The Beekeeper's Daughter

Will nodded. He’d have liked to get back in his van and head to town for a shower and a cold beer. Except the captain, directing the mop-up, kept glancing his way. He sighed. The evening wasn’t going to end any time soon.

But things moved quickly once the remaining embers had been doused. The firefighters worked silently as they put away their equipment. Will recalled all too well the mood after a fire. The first rush of anxiety on arrival at a blaze led rapidly to a routine polished by practice and real-life runs. Save lives, then save property. Afterward, the relief was always muted by the realization of loss and suffering.

The captain finished his conversation with Warren Lewis and his wife and headed in Will’s direction. He’d removed his helmet and the balaclava beneath it, his face and forehead slick with perspiration. He leaned against the tanker truck beside Will and, taking a handkerchief from his coat pocket, wiped his face. Then he withdrew a pack of cigarettes, offering one to Will.

“No thanks.”

Lighting up, the captain took a long draw, releasing the smoke slowly before speaking again. “I’m Scott Andrews, by the way.”

“Yeah. Warren told me.”

“Appreciate the help, Jennings. Especially manning the portatank.” He took another drag on his cigarette before adding, “Warren said you’re a firefighter.”

“Was,” Will corrected. “In New Jersey.”

“Uh-huh. Well, I gotta say, I figured you knew something about fires. Most civvies would’ve been trying to put out the barn with the garden hose.”

Will didn’t say anything.

“Sorry for the initial suspicion,” Andrews went on, “but we’ve had a few barn fires in the area lately. Any stranger needs checking out—especially one so conveniently on the scene.”

“I’d have done the same, in your place.”

Andrews looked at him. “On a leave of some kind?” His eyes flicked from Will’s eyes to his scar.

“Nope. Quit.”

“You get that in a fire?”

No beating around the bush with the guy. Still, his bluntness was refreshing. It reminded him of Annie’s question earlier in the day. He nodded. “Yeah.”

Andrews fell silent, finishing his cigarette. Will waited until the other man finally asked, “Where were you coming from? This road is hardly a main highway.”

“I was visiting Ambrosia Apiaries, not far from here. Then I went to some campsite—I don’t remember the name—to see if I could stay there for the night. No one was around so I was heading into Essex.” Will took a deep breath. “Mind if I go now? It’s getting late.”

“You a friend of the Collins family?”

Will sighed. The guy had obviously missed his calling. He should’ve been a cop. “I’m on a road trip and was driving through the valley when I saw the apiary sign. I was curious. I had a tour of the place and as I was leaving, Annie told me about the campsite.”

Andrews stared at him for a long tense moment. “Like I said, I appreciate your help. And so does Warren. He had an antique harvester in there. Good thing you were around to keep him from getting hurt going after it.”

The compliment must’ve meant he’d decided to accept his story. Will rubbed his face, wondering if it was as sooty as the captain’s. “Look, if you don’t mind, I should be finding a place for the night. Right now a shower and a cold beer are all I’m interested in.”

Andrews smiled. “You’n me both. As a matter of fact, one of my men owns that campsite. He’s at home sick today, but I can give him a call.”

Will considered the offer for a moment, but hot water and a frosty ale were too irresistible. “Thanks, but for tonight I’d rather be in town. Maybe I could get his name and number from you though, in case I decide to stick around?”

“Sure. Hang on for a sec. I need to talk to Warren.” He walked to where the couple stood staring at their ruined barn.

Will waited by his van. He was worn out. Just pumping out the tanker had left him exhausted—a sign he had yet to recoup his strength since the accident. He saw the captain gesture toward what was left of the barn as he spoke to Warren. No doubt the local fire marshal would have to come take a look, especially if there’d been an outbreak of fires in the area.

He frowned, thinking of Annie Collins running the apiary alone while her father was away. Then he shrugged the thought aside. Whatever was happening in Garden Valley was no business of his. Anyway, more than likely the perp was simply some troubled or bored teenager.

Andrews came back, a grim expression on his face. “Warren was just telling me he decided to drop the insurance on the barn a few months back. He was using it basically as a storage shed and the premiums were getting higher every year so…” He shook his head. “Damn bad luck.”

“So you think it was arson?”

“Oh yeah. One of my men found an empty gasoline canister in the bushes over there that Warren says isn’t his.”

“The same person who’s been setting the other fires?”

“We won’t know for sure till the marshal’s had a look around, but my guess is a yes. Why is another big question.”

“Someone obsessed with fires?”

“Possibly, but here? In Garden Valley?”

Maybe Andrews considered the valley some kind of Eden but personally, Will was a bit more skeptical. Life so far had convinced him paradise existed more in the imagination than the real world. “So what other reasons have you been tossing around?” he asked.

Andrews absently patted down his jacket pocket before pulling out his pack of cigarettes again. He offered one to Will, who shook his head. “Oh yeah, sorry. Forgot. I have to quit—so the doctor says. I’ve been having some angina.” He took a long draw, blowing out the smoke in a satisfied sigh. “I promised the wife this would be my last pack.”

“That you bought? Or borrowed?”

Andrews gave a sheepish grin. “Right. I’ve been working on that. Anyway, at first we thought the fires were part of some kind of insurance fraud thing. Couple of the farmers were really down and out—on the verge of bankruptcy. But then about a week ago, one of the most prosperous outfits in the area lost its hay barn.” He took another drag on the cigarette. A sprinkle of embers from its tip flew into the air with the evening breeze.

Will had a sudden vision of calling back the trucks, this time to put out a blaze started by the captain. “No pattern to the victims then?”

“None we can see. Except all of the barns and sheds have been used for storage or whatever. No animals.”

Interesting. The perp has a heart? “When did the fires begin?”

Andrews shrugged. “About three months ago. It took a while for us to realize we had a serial arsonist at work.”

“Serial arsonist? That doesn’t sound like teenagers.”

“Could be, though. You know—one with serious problems.” Andrews finished off the cigarette and carefully ground the butt into the earth with the heel of his boot. “You ever encountered a serial arsonist?’

“Can’t say I have. The only arsonists I’ve met were hired.”

“I thought of that, too, along with the possible insurance fraud. But the one thing every victim had in common was a different insurance company. Or, like poor Warren here, no insurance at all.”

“Poor guy,” Will muttered.

“No kidding. Anyway, knowing folks in the valley, there’ll be a barn-raising organized before the end of summer. Okay, that’s it for me,” said Andrews with a loud sigh. “I’m beat. You wanna follow me? There’s a pretty decent motel about five miles this side of Essex.”

“Sounds good,” Will said.

“Motel’s got a sports bar attached.”