The Farm Fires by Laurie Loveman

Author:Laurie Loveman [Loveman, Laurie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: BookBaby

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Joe didn’t catch up to Charlie until they were back at the Dalebridge firehouse helping to ready the apparatus for another response, and the more Charlie appeared to be too busy to talk to him, the more convinced Joe was that Charlie had started the Miller fire. He finally cornered Charlie on top of their pumper as they connected and repacked dry two-and-a-half inch hose sections in the hosebed. There was enough noise coming from the men hoisting wet hose sections into the hose tower to cover anything Joe might say so he took advantage of the moment and said, “Dammit, Charlie, you did it, didn’tja?”

“Did what?” Charlie replied blandly.

“You know how that fire started, that’s what, ‘cause you started it.”

Charlie took the brass connector of the hose Joe handed him and screwed it onto the end of the hose already in the hosebed. “You know better’n that, Lindbloom. It’s those damn farmers again. Maybe Barneshill, maybe others.”

“Liar.”

Charlie fixed an even, cold glare at Joe. “Don’t call me a liar. Friends don’t call each other liars, and we’re friends. We’re good friends. Don’t forget that.”

Joe choked back a retort and kept his mouth shut for the length of time it took for him and Charlie to finish loading the hosebed, then Joe asked Max Roper for permission to go home to sleep for a couple of hours before going to work in Max’s garage. Max let him go, but Joe didn’t go home. He went to the Barneshill farm to warn Mark.

Joe’s sense of time was out of kilter from having been up and active in the early morning hours, so when he drove into the Barneshill yard, he was surprised to find Ben and his sons in the dairy barn, midway through the morning milking. A warm animal mustiness enveloped Joe as he entered the barn. Four cows were being milked by the Empire milking machines, and the cows that had already been milked were outside in the pen that opened onto the pasture. Joe paused for a moment, taking in the scent of this barn that he recalled so easily from his youth, when anything Glynis Barneshill did—even milking cows—was of utmost interest to him.

Seeing Joe standing just inside the doorway, Phil Barneshill called out, “Hey, Joe, how are ya?”

“Good, Phil, good, thanks. How’re you?”

“Couldn’t be better, thanks. What brings you here? Kinda early for an auto mechanic, isn’t it?”

“I’m lookin’ for Mark. Is he here?”

“Nope, not home at all, I don’t think. You can ask my dad, he’s down at the other end, hooking up the milkers.”

“Thanks,” Joe said. He passed Don, Dickie, and John Barneshill along the way, said quick hellos, and then greeted Ben, whose face was lined and tired, with a sad expression Joe couldn’t recall ever having seen before.

“What brings you around so early in the day?” Ben asked.

“I’m looking for Mark, Mr. B. I need to talk to him about fire department stuff.”

“He’s not at home this morning.”

“Do you know where I can find him?”

“No, Joe, I don’t.

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