Then a fire that had been set at a shop owned by a local Menominee artist that did a bunch of damage, but had been salvageable. A lot of smoke and water damage to the building, but the fire team had gotten there quickly enough that they wouldn’t be completely devastated. Nathaniel had been at that scene, too, and the tightness of his face told me that it happened too often to be coincidence every time. My nose told me it hadn’t been this time, either.
And after that, another car accident, someone from Illinois, probably up visiting family or friends for the New Year.
When Elliot texted me, I was cold, tired, and very, very hungry, despite the fact that I’d at least managed to eat three bagels from the giant bag Lacy had brought to the current scene. No cream cheese for me, but even dry bagels were better than nothing.
This scene was a partially-burnt car that had the benefit of at least not having a body in it, although the police were tracking whoever had fled from it immediately before the gas tank had ignited.
Soon, I hope.
Few hours, maybe?
I’ll have dinner ready.
It’s like ten am.
Lunch, then.
Have you eaten?
Lacy brought food to the last one.
Text me when you leave.
Several radios crackled as someone called in that they’d found the driver and needed an EMT team.
“That’s good news, then,” Lacy said from the other side of the car, where she was working.
“Not bad yet, at any rate,” I replied. An EMT team meant that the driver was still alive, although it didn’t tell us how badly they were injured. But the size of the blood smears by my side of the car—the driver’s side—suggested that it hadn’t been just some scratches and bruises.
I scraped along the side of the car, collecting a sample of blue paint from the scratched metal. The car we were working on was white, so the blue—and the blood—stood out clearly. The back end was still mostly in one piece, although there was damage to the driver’s side that suggested the car had been forced off the road, although whether by intent or stupidity I couldn’t quite tell.
“Seth—go home,” Lacy said.
I looked up. “What?”
“How long have you been out here?”
I told her.
“Exactly. Go home.”
“Lacy, this car was run off the road.”
“And I got a two-hour nap in there while you were dealing with a cow, I think,” she replied. “Go home. You’re exhausted.” Her expression softened. “I can hear it in your voice.”
“Let me finish this up, then I’ll go.”
It wasanother three-and-a-half hours before I pulled up behind Elliot’s Tundra in the driveway. It was overcast and supposed to snow, although it hadn’t started yet. I had another forty-three hours before I needed to be back at work, and I was looking forward to sleeping for several of them. I was also extremely excited about lunch.
The minute I stepped through the front door I could smell the honey-mustard roasted chicken I knew was Elliot’s favorite—I knew why, because it was damn good. I could also smell the warm yeastiness of fresh bread and made a small groan of pleasure at the smells.
I made my way into the kitchen and found Elliot tossing some green beans with a mix of seeds and spices. There was a pan of roasted red potatoes sitting on the stove, presumably recently pulled out of the oven.
I smiled. It was the same thing he’d made for me the first night I’d been here.
“What’s the occasion?” I asked, then winced at how awful my voice sounded.
He turned and handed me a glass of wine, holding it in his recently-sling-free left hand. “Do I need one?”