Love Under Two Jessops (27 page)

But maybe for some, the loss had been too hard, and rebuilding simply was not possible. And maybe for one person, the damage done had prompted another reaction than a plan to rebuild.

He pulled up the map included on the information loaded into the jump drive. He had a feeling that he understood the pattern of the fires, and it really had nothing—necessarily—to do with Benedict County.

He wasn’t certain who, in the financial services industry, he could call to ask the questions he wanted to ask. But he did know someone in the family who might be able to help him out.

It only took a moment be connected to his cousin, Richard Benedict.

“Hi, Grant. What can I do for you?”

Grant grinned. Rick was getting better at social interaction since he and his brothers had married Maggie Morrison. But during the workday, Rick still tended to be a get-to-the-point kind of guy. In this particular circumstance, that suited him just fine.

“Is there a way I can find a list of properties that have recently been foreclosed on in a particular area? Say, Hamilton County?”

“Are you looking to invest? For those with the means, it’s a good time to buy land.”

“No.” Grant shivered. The idea of taking advantage of someone else’s misfortune didn’t sit well with him. He had the means to afford to buy land at full market value, if he had a desire to do so. Not that there was anything wrong with a person picking up a bargain through the unfortunate circumstances of others, sad as the reality of those losses had been. That was, in a way, what living in a free society was all about. “I’m actually investigating a series of fires, and I’m tugging on a string to see if it unravels anything.”

“Do you have a specific time frame, or bank?”

“Bank, no. But time frame, yeah. I’m thinking of a property that was repossessed within the last year.”

Rick whistled. “That could be a fair number of properties. But just one county? Let me see what I can dig up for you. I’ll send you an e-mail shortly.”

“Thanks, Rick. I appreciate it.”

“Not a problem, cousin. Glad to help.”

It didn’t take Rick long to get back to him. Before he’d had much more time than to get up from his desk and brew himself a cup of coffee, his e-mail alert pinged.

A lot of properties had been repossessed in the last year. All of the previous burn sites were on Rick’s list. Because the list was not only specific to address but also GPS coordinates, it didn’t take him long to plot those parcels that followed the general path toward Benedict County.

Only two properties fit the bill, and both were currently in bank hands. He flicked his glance up at the clock. It was only two in the afternoon, plenty of time left in the day.

Time enough to take a drive out to Hamilton County. He’d drive past both properties and see if he could sense anything—not that he believed himself to possess any supernatural powers, exactly.

But like cops, firemen sometimes had instincts that kicked in when they were needed the most.

The sun held court in a sky dotted with fluffy clouds and the temperatures held steady in the seventies. Grant blessed his antecedents that he was a Texas man, born and bred. He’d caught a taste of northern winter in years past, having spent some of January and this month of February in North Dakota, training.

If he never experienced another snowstorm again, it would be too soon.

Traffic was predictably light on Monday afternoons, and it didn’t take him long to find the first address on his list. He got out of his car and scanned the property. A pretty little house sat on a hill, with a barn to the side. The driveway wasn’t very deep, and the property appeared to be well maintained, for all that it was deserted.

According to the records he’d seen, this small parcel of land had been severed from the larger, neighboring ranch in the 1990s. It had changed hands a couple of times before being purchased by a retired military man, who thought he would actually trade his weapons for ploughshares. It worked out for him, too, until he decided to move closer to his family in Georgia. Unfortunately, he couldn’t find a buyer for the place, and was forced to simply abandon it.

This doesn’t feel like the one
. Grant had his suspicions, and until he saw the property itself, he couldn’t be sure if his suspicions had merit, or not.

He suspected their spark was an angry person. Nothing about this property, nor the owner, shouted anger to him.

He got back in his truck, and in a few minutes was approaching the second parcel of land. He frowned when he saw a pickup truck stopped by the side of the road. He pulled in behind it and nodded to the man who appeared to be tearing down a somewhat tattered “for sale” sign.

“Hello there, neighbor,” the man greeted, hand outstretched. “I’m Fred Miller, Miller Real Estate. You looking for a nice, family home? This piece of land is a beauty, let me tell you. One hundred and fifty-five hectares, featuring some real pretty riverfront, along with a house and barn and two other outbuildings. Now, I know the house needs a lot of work. But for nine hundred thousand, five hundred, I tell you, this place is a real good deal.”

Grant shook the agent’s hand then turned his attention to the house. “No, I’m not in the market. Actually, I’m with the Fire Department over in Lusty. I’ve been working with Artie Ferris, fire chief here for Hamilton County.”

“Yeah, I know Artie. He’s in my bowling league. You working with him on those fires we’ve been having lately? Damn dry weather doesn’t help things, I imagine.”

“No, the drought sure doesn’t help keep down the fires.”

“If you ask me, it’s a bunch a kids with too much time on their hands that have been causing all this trouble.” He pointed to the sign he had just torn down.

“This is the fourth time I’ve had to replace this sign. Damn kids keep shooting holes in the thing. If I could catch them, I’d offer ’em a reward just to keep the damn thing safe.”

“You haven’t seen anything else, or had any other trouble? Anyone parked close by, or seen lurking about, or anything like that?” Grant asked.

“Naw, this is a real quiet area.” He pointed to the house. “Folks who used to live there, they were good folks. Family of four. Parents and a couple of boys. Damn shame, really. Farmer had a couple of bad years, and then the fucking market collapsed.” Mr. Miller shrugged. “I guess old Bill—that would be Bill Porter—didn’t make much provision for the hard times, the way some farmers do. He’d taken out a loan, too, and you know what happened to some folks who couldn’t qualify for regular mortgages.”

