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  Nolan backed away from the approaching flames and heard Vic shout at him from outside. He threw open the door and saw Vic on the steps, the shotgun still in his hands. "We're too late," Nolan gasped. "They're already—"

  "Help!"

  The cry came from the back of the trailer.

  Nolan grabbed the shotgun from Vic. "You get the TV and whatever else you can save."

  "What?" Vic said incredulously, but Nolan was already past him and running outside to the opposite end of the trailer. He clawed out the screen and swung the shotgun like a bat at the first window he came to. Alter knocking out the shards with the barrel he climbed in and found Myra bent over in bed, coughing and trying to get up. Nolan slung her over his shoulder and dumped her out the window feet first. She went down like a sack of potatoes and curled up, still coughing. "Cal,” she gasped.

  Nolan took a breath and prepared to follow her out, but another shout for help stopped him. Frowning in confusion, he left the window and ran into the short hall of the trailer, coughing as the smoke began to affect his own lungs.

  He nearly tripped over Cal. The boy was crawling down the hall toward his mother's room. Nolan grabbed Cal's arm and dragged him into Myra's room to shove him out the window. Nolan went out next and felt Vic's hands slip on his bloody thighs as his friend tried to catch him.

  "Vic, did you see the others?"

  "What others? I got the TV. Are you all right?"

  "Water," Nolan said. "We can save the stuff in the bedrooms. Cal, where's the pump and a hose?"

  Cal was still gulping in air. "Not enough. No water pressure. Drought."

  "Where the hell's the pump?" Nolan repeated. "We can at least try to save some of your clothes."

  Cal leaned his head back and put a hand on his mother's ann. Myra was drinking in air as if it were the water they were talking about.

  "The goat's tethered to the pump. The hose is beside the well house."

  Nolan looked around for Vic. He was gone. A bundle of clothes flew out the window.

  "Vic, get the hell out of there!" Nolan shouted.

  A jewelry box and a drawer full of undergarments came out next. Nolan gritted his teeth and ran to find the hose and the pump.

  Nolan was the last to leave the still smoldering trailer. In the house he passed through the living room and saw a grimy Cal asleep on the sofa. Vic slept in a nearby chair, his girls curled up at his feet. Nolan sighed in exhaustion and entered the hall. When he opened the bathroom door he found Myra trying to wash up. She was wearing a sleeveless undershirt and white cotton underpants.

  "Sorry." He started to back out, but she caught his arm and pulled him inside. After seating him on the toilet, she took a clean washcloth from beside the sink and dipped it in the basin. Without saying a word she began to wash the blood from the tops of his thighs. She had to scrub a little where the blood had dried, but when the cuts were clean he saw that none were deep enough to require stitches.

  "Did anyone call the sheriff?" he asked finally.

  "No," Myra said.

  "Oh, right…I forgot. Who were they?"

  Her hands paused. "Who was who?"

  Nolan frowned. "The people in the trailer. In the kitchen."

  Myra's brows met. "People in the kitchen?"

  "I saw two—" Nolan closed his mouth when he realized she had no idea what he was talking about. What the hell was going on? Had he only imagined those bodies?

  "There was no one in the trailer but Cal and myself," Myra said. Her expression became worried when she looked at Nolan's un-bandaged hands. "A chemical burn?" she asked, and he nodded. She emptied the water in the basin and filled it again. He winced as she tried to clean his hands, and when she routinely removed alcohol, ointment, and gauze from a shelf behind the mirror he began to shake his head. "No alcohol."

  "It's for your legs," she said.

  "It hurts."

  "Think about something else."

  He decided to think about her breasts and the white line at the top of her thighs. A shorts tan.

  "That well is almost dry," he remarked as he eyed her tight-fitting undershirt. He could just make out her nipples beneath the fabric.

  "We haven't had a decent rain in more than six weeks," she answered. "Maybe you haven't noticed, but it's the dry season."

  "I've noticed, Ouch! Goddammit."

