Total Rush (33 page)

“Where are they taking him?” Gemma asked a nearby cop.

“To the precinct to process him. Then to the psych ward.” The officer laughed.

Pained, she turned away. Poor Uther; she never would have guessed his eccentricity would spin this far out of control. She walked back to Eisen.

“Good job,” he said, clapping her on the back.

Gemma barely heard him. “Can I go in my store now? I need to make a phone call.”

Eisen looked apologetic. “You'll have to wait a few minutes, I'm afraid. It's a crime scene. The bomb squad needs to go in and make sure your friend didn't leave any gifts behind.”

“He didn't,” Gemma said, “but you do what you have to do.”

Remembering her recently purchased cell phone, she rooted frantically in her purse, stepping away from the action for some privacy. If she'd left it at home, she'd walk in front of the next cab that came barreling down the street, so help her God she would. Her fingers finally touched upon it, and she dredged it up from the depths of her bag. Turning it on, she dialed her own number.
Frankie, I'm sorry this is taking so long . . .
She was dumbfounded when her machine picked up. She disconnected and tried again. The results were the same.
Frankie, where are you? Please be there! Please just be too busy with Nonna to pick up. Please let there be nothing majorly wrong . . .

Shoving the phone back in her shoulder bag, she returned to where Julie stood with Eisen and three other officers. She wrapped a protective arm around Julie's hunched shoulders. “I'm so sorry you had to deal with this, sweetie. I'm leaving, why don't you go home too?”

Eisen's expression was grim. “She can't. Detective Purcell here needs to speak with her. You, too—”

“But officer, you don't understand, I have a situation at home—”

“It'll only be a few questions, Miss Dante. I promise.”

 

 

A few questions
turned out to be many. How long had she owned the store? How long has she known Uther? What exactly was the nature of their relationship? What had she done to upset him? Had he ever threatened her before? Did she notice him acting in any unusual or suspicious way in the past few weeks?

By the time Detective Purcell was done, Gemma was beside herself with worry. This was too long to be gone from Nonna. And why didn't Frankie answer the phone?

“That should do it,” Purcell said, snapping his reporter's notepad shut. He was a small man, serious, with a slightly crooked nose and a chest like a barrel.

Gemma's mind was spinning. “Can I go now?”

Purcell looked at her kindly. “Free to go. Thank you for your cooperation.”

Gemma made herself smile. “You're welcome.”

Purcell slipped her his card. “If anything else comes to mind, anything you think might be helpful in our investigation, don't hesitate to call me. You, too,” he added, passing another card to Julie.

“Now what?” Julie asked forlornly as the cops took their leave.

“Go home. Rest.”

“Aren't we going to open today?”

“No, we are not. I believe this qualifies as a mental health day.”

Julie nodded gratefully. “What are you going to do?”

“I have to get back to my grandmother.”

Julie kicked anxiously at the sidewalk with the steel toe of her Doc Marten. “So, am I still opening tomorrow?”

“If you can handle it.”
If you can't, I'll just be closed tomorrow, too, while I bring Nonna back to Brooklyn. Screw it.

“No problem.”

“You sure you're going to be okay?”

“Fine.” She peered at Gemma anxiously. “You?”

“I'm fine,” Gemma lied.

“So, um, okay, then.” Julie picked up her backpack from where it rested against the side of the building and swung it up onto her shoulder. “See you, Gem.”

“I'll call you later to make sure you're okay.”

“You don't have to.”

“I want to.”

“Okay.” Julie shrugged. “See you,” she repeated.

She set off down the block, then abruptly stopped, turning back to Gemma with a panicked look on her face.

“I just remembered something.”

“What?”

“About three weeks ago, that guy stopped by looking for you.”

“What guy?” Gemma asked patiently.

“Whatsisname, the fireman guy—”

“Sean?”

“That's it. He just said to tell you he stopped by.” Julie looked sheepish. “I'm sorry I forgot, Gem, but things have been so nuts at the store with the constantly shifting hours—”

“Don't worry about it,” Gemma said.

