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Page 3 of Ink and Ashes

Holland

I wake early the next morning to the sound of birds chirping outside the window—something I’m not used to hearing living in the city. It’s nice to know there’s wildlife out there, despite the flames that have been filling the forests kilometres from here.

Rolling over, I grab my phone off the nightstand to check the time, finding almost a dozen texts and a few missed calls from Gabriel. A whole five days after I left him.

I roll my eyes as I begin to read.

GAbrIEL

Come home, Hol, let me explain. I miss you.

Babe, where the hell are you?

I’m starting to get worried. I gave you a few days of space, it’s time to come home.

Answer the fucking phone.

Seriously Hol, where are you???

If you don’t answer me, I’m going to call the police.

HELLO???

Even your parents don’t know where you are. Fucking CALL ME!

Stupid bitch. I’m tired of the games. Lose my number.

The first eight messages all came ten minutes apart. That last one came a few hours later, likely after he finished getting his below-average dick sucked by some other girl.

I scoff and begin to type a text back to him.

ME

I’m in British Columbia, and I’m not coming home. Bye, Gabriel.

I hit send, then navigate to his contact information to block his number. With my finger hovering over the button, I drag my hand through my hair, shaking my head.

Gabriel and I had been together for six years.

We met when I was doing my internship and hit it off right away.

He’s a few years older than me and works at a big accounting firm in the city.

He’s handsome, smart, wealthy, and he knows it.

He could’ve had any girl he wanted, and he made sure I knew every day how lucky I was that he chose me.

Looking back, I don’t know why I didn’t leave sooner. I had plenty of my own success, and I’m just as much of a catch as him. But I was desperately in love with him, or so I thought. Turns out, I never knew the real Gabriel.

Now that I do, I want nothing to do with him.

I press the block button and turn off my phone.

I have an hour until breakfast with Mary and Emmett, so I pull myself out of bed to shower and get myself ready.

I plan to head to the town’s paper, Grove Gazette, today. I’m hoping that they’ll let me examine their old files for research and, if I’m lucky, publish my research in the paper. It’s a long shot, but it’s the best I’ve got right now.

Once I finish in the shower, I brush my teeth, blow-dry my hair, and put on a light face of makeup before getting dressed. I opt for a pair of navy-blue slacks with a plain-white T-shirt and white heels. At five-to-eight, I make my way out to the dining room of The Scarlet, just past the lobby.

Mary is finishing setting the table when I enter. She glances up at me, a smile on her face.

“Good morning, Miss Rhodes. I’m so glad you could join us.”

“I appreciate you having me. Please, call me Holland.” I send her a kind smile back.

“This looks delicious,” I say, admiring all the food laid out in front of me—eggs, bacon, pancakes, French toast, fruit, and more.

I don’t remember the last time I had a breakfast that wasn’t Greek yogurt and granola.

It’s rare for me to indulge in a meal like this.

Mary takes a seat. “Help yourself. Emmett does all the cooking, so he’ll be out momentarily.”

“Thank you,” I tell her, piling a little bit of everything onto my plate. I pour myself a cup of coffee with a splash of cream and some sugar—also not how I usually take it, but I don’t want to make a bad first impression—just as who I assume is Emmett makes his way into the dining room.

“Well, you must be the only visitor brave enough to come to this town right now,” he jokes, taking a seat next to his wife. “I’m Emmett. It’s nice to meet you.”

I smile. “Holland. Nice to meet you too.” I take a bite, a soft moan falling past my lips as the flavour explodes on my tastebuds. “This is amazing.”

“Glad you think so,” Emmett says over a bite of food.

“Emmett’s always been the best cook in town.” Mary taps her husband on the arm, sending him a soft smile. He grins back at her, and I watch them in awe as I enjoy my food.

Conversation flows lightly as we eat, the three of us making small talk. Just as we’re finishing up, Emmett leans back in his chair, cocking a brow at me.

