Bad Love

I turned left and followed the shrieking caravan.

• • •

A hundred yards in I could smell it. A pot left too long on the stove, overlaid with gasoline.

I put on speed, just able to see the fire car's taillights. Hoping the company would continue on up, toward Mulholland and beyond. But they hooked west.

Up an old bridle path that led up to a solitary property.

Robin held her head and moaned as I floored the truck. Coming to my street, I sped up the slope. The road was blocked by the newly arrived fire trucks and I had to pull over and park.

Work lights were scattered about, highlighting the firefighters' yellow hats. Lots of movement, but the night blocked out the details.

Robin and I jumped out and began ru

The firefighters were uncoiling hoses and shouting, too busy to notice us.

What had once been my pond gate was charcoal. The carport had collapsed and the entire right side of my house was smoldering. The back of the building was haloed in orange. Tongues of fire licked the sky. Sparks jumped and died, wood crackled and crashed.

A tall firefighter handed a hose to another man and pulled off his gloves. He saw us and came forward, gesturing us back.

We walked toward him.

"It's our house," I said.

The look of pity on his face cut me deeply. He was black, with a big jaw and wide, dark mustache. "Sorry, folks- we're working hard on it, got here as quick as we could from the Mulholland substation. Reinforcements just came in from Beverly Hills."

Robin said, "Is it all gone?"

He removed his hat and wiped his forehead, exhaling. "It wasn't as of a few minutes ago, ma'am, and we've controlled it- you should start to see that smoke turn white real soon."

"How bad is it?"

He hesitated. "To be frank, ma'am, you've suffered some serious structural damage all along the rear. What with the drought and all that wood siding- your roof's half gone, must have been pretty dry up there. What was it, ceramic tile?"

"Some sort of tile," I said. "It came with the house, I don't know."

"Those old roofs… give thanks it wasn't wood shingle, that would have been like a pile of kindling."

Robin was looking at him but she wasn't listening to him. He bit his lip, started to place a hand on her shoulder, but stopped himself. Putting his glove back on, he turned to me.

"If the wind doesn't do squirrely things, we should be able to save some of it. Get you in there soon as possible to start taking a look."

Robin started to cry.

The fireman said, "I'm real sorry, ma'am- if you need a blanket, we've got some in the truck."

"No," she said. "What happened?"

"Don't know exactly, yet- why don't you talk to the captain- that gentleman over there? Captain Gillespie. He should be able to help you."

After pointing to a medium-sized man up near the carport, he ran off. We made our way to the captain. His back was to us and I tapped him on the shoulder. He turned quickly, looking ready to snap. One look at us shut his mouth. He was in his fifties and had a deeply scored face that was almost a perfect square.

Tugging at his chin strap: "Owners?"

Two nods.

"Sorry, folks- out for the night?"

More nods. I felt encased in sand. Movement was an ordeal.

"Well, we've been at it for about half an hour, and I think we got to it relatively fast after ignition. Luckily, someone driving up the Glen smelled it and phoned it in on cellular. We've got most of the really hot spots out. Look for white smoke soon, Mr.-?"

"Alex Delaware. This is Robin Castagna."

"Ron Gillespie, Mr. Delaware. Are you the legal owners or tenants?"

"Owners."

Another pitying look. A whooshing sound came from the house. He glanced over his shoulder, then looked back.

"We should be able to save at least half of it, but our water does some damage, too." He looked back again. Something creased his brow. "One minute." Jogging over to a group of new arrivals, he pointed at my flaming roof and spread his arms like a preacher.

When he came back, he said, "You folks want something to drink? C'mon, let's get away from the heat."

We followed him down the road a bit. The house was still in sight. Some of the smoke had startened to lighten, pluming upward like an earthborn cloud.

He pulled a canteen out of his jacket and held it out to us.

Robin shook her head.

I said, "No, thanks."

Gillespie opened the bottle and drank. Screwing the cap back on, he said, "Do you know of anyone who'd want to do this to you?"

"Why?"

He stared at me. "Usually, people say no."

"There is someone," I said. "I don't know who- it's a long story- there's a police detective you can talk to."

I gave him Milo's name and he wrote it down.

"I'd better call him now," he said. "Our arson investigators will be in on it too. This is an obvious intentional, we've got three discrete points of origin and we found a gasoline can out back that's probably the accelerant- looks like the bastard didn't even try to hide it."

"No," I said. "He wouldn't want to do that."

He stared at me again. I looked back without focusing.

Gillespie said, "I'll go call that detective now."

31

Milo spent a few seconds of silent comfort with us, then he huddled with Gillespie.

The fire went out, sending off columns of white smoke. Some time after- I still don't know how long- Robin and I were able to tour the damage, accompanied by a fireman with a flashlight who looked out for our safety but hung back, diplomatically, as we stumbled and cursed in the dark.

The garden and the rear half of the house were a total loss, the air still hot and bitter. The front rooms were sodden and putrid, ash filled, already moldering. I ran my hand along scorched furniture, fingered hot dust, looked at ruined art and decimated keepsakes, TV and stereo equipment that had blistered and burst. After a while it got too difficult. I pulled the paintings and prints that looked intact off the wall and made a neat stack. Short stack. My Bellows boxing print seemed to have come out okay, but the frame was blackened around the edges.

Robin was across the living room when I said, "I've got to get out of here."

She gave a dull nod- more of a bow. We carried the art out and took it to the truck.

Beyond the vehicles, Milo and Gillespie were still conferring and a third man had joined them- young, chubby, balding, with bristly red hair. He held a pad and his writing hand was busy.

"Drew Seaver," he said, holding out the other one. "Fire Department arson investigator. Detective Sturgis has been filling me in- sounds like you've really been through it. I'll have some questions for you, but they can wait a couple of days."

Milo told him, "I'll get you whatever you need."

"Fine," said Seaver. "What's your insurance situation, doctor?"

As if cued, Captain Gillespie said, "Better be getting back- good luck, folks."

When he was gone, Seaver repeated his insurance question.

I said, "I never really checked the details. I'm up to date on my premiums."

"Well, that's good. Those insurance guys are real sonofa's, believe me. Dot your "i' wrong and they'll find a way not to pay you. You need any help with justification, just have 'em call me."

He handed me his card. "That and a statement from Detective Sturgis should handle it."

"What needs to be handled?" said Robin. "What do we need to justify?"

Seaver picked at his chin. His lips were thick, pink, and soft looking, with a natural turndown that made him look sad.