Reassured, Julie walked away. Exhausted, Gemma looked at her store—the scene of a hostage crisis!—one final time before hailing a taxi. Her mind drifted as she watched the world outside scroll by the window of the cab.

She didn't want to think about what she'd come home to.

 

 

“
What are you
making again?”

Sean shot Sal Ojeda a disbelieving look. Along with the rest of the ladder company, they were on their way back to the firehouse after a trip to D'Agostino's to pick up the ingredients for that day's lunch. Ojeda had asked the same question when they pulled out of the firehouse, and again as he trailed Sean down the produce aisle. Either Sal was extremely distracted, or his brain was leaking intelligence like a slowly deflating tire.

“Steak, grilled peppers and onions, garlic mashed potatoes,” Sean repeated for the third time that day.

Ojeda blinked. “Oh. Right.”

Sean leaned over, tapping him lightly on the side of his head. “Hello? Anyone home?”

The action returned Ojeda back to full consciousness, and he shrugged. “Sorry. Spring fever, I guess.”

Sean understood completely. It was a sunny, early spring morning, freakish in its warmth. White clouds coddled the skyscrapers, while the breeze was steady enough to playfully rustle the skirts of women as they hurried down the sidewalks, teasing the imagination. It was one of those days Sean felt acutely aware of being alive.

He peered out the window, watching people as they watched the truck go by. There was something about the sight of the sleek, red vehicle in motion that seemed to intrigue the public. Ditto firefighters themselves: Whether they were sitting outside the firehouse or grocery shopping, folks always came over to say hello. Sean was proud of their approachability.

“So, whatever happened with you and that New Age-y chick?” Ojeda casually asked, cracking the window open farther. It was getting stuffy in the back of the truck.

Sean turned to him, puzzled. He couldn't remember telling Ojeda about it. Ojeda caught the expression on his face and laughed, pointing a finger at Leary.

“He told me.”

“Figures.”
Firefighters: the biggest friggin' gossips in the world.
“It just didn't work out.”

“Too freaky?”

“Nah,” Sean said evasively. “The timing was all wrong, you know? Plus, she's got a lot of other stuff going on.”

Ojeda nodded sympathetically. “I hear that.”

I wish I did.
Sean knew it was stupid, but it still bothered him that he'd never heard back from Gemma after stopping by the store. He knew she was dealing with a lot, but a simple acknowledgment would have been nice. Then again, silence could be its own answer.

Not one for excessive self-reflection, he nevertheless found himself thinking about how much he'd changed over the past few months. Part of it, he knew, was his willingness to go for help after the brownstone fire. But much of it was simply the passage of time, and the gift of hindsight. He'd been shallow to worry about her “not fitting in” with his world. Opposites attracted all the time. If his head hadn't been so far up his ass, they could have made it work. All it would have taken was compromise and an open mind. And another thing, too: He'd been wrong not to talk to her about things, wrong to feel annoyed with her worries for his safety. At the time, he couldn't see how one fed the other, how silence and worry chased each other in a never-ending spiral that could only lead to failure. Now he could. He would not make the same mistake again.

They had traveled less than a block when a young woman, standing on the nearest corner clutching a small chihuahua under her arm, frantically waved them down. Obliging, Joe Jefferson eased the ladder truck over to the curb. They all rolled down their windows.

“I think there's a fire around the corner on East Fifty-ninth,” she said breathlessly. “My dog was doing his business, and I looked up and saw smoke coming from the window of an apartment.”

“You got an address?” Captain McCloskey asked her.

The girl nodded. “One fifty-seven.”

“We're on it,” he told her as Jefferson switched on the siren and they sped away.

“Did she say one fifty-seven?” Sean called up front. Jefferson nodded. “Holy shit, that's my building.”

Gemma, Janucz, Tony the doorman, his birds—names and images bombarded him. There were a million different things that could cause a fire. He just prayed it was a small one, and that no one he cared about was anywhere near it.

 

 

The truck had
barely rolled to a halt before Sean jumped out.

