Flashover Pt. 08

"There you are. I was wondering what was holding you up," Maggie said as she opened the door and stepped back.

Sean stepped in and gave her a kiss. "Busy day. We finally caught the guy in the Jeep. You remember the one? The one we chased?"

"Yeah, I remember," she said as she led him into the kitchen.

"I saw him as I was coming out of the gym. I followed him around for a while as we got everyone in position. He ran, of course, but this time we were ready for him." He pursed his lip. "The guy was clean. No priors, no warrants, no nothing. He might get off without jail time, maybe."

"If he goes to jail, it serves him right. He shouldn't have run all those times."

"Yeah, I know. That Jeep was something, though. That looks terrific, what is it?" Sean asked as Maggie pulled a dish out of the refrigerator full of brightly colored pasta.

"A pasta salad recipe I found online. It's made with bacon, colored rotini, mayo, Ranch dressing, and grape tomatoes."

"Well, it has bacon in it, so how can it be bad?" he asked as he began to set the table.

"So, who caught the guy? You?"

"Call it a team effort. I chased him into the trap, Brady blocked the road that forced him to stop, I arrived behind him before he could turn around and slip away, and everybody else arrived a few seconds later to convince him it was over. Brady gets the credit for the collar I guess."

"Why was his Jeep so fast?"

"Because it wasn't a Jeep, it just looked like one. The guy put a widened Jeep body over a shortened Chevy S10 frame, lowered it, tricked up the suspension, and put a blown Chevy big block in it. No wonder we couldn't catch the damn thing. It's a race car. Ruiz said it was probably making eight or nine hundred horsepower at the wheels, and it certainly weighs a lot less than our cruisers do."

"What happens to him now?" she asked as they began to eat.

"Unless he can make bail, he'll spend the night in county. He's going to face charges for at least speeding, felony evade, driving an unregistered, uninsured, vehicle, and reckless endangerment. He seemed like a nice enough guy. When he realized he was busted, he did everything we told him to do and didn't give us any trouble. He was even a little chatty as he was sitting in the cruiser." He gave his head a quick shake in disbelief, not understanding the man's motives. "The guy built the thing himself. He was justifiably proud of it and told us a little bit about it while we performed a quick search on it. He works as a fabricator for Lambert Manufacturing in Raleigh. He was just out having a good time, screwed up, and now it's going to cost him."

"Serves him right."

"Yeah. He wasn't hurting anyone, but he was playing a stupid game and now he's won a stupid prize. This is really good," he said, hefting a fork full of salad.

"Yeah. I think I'll keep this one. Your job is so much more interesting than mine. Nothing exciting like that ever happens where I work. I just have to deal with shit all day." She grinned.

"I seem to recall a dead body not long ago."

She snickered. "Yeah, but that's still your job, not mine. What about the prowler guy last night?"

"Interesting thing there. The night watchman was pretty sharp. He got a plate, and get this, it matches a truck registered to the company that had the contract for the demolition of the buildings, if another company that was looking at the property had won the deal."

"You think they did it?"

"No, not really. Why would they?"

"Revenge for not getting the job?"

"Not likely, do you think? They didn't get the job because the company that was going to hire them didn't get the job. How would burning down Barns' buildings make any difference? That's like smashing up your spouse's car because you're mad at your boss."

"I suppose, but you must have thought something was up to track them down."

"I made a couple of phone calls. Having a plate made it a lot easier. I called the company to find out if they had any connection to the buildings and found out they'd bid the job. I thought I might be onto something, that Barns had screwed them over, but it turned out he's never done business with them. It wasn't like I had to put in a lot of effort."

"So, you're going to drop it?"

He grimaced, as if her words stung. "I wouldn't say 'drop it.' That's so final. How about saying, 'I'm not going to spend a lot of time trying to prove they did it,' instead?"

She snickered. "Oh, come on. Why not?"

He smiled. "Maybe on Monday I'll pay them a visit, just so I can say I followed up, but honestly, I think this one is going down as unsolved."

She smirked. "That's too bad. However will you keep up your reputation of being Sherlock Holmes incarnate if you can't solve every case that comes your way?" she asked, her voice teasing.

