of cars waiting to assist those who wanted to move to a new shelter up and away from the blaze. Occasionally, a thin flame scratched the night sky, stretching through the unnatural, eerie orange halo around the bridge by the park. Anxious, and with an insatiable need to know, Steve left his truck, and brought back the news. “It’s awfully dry and there is a breeze but it’s not as bad as it could be. The fire’s contained. Only a few shelters and some of the trees on the point are destroyed. Some members of the community won’t budge no matter how much smoke fills the night sky. They won’t relinquish their little patch of the world for fear it might be taken. So far, no fatalities, but several families with young children and older folks want to spend a night away from the suffocating smoke.”

When we finally neared the parking lot, the gray pall covered everything and made it difficult to see very far into the surrounding area. A handful of groups waited, still intent on new accommodations: two families with young children and three seniors in their twilight years.

One group piled into Steve’s truck. Brock assisted the elders crowding into CJ’s truck, and a family of four got into my vehicle. Their clothes were clean but worn and threadbare. Each child clutched a small backpack and a toy.

“Anything else?” I asked.

“This is it.” Their meager belongings fit in the single duffle bag toted by their mother. The dad sat as still as he could in the passenger seat, squeezing the life out of the folder on his lap and clutching the handle of a large clunking toolbox.

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