  "Sit still. I'm almost done. I thought Cal said you were a fireman."

  "I am. I've been on disability. This is the first fire I've fought in four weeks."

  She finished with the alcohol and reached for the ointment. When he held out his hands, she said, "Don't firemen wear gloves when they're working?"

  "This was a—never mind. You had to be there."

  She let it go and concentrated on spreading the ointment evenly over the raw, still oozing skin of his hands. Nolan closed his eyes and saw the coke lab in his mind. The guy on the floor, hair still on fire, his face burned and eaten away. The beakers, bottles, and jars. The exploding container of ether that had taken him by surprise when he removed his gloves to better reach the man and pull him from beneath the melting table.

  Careless. Dangerous. Downright fucking stupid, Wulf.

  Next time, there'll be no disability. You will be out, mister. Risk-taking, thrill-seeking sonofabitches like you belong in the goddamn circus. Do you hear me?

  Nolan heard.

  He opened his eyes again, preferring Myra's breasts over his inner visions and the probability that he had in fact imagined those bodies on her kitchen floor.

  Her gaze flickered up to see where his was. When she saw, she exhaled loudly through her nose and reached for the gauze. "Do you have any ideas about how the fire started?"

  He did. "It started in the kitchen. I smelled gasoline, but it was probably some variation on your average combustible cocktail. Looked like they shoved aside one of the rubber expanders on the side of the air-conditioner and tossed it in. Too bad we couldn't save the A.C."

  "I noticed the television was rescued," Myra said. She finished wrapping one hand and tore the gauze to tie it. "Too tight?"

  "It's fine."

  "Good." She wrapped the other hand without speaking, and after tying it she stood back. "That should do it."

  "Thanks," Nolan said.

  "Thank you," she responded. "I think I may have misjudged you."

  "No, you didn't," he said.

  "Yes, I did. You saved our lives. I don't know how to repay you."

  Nolan grinned at her. "Come upstairs and I'll show you."

  Her spine stiffened and her jaw hardened.

  "See?" he said. "You didn't misjudge me."

  He left her there, speechless with anger, and made his way upstairs to his room. This time he stripped the cover from the bed and stretched out on the sheets. The window now remained open without a prop, he noticed.

  And there was a strange smell in the room. He sniffed and was reminded of soap, damp skin, and… wet hair?

  He mentally shrugged and thought of Myra's shocked expression. He hadn't lost his touch. Now all he had to do was find a way to trick her into cleaning his room. Later he'd worry about why he saw burning bodies where there were none.

  Maybe it was time to think about entering a new line of work…again.

  CHAPTER 7

  The search for auto parts was delayed for a day while everyone pitched in to salvage what they could from the trailer. Everything suffered smoke damage, but what could be cleaned and used was hauled into the two extra bedrooms in the upstairs of the house. Myra took the room farthest from Nolan's, and Vic couldn't help noticing the ice in her eyes each time she happened to meet Nolan in the hall or on the stairs. No one spoke, and no one, with the exception of the curious girls, asked who might have set fire to the trailer and why.

  Vic wanted to talk about it. He wanted to know if he was jeopardizing the lives of his daughters and his friend by allowing Myra and Cal to move in. If someone wanted them dead, how far would they go to get the job do
ne? When they broke for lunch, he asked Myra to ride into town with him so he could report the fire to Ed Kisner and the sheriff.

  "What's the point?" she said. ''There's nothing they can do now. And no one's going to rush to take up a hardship collection for us. You don't know these people, Vic. I do need to replace the groceries that burned last night, and I would like to use the phone in town, but I'm not interested in coming under the scrutiny of the law again. They tried to make me look like a fool about those horses."

  Vic noticed the wondering gazes of Cal and the girls. They were eating the tuna sandwiches Myra had prepared and listening with avid curiosity to the conversation. The girls looked even smaller when seated in the huge chairs of the dining-room table. The table dwarfed everything in the room.

  "Cal, can you look after the girls while your mother and I run to town?" he asked. "We shouldn't be gone too long. And Nolan's around here somewhere."