"Hey!" he objected. "Even Sherlock Holmes failed now and then."

"Did not."

"Did too." He pulled out his phone and tapped on it a moment. "Here it is. From the book Five Orange Pips."

He began reading. 'I have heard of you, Mr. Holmes. I heard from Major Prendergast how you saved him in the Tankerville Club scandal.'

'Ah, of course. He was wrongfully accused of cheating at cards.'

'He said that you could solve anything.'

'He said too much.'

'That you are never beaten.'

'I have been beaten four times--three times by men, and once by a woman.' He looked up. "See? I have three more to go."

She grinned at him as she stood, picking up her plate as she did and carrying it to the sink. "Well, okay then. I guess if Sherlock can't solve every case..."

"Besides, I find expectations are a lot easier to meet if I keep them low."

She snickered. "You're not fooling me."

"Not every case gets solved, you know."

"I know, but you've already told me once you couldn't solve the case and were marking it inactive, yet here you are, still picking away at it."

"Well, yeah, something new came up."

"See? Maybe something else will come up later to blow the case wide open."

"Uh-huh," he grunted.

"It could happen."

He was tired of this conversation. It was Friday night and the last thing he wanted to talk about was work. "What's the movie tonight?" he asked, changing the subject.

"No movie."

He stared at her, his eyes squinted in comically exaggerated suspicion. "No movie? Who are you and what have you done with Maggie?"

"Oh, stop it! I don't watch a movie every night." When he continued to stare at her, tipping his head slightly sideways and cocking one eyebrow, she giggled. "Not every night."

"Okay, so what are we doing instead?"

"I'm going to introduce you to another southern tradition." She opened the refrigerator and sat out two, quarter-slices of watermelon. "Ever eaten watermelon by the slice?"

"Can't say that I have."

She pointed at one. "Then come on, it's time you did."

Carrying their red and green fruit, she led him to the patio. The sun had set behind her house, casting the patio into shade and making the temperature bearable. Balancing her melon in one hand, she dragged her chair to the patio edge, adjusted the chair slightly so it was level on the paver stones, and sat down. He dragged another chair up beside hers and joined her.

"Any special technique to this?" he asked.

"Yeah. Try not to dribble on yourself too much and spit the seeds into the yard."

He chuckled. "Complicated as all that, huh?"

She grinned at him. "Think you can handle that, city boy?" she teased before taking a bite out of the center of her slice.

He hadn't said anything, but he could take or leave watermelon. He bit into the fruit and was surprised by how much more flavorful this melon was than any he'd had in the past. The melon was sweet, ice cold, and delicious. The sophisticates in Boston would probably be horrified, but even having to spit out the seeds became a bit of a game.

"Why is this melon so much better than the ones I've had before?" he asked.

"Don't know," she replied after spitting out a couple seeds. "I think seedless watermelons, which is what you get in most stores, aren't as good as the old-fashioned kind. I picked this one up yesterday at the farmer's market. Also, watermelon is best served cold on a hot day. One of life's little pleasures."

They sat, feet propped on the knee-high wall that ringed her slightly raised patio, eating their melon slices and discussing whatever topic came to mind. As it continued to darken, they watched as the fireflies began to appear, their soft yellow-green blinks strangely mesmerizing as the cicadas sang their chirring song. He was really getting used to the slower pace of the south. Two years ago, if someone had told him he would enjoy sitting in the dark, watching distant lightening and fireflies while listening to the night sounds of bugs and frogs, he'd have thought they were crazy, but here he sat, as content as he could remember ever being. Most of it was Maggie, but not all. It was nice to slow down, to have a little breathing room, to not have the press of the multitudes and the go, go, go pace of the big city. Now, if he could just adapt to the damned heat and humidity.

"I'm a mess," Maggie said, tossing her rind into the yard and holding her hands up as if they were covered in something disgusting.

"Need some help cleaning up?"

"I might."

He grinned in the darkness and tossed his rind into the yard beside hers. He'd pick them up in the morning. He took one of her hands and slowly stuck her fingers into his mouth, one at a time, and gently sucked them clean. She sat perfectly still, saying nothing, until he finished.

"My lips are sticky too."