Grant did indeed know what happened. There had been a lot of companies willing to lend money to folks who really couldn’t afford those loans.

When the financial meltdown began and things started to fall apart, the biggest sport seemed to be one company selling its “paper” to another—and people awoke to discover their loans were worth more than they had been, and were due immediately.

“So what happened to them?” Grant asked. “The family that lived here?”

Mr. Miller shook his head. “The boys were both full grown, and neither one of them interested in working the land. I hear the loss of the farm done tore the parents apart. The Missus, she went to live with one of her sons over in Laramie. Old Bill hired himself out. Works on a spread up near the border between Hamilton and Comanche counties, in that area.”

Grant wondered how an older man would adapt to being a hired hand after owning his own spread all of his life.

To Mr. Miller, he said, “Do you mind if I have a look around?”

“Not a-tall. Do you want the keys to the house? I could go fetch them for you.”

“No, thanks. I just want to have a look around the property.”

Grant left his car where it was, and walked down the road to the laneway. No gate barred his progress, and as he walked, he focused on the house.

It looks beat down, and sad
. He guessed he could understand that. Likely there’d been no money for paint or to keep the house up. He’d spoken to many ranchers and farmers over the years and understood that the business—the foundation of the family’s well-being—had to come first.

If there were feed or vet bills to pay, fresh paint on the house had to wait.

He thought this property had a lot in common with the burn sites, except, of course, for the structures. As he approached the house he caught sight of a rusted-out swing set that stood at a skewed angle in the backyard. Combined with the equally sad-looking house, he imagined this image could stand for all the loss and heartache so many in the country had suffered over the last few years. The scent of fuel oil teased his nostrils and he tensed—until he saw the almost rusted-out gas tank that stood just back of the house.
That thing’s a fire hazard.
He made a mental note to have Arte arrange to have it taken away. One bad lightning strike, and if there was anything left in that tank, it would combust.

Unable to resist, he cupped his hands to shield against the sun and peered into a window. Dirty floors and bare walls stared back. He could see little squares of darker wallpaper, tiny reminders of where family photos had likely once hung.

This place is just about the bleakest place I’ve ever seen
.

A flash of movement off to the side caught his attention, as did the sudden sound, familiar and unwelcome.

The first
swoosh
came from behind him, followed immediately by a second, and a third to his right and his left. Grant turned around and gaped, as a wall of fire sprang up, rushed past him, to surround the house and him both.

Andrew had never driven so fast in all his life.

For him, that was saying something. Up ahead, there were fire trucks and police vehicles, and ominous black smoke curling into the air like an angry, venomous snake. He had no idea the state of the fire, though it looked to him as if the crews had it contained. He saw the EMT vehicle off to the side on the other side of the road and headed for that.

A State Trooper stood in the middle of the road between him and it, prepared to turn back anyone who didn’t have business at the crime scene. Andrew cursed the delay. He put his window down, and held out his credentials.

The trooper took the proffered identification then handed it back. “Captain Jessop. I believe Chief Ferris is waiting for you by the ambulance.” Then his expression turned somber. “That other Captain Jessop, he’s your brother?”

“Yes, he is.”

“Hell of a thing,” the trooper said.

Andrew couldn’t agree more. He accelerated carefully so he didn’t fling gravel at the trooper. Inside, his nerves were strung tight. He’d only ever felt this way once before, and that was a half a year ago during that last fire jump up north.

He slammed out of his car, his eyes fixed on the crowd that surrounded the EMT ambulance. He caught sight of a stretcher, with a black bag strapped to it.

He turned his gaze away, his heart in his throat, and focused instead on the back of the vehicle, and the handful of men standing close.

He didn’t give one good damn if he pissed anyone off, or not. He shouldered his way into the group.

“Hey, little brother. I hope you didn’t get a speeding ticket coming here.”

Andrew exhaled. “Naw, I left the Statie in the dust,” Andrew said. The strength damn near left his knees, so he leaned against the truck. He watched the EMTs bandaging Grant’s hands, then let his eyes roam the rest of his brother.

Grant’s clothes clearly showed the effects of fire—the fact that his brother had been wearing an undershirt likely kept him from getting too many more burns.

“How bad are the hands?”

“He should see a doctor,” one of the EMTs said. “We don’t think he needs the hospital. He said there’s a doctor in the family?”

“There’re actually four of ’em and that’s where we’re headed just as soon as y’all are done with him.”

The other ambulance that had been parked down the road a piece made its way toward them and rolled to a stop. Andrew let his gaze track from it to the stretcher waiting a few feet away.

“That our spark?” he asked.

Grant sighed. “Yes, damn it. I didn’t know he got caught in the damn fire.”

Andrew wasn’t feeling very charitable at the moment, because he knew his brother. If Grant had had
any
idea the man had been trapped by the same flames that had trapped him, he’d have risked his life to save him.

He supposed later he would have to ask God to forgive him for his selfishness. If someone had to die today, he was just thankful it hadn’t been Grant.

“What happened?”

Artie Ferris said, “Near as we can tell, the man got spooked when he began to set the blaze. He hadn’t expected anyone to be on the property. The real estate agent, Fred Miller, didn’t hear any screaming. There was a rock beside his head when we found him. We have to wait for the medical examiner, but I’d wager he began to run, fell, hit his head—and likely accelerated the fire because his gas can was on the ground, on its side—as was a bottle of Jack.”

“Luckily Mr. Miller was still here when the fire erupted,” Grant said. “He called for help.”