  "He's out front working on the car," Cal said.

  Vic frowned. "Doing what?"

  "Adjusting the oil filter, I think. He found a leak yesterday. He's probably done by now."

  "Thanks, Cal." Vic held out his hand and Myra left the dining room ahead of him. She told him she needed to fetch her purse upstairs and would meet him at the car. Vic went outside and found Nolan slamming the hood on the Buick. "Everything okay?"

  "Yeah. Wasn't me after all. Maybe it was one of Myra's midnight marauders."

  Vic let that pass. "We need to run into town to replace some groceries. Got the keys on you?"

  "In the ignition," Nolan said. He stepped away from the car and approached the porch. His voice lowered. "I wasn't going to say anything, because it's not my decision. But in case you haven't noticed, someone doesn't like Miss Myra. When she moves in, all her troubles move in with her. Have you thought about that?"

  "All morning," Vic said. "But since her trailer is on my land I guess her troubles are my troubles. I'm worried, but I can't exactly put them out in the barn. They just lost nearly everything they had."

  "Well, what about you?" Nolan countered. "What the hell are you going to do? Look around, Vic. You're over the shock and your eyes are open. How the hell are you going to survive out here?"

  Vic sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I'm going to do what my dad wanted and sell the damned place. I was stupid to think I could live out here. I can't. Not like this. But maybe I can get a good start somewhere else with what little this place is worth. A hundred and sixty acres with some good pasture and two decent ponds ought to be worth something. It probably won't sell before August, though, so as far as I'm concerned, Myra and Cal can stay until they're able to go."

  "Thank you," Myra said behind him, and he turned to see her open the screen door. "I'd pay rent if I could, but I don't have it. I can pay you in August if—"

  "Forget it," Vic said. "You help me buy groceries and split a few costs and we'll call it even. At least we won't have to worry about an air-conditioner running up the electric bill."

  Myra's smile was rueful. She started down the steps then halted as Nolan spoke to her.

  "I take it your mobile home was uninsured?"

  "The policy lapsed at the first of the month. I couldn't pay the premium."

  Vic nudged her from behind and she continued down the steps. Nolan made her walk around him, but he moved for Vic. Vic frowned at him and went to open the passenger door of the car for Myra. When they were on the road and driving toward town, he turned to her. "Did something happen between you and Nolan that I don't 'know about?"

  Myra looked at him. "In terms of maturity, Cal has Nolan Wulf beat hands down. Does that tell you anything?"

  Vic shrugged. "Nolan has his problems, but he's a good man." Smiling suddenly, he added. "You probably remind him of his mom, the professor."

  "His mother is a professor?" Myra said in disbelief. "A college professor?"

  "Head of her department," Vic said. "I don't remember which one. Nolan ran away to live with his dad when he was seventeen. He said his mom drove him nuts. His older sister is a pediatrician."

  "What did his father do?"

  "College baseball coach. Nolan was one of his star players."

  Myra was nodding. "I see. And he sings, too."

  Vic glanced at her. "You heard him?"

  "A little. Cal's been singing the same bawdy song all morning."

  "Hey," Vic said, responding to her dry tone. "Nolan is all right. You just have to get to know him. He's stood by me through shit you wouldn't believe."

  "A good dog will do the same thing," Myra said.

  Vic didn't want to get into it with her. Nolan might like to keep sparks flying, but Vic enjoyed keeping things calm and manageable. He decided to change the subject. "Where do you suppose the nearest real estate agency is located?"

  "Garden City, probably. You can check the phone book in the store. Have you decided to sell?"

  "What would you do?" he replied.

  "The same thing. I was even going to suggest it to you. The house won't be worth much, but the barn and the land should bring a decent price. It may take some time to find a buyer, though."

  "Who owns the adjacent land?"

  "The town," Myra said.

  "Denke? I'm not sure I understand."