“So, Holland. What brings you to Ember Grove? ”

I roll my lips together, trying to figure out how to approach this lightly. I’m expecting that most people in town won’t be very welcoming toward me, especially once they find out why I’m here. But that won’t stop me.

Deciding to just go for it, I say, “I’m here on business. I’m an investigative journalist.”

“An investigative journalist, you say. That sounds awfully fancy,” Emmett croons.

I huff a laugh, fidgeting with my fingers in my lap. Usually, talking about my career is easy for me. But with it in ruins, I’m inserting myself into a problem that has no impact on me personally, desperate to redeem my image, and I’m guessing the people here might take issue with that.

“It has its moments,” I say simply.

“What kinds of things do you investigate?” Mary asks, interest piqued.

“Politics. Finances. Any type of corruption relating to those fields is my area of expertise.”

Mary and Emmett share a glance, confusion on their faces. “What could you want with Ember Grove then?” Emmett asks, knowing I’m not here to investigate either of those things.

At least, not that I know of.

“I’m looking into the wildfires,” I tell them honestly, glancing down at my watch. “Actually, I really should be going. Do you need help tidying up?”

The couple shares a suspicious glance before Mary clears her throat, standing from her chair. “Guests don’t do the cleaning but thank you.” She stacks her plate on top of mine. “Will we see you for dinner?”

I pull my lip between my teeth, knowing that they’ll only ask more questions, but nod anyway. I’d be stupid to turn down a free meal.

Mary forces a smile. “Great.”

I gather my things, and with a quick, “See you tonight,” I leave the room.

Feeling two sets of eyes on my back as I go.

I show up to the local paper at half-past nine.

It’s a small brick building with vines running up the side of it, the words GROVE GAZETTE in bold, white lettering above the door.

I walk inside to find a small, dimly lit room, with only two desks sitting across from each other.

There are a few large printers to the left, and at the back there’s a small kitchen, a bathroom, and another door that I’m hoping leads to all the old files.

The only person in here is an older man, sitting at one of the two desks with an ancient desktop computer in front of him. His face lights up as he spots me, and I immediately feel a rush of relief.

“Well, hello,” the man says, standing from his chair. “How can I help you today?”

“Hi,” I say. “My name is Holland Rhodes. I’m an investigative journalist, and I’m here to look into the fires that have been happening. I was wondering if you would allow me to use a space here to do some research, and I’m hoping maybe there are some old files on past fires I could check out.”

“Nice to meet you, Holland. Name’s George.” He holds his hand out to me, and I shake it. “That’s no problem. That desk over there is Fran’s, but her family evacuated as soon as the alert went out. Space is yours ’til she comes back.” He gestures to the desk across from his.

I smile. “Thank you. I appreciate that.” I turn toward the desk, setting my stuff down. “And about those old files?”

He points to the door at the back of the small building. “Through there. It’s chaos, and I’ll be no help, but I’ll leave the door unlocked if you wanna take a look. The library archives might be worth checking out too.”

“Thank you.”

“Sure.” George smiles softly. “You’re brave coming here during this, you know?”

I chuckle. “So I’ve been told. ”

“What exactly is it you’re looking for?”

“I’m not too sure yet. I just have this feeling that the fires aren’t all being caused by lightning, so I want to investigate more and see if I’m right.”

George nods along. “Well, I’ll let ya get to it then.”

He knocks his fist against my desk, but before he turns away, I add, “Actually, I do have one more question for you.”

He turns back, eyeing me, and waits for me to proceed.

I clear my throat, braving myself to ask what I really came here for. “Sorry if this is overstepping, and I completely understand if you say no, but I was wondering…is there any chance I could publish my theories in the town paper?”

George shrugs. “I don’t see why not. I normally don’t publish opinion pieces, but we’re all searching for some answers about these fires.”

My shoulders drop in relief. That was a lot easier than I thought it was going to be.

Almost too easy…

I make a mental note to find out more about George as he adds, “Out of curiosity, what are your theories?”