He smiled as he rose, pulling her to her feet to join him before taking her lips. She melted into him as the kiss deepened.

"Better?" he murmured as their lips slowly parted.

"Better, but I think you need to make sure you didn't miss any place."

He took her lips again and she pulled him in as she breathed deep, their tongues dancing.

"Now you've done it," she sighed as their kiss dissolved.

"What?"

"Your hands have gotten me all sticky again."

"I guess I'll have to clean you up... again."

"Yes," she purred, "I think you will."

He led her inside and straight to the shower. He slowly undressed her and then washed her hair and back, followed by the rest of her body, delighting in how she twitched and squirmed as his soap covered hands slid over her flesh. She returned the favor, then after he rinsed, she stood with her head resting on his shoulder as the water pattered and splashed over them like a warm summer rain. As the water cooled, he turned off the shower and stepped out. He patted her dry, liking the way she was looking at him as he went about his task. There was desire there, but also a gentleness that thrilled him in ways he hadn't felt in a long time.

Again, she returned the favor, and as she finished, she looked up at him, her features soft. "This was way better than any movie." She scratched gently at his face. "Don't take too long," she purred then sauntered out of the bathroom.

He watched her bottom sway until she disappeared and then smiled as he dug out his razor, flicked it on, and ran it quickly over his face so to not keep her waiting.

The next morning, Sean drove into town and picked up the sunshade for Maggie's mower. The place that ordered it for him had called Thursday to let him know it had arrived. He had to flip the rear seat down to get the box in his car, but even so, the trunk lid still wouldn't close. It took a bit of rearranging of the flares, emergency medical kit, and other items that lived back there, and the radio and video equipment taking up space didn't help, but he finally got the trunk closed. He hadn't told her where he was going, and when he arrived back at her house, he pulled her mower out of the garage, parked it in the shade of an oak in the back yard, and set to work. After a few minutes, she appeared.

"What are you doing?" she asked as he stood in the shade of the tree and read the directions.

"Getting ready to install the sunshade on your mower."

"What sunshade?"

"The sunshade I bought so I don't fry while mowing."

"What?" she squawked. "You didn't have to do that! I could have mowed!"

"I like the mowing, I just don't like the sun. This solves the problem."

She fumed. "I'm paying for that. How much was it?"

"Doesn't matter."

She pulled the paperwork off the box, shuffling the papers as she looked through them, then flipped the pages over to look at the backs. "How much was it?" she asked again.

"I told you, it doesn't matter. It wasn't that expensive, and I bought it for me, not you."

He could tell she was less than thrilled by him buying it and not telling her how much it cost, but he didn't really care. He finished reading the instructions and began the task of mounting the various brackets and supports. She watched for a moment before she began reading him the directions and handing him the next part or holding the various nuts and bolts he would need. The canopy was designed for the mower, so the installation was quick, easy, and required no drilling.

Twenty minutes later the shade was attached to the roll over protection structure that protected the operator in the event the mower tipped. The ROPS could even still be folded down if the shade was returned to its stored position first. The jaunty yellow canvas matched the green and yellow of the rest of the mower, and the three black mesh curtains on both sides and back could be raised or lowered as desired for additional protection from the sun while still allowing a breeze to pass.

"What do you think?" he asked.

"I think you shouldn't have bought it."

"Why? Would you rather me cook in the sun?"

"That's not what I meant, and you know it."

He grinned and gave her a fleeting kiss. "I'll make you a deal. If it comes to it, I'll tell you what it cost, and you can pay me then. Or I'll take it off and take it with me if you'd rather. The installation was free."

She watched him a moment and then smiled. "Okay. If it comes to it, I'll buy it." Her smile widened. "But I get to take it for the first drive!" she said as she clambered aboard and sat down at the controls.

She started the machine and made a pass around the edge of her yard as he picked up the box, Styrofoam, and all the little plastic bags that held the various nuts, bolts, and washers. He crushed and folded the carton and chunked everything into the recycle bin. He also picked up the watermelon rinds from the night before and disposed of them as well.

She pulled to a stop beside him and killed the engine. "I'm jealous. I can't believe how much difference that thing makes. I should have bought one years ago." She climbed off the machine and looked up, inviting him to kiss her. He gave her a comically loud smooch.