  "I didn't either, until Darwin explained it to me. Everyone lives in town, but they farm the surrounding land together and divide up the profits. In good years, everyone prospers; in bad years, everyone suffers."

  "Sounds like socialism to me. So the town is literally incorporated?"

  "Yes. Jinx Lahr and the other business owners make up the town council, which takes care of any and all town business. It's a tight-knit little community."

  Vic found it interesting, and he was curious. "How did Dad fit in?"

  "I'm not sure. He seemed to have a good rapport with the townspeople, but I don't think he had much to do with them beyond filling up his car at Tom Hamm's gas station or buying food at Vogel's grocery store. People were always inviting him to dances and other town activities, but he never went. He liked to stay on the farm with us."

  Vic nodded. "What exactly did your husband do for my father?"

  Myra trained her gaze on the road. "He helped with the studs. Patrick wanted his own stud farm some day. He came to Darwin to learn the trade."

  "I see." Vic didn't miss the sudden coolness in her voice. "Who else worked for my father?"

  "Some of the teenagers from town. Never the same ones in any week. Every day two or three would simply show up and do what they were told. They stopped coming after Darwin's accident. The excuses were all valid: school, planting, harvest, et cetera. I couldn't understand it—why were they so free before?—but Darwin seemed to. It was as if everyone knew he was going to die and there was no point in coming out anymore. In the year he held on, before the last stroke, everything went downhill. I did what I could, but I didn't know the first thing about the stud business. And Darwin needed me in the house."

  "He didn't pay you much, did he?" Vic said.

  Her mouth curved. "We didn't need much. Patrick bought and paid for the trailer before Cal and I arrived. There was no rent and of course no car payment on my Mustang. What Darwin paid me provided all we needed. I see now that I should have been more curious about what he did with his money, but at the time it never occurred to me to ask. I looked at him as a lovable old man who resisted change and liked to have familiar things around him. I had no idea there wasn't any money, except for what he left me, until the will was read."

  "Me either," Vic murmured. Then he tried to smile. "That's just the way it goes, I guess. Maybe I can get the town to buy my land and we can all get on with our lives somewhere else."

  "I don't think so," Myra said. "I mean, I don't think the town can afford it. The wheat harvest hasn't been good this year. They'll be hurting just like the rest of us. But you could always ask, I suppose."

  "Who would I see?"

  "Jinx Lahr. He's the town busybody and unofficial mayo
r of sorts."

  "I've met him," Vic said. "I think I'll run over to the diner and talk to him while you're doing your shopping." Vic had a sudden thought then. "Hey, today is the fourth. Do they sell any fireworks around here?"

  Myra shook her head. "Town law. If you like, I can buy some ice cream for the kids. It's not fireworks, but it's a treat."

  "That sounds like a good idea. Nolan would probably have a fit about the fireworks anyway. Most firemen hate the Fourth of July."

  Myra had no comment. Vic sighed to himself and let up on the accelerator as they neared Denke. He parked the car in front of the small grocery store and left Myra to walk across the street to Jinx's diner. He was surprised to see nearly every stool occupied. The flies were still there, the fan was still humming, and Jinx was still leaning on the counter. The old man straightened when he saw Vic.

  "Afternoon," Vic said, and nearly every head turned to view his approach. All were men in their late fifties or early sixties. Was this a council meeting?

  "Afternoon, Mr. Kimmler," Jinx said. "Come in and let me introduce you to some of your daddy's friends. Boys, this is Darwin Kimmler's son, Victor."

  "Vic," Vic said as he reached for the first outstretched hand. The names went by in a rush: Vogel, Bauer, Stade, Kisner, Hamm, and Nenndorf. After the introductions he went back to the man named Kisner and stood behind his stool. "I've been meaning to talk to you, Mr. Kisner. Last night we—"

  "Call me Ed, please," the town lawman asked. His hair was steel gray and his flesh was a pasty white. Vic could tell the man was a barber—he wore a white smock and he smelled of hair tonic. His yellowish brown eyes were constantly on the move, looking first at Vic then back to his companions.