I roll my lips together, debating whether or not to tell him the truth. But George seems like he might have theories of his own. If I’m lucky, maybe they’ll align with mine.

“I don’t have any concrete proof yet. But in my career, I’ve learned to put at least a little bit of trust in my gut. And my gut is telling me to consider the possibility that the fires are being caused by arson,” I say simply, preparing myself for a poor reaction.

But it doesn’t come.

George’s eyes narrow momentarily, but then he blows out a breath and says, “I’m glad someone is willing to say it.”

My eyes widen. “So you think it’s possible?”

He clicks his tongue. “I think it’s more than possible, Holland.”

That sets another alarm off in my head. Brows pulled together, I ask, “Why haven’t you said anything in the paper? Or reported your suspicions to the police?”

“Without proof, the police won’t do anything. And like I said, I don’t usually publish opinion pieces. I’m especially not going to publish my own. If I did, I’d be chased out of town before the papers even hit porches.”

He’s not wrong, but that doesn’t stop me from moving him up my metaphorical list of potential suspects.

“You think they’ll do the same to me?”

“I think they’ll try.” He lets out a laugh. “But something tells me you aren’t one to scare off easily.”

I smirk. “You’re right about that.”

“Write whatever you want. The paper goes out weekly on Sunday, so you’ve got two days if you want to get something in the next one.”

I doubt I’ll be ready to publish that soon, but I thank him anyway. He pats me on the arm and turns back to his workspace.

I pull my laptop from my bag and set it on the desk. Taking a seat in the chair, I pick up where I left off last night, researching wildfires in North Okanagan and, more specifically, the town of Ember Grove.

North Okanagan covers a total of nearly 750,000 hectares in British Columbia.

EGFD is responsible for covering nearly 17,000 of that, and over 7,000 hectares in their jurisdiction is the Monashee Community Forest. Their department sees an average of two hundred calls annually, the majority of which are for motor vehicle accidents, given that the town is located right on the main highway.

They also do search and rescue in the off-season, which accounts for about a quarter of their annual calls.

Within the area they cover, Ember Grove usually only sees about twenty-five fires each year, an average of eight of which are wildfires.

Two or three often spark in early April when things start to dry up, but the bulk of the fires don’t hit until the end of July or beginning of August. Most of the fires they fight are structural or come from travelling to other jurisdictions to assist.

This year though, they’ve been the ones needing the help.

Coming from a city in Ontario, we never really heard much about wildfires.

Everyone east of here knows about the hell British Columbia and Alberta face every summer, but I never realized the extent of them.

Last year alone, over 1.08 million hectares were burned across British Columbia, and the year before that was even more.

Hell, this province has seen numerous fires that span over 100,000 hectares, whereas in Ontario, that was our total area burned last year.

The fire sizes and intensities there are nothing compared to here.

That’s not to say it wasn’t bad for us too.

But even living in Toronto, the only thing we hear about wildfires comes from people complaining about the poor air quality from the smoke.

The news tends to pick and choose when to talk about wildfires, and people that aren’t directly impacted are often either kept in the dark or can’t be bothered to pay attention.

I’m embarrassed to admit I was the latter.

But I’m changing that now. All of this may be brand new information for me, but I have years of experience investigating, and I’m hoping that will be enough to get me started. I may not have experience with fires, but I know what kind of things to keep an eye out for.

I’m nothing if not persistent, and if it turns out that these fires really are being caused by dry lightning storms, I’ll be the first to admit I was wrong. I may be competitive and determined, but I’m also capable of acknowledging when I make a mistake.

For the town’s sake, I hope I am making a mistake here. But selfishly, I hope I’m not. I need this case to prove myself to the people doubting me. If I turn out to be wrong about this, I think I’ll start doubting myself too.

I work for a little while longer, and when I’m sure I’m not going to find anything else today, I decide my best bet is to head down to the fire station and see what they have to say.

If Google can’t help me, maybe the people on the frontlines will.

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