"Can you stay tonight? For installing my new sunshade I'll let you pick any movie you want to watch."

He grinned. "What if I'd rather eat watermelon?"

She smiled. "That'll probably come later, and you won't even have to get me sticky first."

Sean pulled through the gate of Juno Demolition, his car's tires making crackling noises as he slowly drove across the gravel lot. A black and white cruiser from the Charleston PD was parked at the small office. As a courtesy, he'd called the Charleston Police Department and informed them of his desire to speak with Harvey Juno, and Charleston had arranged for an officer to meet him. Because he had no arrest authority in Charleston, the local officer could perform an arrest if necessary and act as a check to protect their citizens from an over-zealous officer from another jurisdiction. It was all standard procedure, and he'd have done the same.

The Charleston cruiser was empty. Not surprising since it was in the low nineties, and it would be much cooler waiting inside the office instead of the car. He pulled into a space beside a white Chevy pickup, glancing at the plate as he did, but the number didn't match the one Ted gave him. The truck had a large square outlined with a thin black line on the door with two large black letters printed inside, a J and D, the two letters sharing the double width down-stroke with thin white line separating them. Underneath, in smaller type, Juno Demolition and a phone number were displayed.

When he entered the small office area, his badge displayed on his belt, a young officer with a shaved head turned to greet him and extended his hand. "Neil Robles."

"Sean McGhee," he replied as he shook the man's hand. "Thanks for meeting me. This shouldn't take long."

"Is Mr. Juno available?" Neil asked the woman sitting at her desk, her eyes flicking back and forth between them.

The woman was tending toward chubby, with short blonde hair that stopped halfway down her neck. It was parted on the left, then carefully styled to give a carefree, windblown look. With her square glasses, white men's work shirt with the Juno logo on the pocket, and jeans, the look worked for her.

"Yes. He's waiting on you," she replied. Sean recognized her voice as Peg, the woman he'd spoken to earlier. Fortunately, she didn't give any sign she recognized his voice. "Go right on in."

"What's this all about?" Harvey Juno said as he stood behind his desk.

Harvey was a lean man of perhaps forty. He stood about five ten, with thinning brown hair and a nose that looked like it had been broken at least once. He was wearing the same white shirt and blue jeans as his receptionist.

"Mr. Juno, Sean McGhee, Brunswick PD. I just have a few questions I need to ask and then I'll be on my way. A truck was spotted at a construction site where we've had some vandalism. The night guard chased someone away and they got into a truck possibly registered to your company. Can you explain why one of your trucks might have been there Friday, July twenty-first?"

"Have a seat, gentlemen," Harvey said as he returned to his chair. "My truck was there?"

"The numbers the guard got matches one of the trucks registered to your company, yes sir," Sean said as he and Neil settled into two guest chairs.

Harvey's office was large, littered with papers and plat drawings, and the walls were adorned with colorful pictures of construction equipment doing what they do, but was otherwise unremarkable. "We have five trucks. What was the plate?" Sean glanced at his notebook to confirm the number before he told him. Juno grinned. "I don't know why I even asked that. I don't even know the plate number of my own truck. Let me go look. I'll be right back." He began to stand.

"Is that your truck out front?" Sean asked, causing Juno to pause then sit back down.

"Yes, why?"

"I can save you the trouble of looking. It's not that one."

"Peg!" Juno called. A moment later the receptionist appeared. "Find out who's truck has plate number... shit, what was the plate again?" Sean repeated the number. "Find out who drives that." Peg nodded and disappeared.

"You bid the job to take down the North State Textiles buildings in Brunswick, didn't you?" Sean asked.

Harvey grinned. "Yeah, but we didn't get the job. Apparently, the deal fell through or something." He shrugged. "You win some, you lose some."

Peg appeared in the doorway. "That truck was driven by Dennis."

"So, it's here on the lot?" Harvey asked.

She shrugged. "I guess."

Harvey looked at Sean. "Dennis Milner, he used to work for me. He left about three months ago for another opportunity. Want to see the truck?"

Sean nodded. "If you don't mind."