“This is it!”

Peering skyward, he tensed: Whorls of black smoke were tumbling out of Gemma's partially opened living room window. “Fuck.”

“What?” Captain McCloskey demanded. They were all out on the sidewalk now, hurriedly slipping into their turnout gear.

“I know the woman who lives in that apartment,” Sean said, trying to keep his emotions in check. “I gotta go—”

“Whoa, hold up a minute.” McCloskey adjusted the air pack on his back. “What's the exact location of the apartment?”

“Fifth floor, second door on the left.”

“Okay. Kennealy, you and Ojeda take your cans to the fifth floor and scope things out. Do not enter the apartment in question, you hear me? Leary and I will go up to six. Delaney, you and Campbell stay put for now.” He turned to Joe Jefferson. “Radio back to the house for the engine and backup.” Putting on his helmet, he looked at Sean curiously. “You say you live here?”

“Yeah. Sixth floor—right above the apartment in question, in fact.” He picked up his can. “Can I go now?”

“We're all gonna go now,” the captain said. “Just remember what I said.”

 

 

“
Looks like there's
a fire. You want me to drop you here?”

Gemma, who'd been daydreaming as best she could, tore her eyes from the window and stared at the back of the cabbie's balding head.

“Excuse me?”

He impatiently directed her gaze to the fire truck parked in the middle of the street, its flashing light a warning. “Drop you here?”

Gemma nodded, dread filling her as she paid the cabbie and made her way out to the sidewalk. Invisible cables of steel were tightening around her chest, crushing her ribcage, making it hard to breathe. Hurrying, she hustled as fast as she could up the street. The fire truck was parked directly in front of her building. Absolute panic choked her as she looked up: Smoke was billowing from the window of her apartment.

She broke into a run. “My grandmother's in there!”

“Gemma! Gem!”

Hearing her name, Gemma halted abruptly and turned. There was Frankie, waving her arms madly amid the small crowd of bystanders and wide-eyed, terrified tenants. Unthinking, Gemma pushed her way through the crowd to join her.

“What are you doing out
here?
” she cried. “You're supposed to be with my grandmother!”

“There was a traffic accident on Third Avenue. I was stuck in the cab for forty minutes! By the time I got here, the fire department was already here! They're not letting anyone into the building. I tried calling you, but your cell phone was off.”

Gemma's eyes flashed with doubt as she shoved her hand deep into her pocketbook, pulling her cell phone out. Frankie was right: She'd turned the damn thing off. Gemma looked around wildly, thrusting the useless instrument back in her purse. “Does anyone know anything about this fire?” she asked loudly. “Anyone?”

“They think it's just in 5B right now, but they're not sure,” said a freckled woman holding a small orange cat on her shoulder as if it were an infant. She was petting it ferociously.

Gemma crumbled. “Nonna,” she sobbed. “I should never have left her alone! This is all my fault!”

“That's ridiculous!” Frankie grabbed Gemma's shoulders firmly. “You have to calm down. You have to.” She marched her over to the nearest firefighter. “Tell him! Tell him about your grandmother!”

Gemma cleared her throat, trying to get ahold of herself. “M-my grandmother is in 5B.”

The firefighter immediately got on his radio. “Ladder Twenty-nine Chauffeur to Ladder Twenty-nine, we have a report of a person still in 5B k.” He turned to Gemma. “We'll do what we can. Please step back.”

Reluctantly, Gemma let her friend lead her away. Her frightened eyes met Frankie's. “Nonna's in there,” she repeated, sounding completely lost and bewildered as tears poured down her face.

“I know, baby.” Frankie's voice cracked as she folded Gemma into a fierce embrace. “But the fire department is doing all they can. You have to have faith.”

Adrenaline pounding, Sean
flew up the stairs and carefully opened the door to the fifth floor, Ojeda right behind him. A smoky haze clung from floor to ceiling, while up and down the corridor, the piercing sound of individual smoke detectors going off created a skull-rattling cacophony. Sean marched up to the door of the nearest apartment and started pounding.