Page 6 of Ink and Ashes

Holland

I’m sure Lieutenant Killjoy will have an explanation for it; based on our interaction a few days ago, it seems he’d do anything to avoid questioning why the fires have been running rampant this year.

I, however, am not willing to brush it aside.

Something’s going on in this town, and whether they want me to or not, I will figure out what it is.

I didn’t bother hanging around the station after he basically told me to go to hell, and I haven’t been back yet.

His response was pretty much exactly as I expected it would be, and I doubt his—or anyone else’s—opinion of me will change until I find some hard evidence about what’s really causing the fires.

But I will find some. Because despite the unfriendly welcome I received that night, one man’s opinion isn’t going to stop me from figuring this case out.

No matter how alluring said man is.

Even in my four-inch heels, his six-foot frame loomed over me. His sandy-brown hair was tousled, shorter on the sides and slightly shaggy on top, while a five o’clock shadow dusted his sharp jaw. His piercing green eyes locked onto me, as if he could uncover every one of my secrets without effort.

That’s not going to happen, though. I’d gladly let a man like him tell me what to do in the bedroom, but he has no right to boss me around career-wise. I’ve never been someone who gives up easily, and I’m determined—maybe more than I ever have been before—to see this thing through.

I know sooner or later I’ll have to head down there to try to talk to some others on the crew, but I’m hoping to have more to support my theory before I do.

I take a photo of the map, sending it to my computer so I can refer back to it in my research today. Once I’m ready, I pack up everything I need and make my way out of my room, locking the door behind me.

I’ve spent the past few days at Grove Gazette doing more research, and today I plan to head to the library to see what I can find there.

Often, the local paper is the best place to find news on past events, but unfortunately, Grove Gazette has been stingy with their records.

It’s clear no one has bothered to keep the storage room organized, so it’s impossible to find anything relevant.

Either that, or they just don’t bother reporting on the fires because they’re nothing new. Maybe both. Nonetheless, I’m hoping the library archives will have more information on Ember Grove. I’ll be grateful for anything at this point.

I poke my head into the dining room, finding Mary and Emmett sitting in silence together—Mary reading what looks to be a romance novel while Emmett works on the crossword puzzle in this week’s newspaper.

I’ve eaten every meal with them since I arrived a few days ago, and thankfully the reason I’m here hasn’t been brought up again.

But I still feel like I’ve been walking on eggshells around them, and while they’ve been nothing but welcoming, I haven’t missed the skeptical looks they send my way every so often.

Not that I blame them, or anyone else I’ve encountered so far. I’m not sure I’d trust the random stranger with zero credibility who showed up out of the blue claiming that there’s something suspicious happening in their town, either.

But like I’m determined to solve the mystery of the fires, I intend to ensure people learn to trust me, maybe even like me.

I’ve never been one for making friends, but considering where I currently stand, not much in my past life worked out for me.

If I’m making changes, I feel like that should be one of them.

Besides, killing people with kindness is the best way to get them to open up, and I need people to talk to me.

“I’m heading to the farmer’s market. Do you want me to pick anything up while I’m out?” I ask the couple.

Mary casts a soft smile my way. “Oh, thank you, Dear. Would you mind getting some more fresh fruit? It would save me a trip to the store tomorrow.”

She glances at her husband, who stares at me with a hint of mischief in his eye. “I’d sell my soul for some of them pastries Cedar Lane sells at the market. Snatch me up a few, would ya?” he asks, his smile glinting in the light.

I chuckle. “Of course. Any requests for flavours?”

He lists off his favourites.

“Sounds good. I’ll be back in a bit,” I tell them before making my way out the front door.

Warmth engulfs me the moment I swing it open. It’s only late May, but the temperature has already shot up to the mid-twenties. An orange hue colours the sky, a constant reminder about the fires burning throughout the province, but the sun is still shining through the smoke, and that gives me hope.

Making my way down the steps, I pull my sunglasses onto my face before starting the short walk to the market.

The Scarlet faces one of the side streets that run perpendicular to Grove Street, but it’s right on the corner and less than a ten-minute walk to where all the shops are.

Walking gives me a better opportunity to really take in the area, and I have a feeling I’d be sorely judged if I were caught driving three minutes down the road anyway.

In my research, I learned there’s a farmer’s market on Grove Street every Wednesday and Saturday that runs until early afternoon.

The only market I ever visited in Toronto was St. Lawrence, and that’s a much different atmosphere than a small-town farmer’s market.

Growing up, I never spent much time outside the city, so the homey, community feeling of Ember Grove is brand new to me.

I make my way through the vendors, heading to grab the fresh fruit Mary requested first. After grabbing a basket of mixed berries and some peaches, I continue toward the booth for Cedar Lane Café.

I have yet to venture into the little shop, but based on the look of their baked goods, I may have to pop in before I head over to the library.

“Hi,” I say to the mid-thirties woman standing behind the booth. She eyes me with the same look I’ve been getting from everyone the past few days.

“Are you her?” she asks, not bothering with pleasantries.

I play dumb. “Am I who?”

“That reporter. We all heard about your run-in with Lieutenant Caldwell the other day. It’s a small town—news travels faster than the wildfires you’re here to investigate .” She says the last word with a hint of disgust, and I don’t even bother correcting her on the reporter comment.

“I suppose I am.”

She sneers. “What do you think you can do that our firefighters can’t?”

I roll my lips together, forcing myself to stay calm. She worded it as a question, but it isn’t one. She’s already written me off, and fortunately for her, she’s not someone whose opinion I care to change.

I avert my gaze, glancing down at the different pastries laid out in front of me .

“Can I get two of the blueberry scones, two cheese danishes, and one chocolate croissant?” I ask, unwilling to give this woman another moment of my time.

She scoffs but takes my change of subject for what it is. She packs up the goodies in a box and I pay.

“Thank you. It was a pleasure,” I tell her, forcing a smile on my face. Before she can respond, I turn and walk away.

I’d prepared myself for hostility from Ember Grove’s residents, but I won’t stand for disrespect.

I understand that none of them want to believe that their beloved town holds secrets, but sooner or later, they’re all going to have to face the music.

None of what’s happened since their fire season began makes sense.

I’m just hoping that someone starts to agree with me before it ends up being too late.

Irritated, I leave the market and head back to the inn, dropping off the food. Mary and Emmett thank me before I leave again, hopping into my car to drive across town to the library.

I don’t bother stopping at the café. I’m sure I’ll make my way there at some point, but after that interaction, I don’t want to give them more of my business today.

It isn’t long before I pull up in front of the Ember Grove Library, one of the oldest buildings in the town, next to the fire station and town hall.

It’s a small, red brick building with windows all over.

It looks like it’s had some updates over the years, as expected, but it still holds the original feel that old buildings tend to have.

When I enter, I let out a content sigh, smiling as the smell of books and paper overwhelms me. I’ve never felt more at home than I do within the walls of a library.

The librarian at the front counter eyes me, so I give her a friendly smile and quick hello before heading toward the archives. The archives are accessible by the public, but they can’t be checked out like books, so I find what I’m looking for and set up shop at one of the nearby tables.

The first thing I do is open my laptop and navigate to my email. I reached out to a few fire investigators on my first night here to see if they could provide me with more information, but I still haven’t heard back from any of them, much to my disappointment.

I know EGFD isn’t the only department that’s busy fighting fires right now, and the nearest fire investigators are based out of Kelowna.

Their priority isn’t getting back to a random investigator with no credibility, but the lack of response is still frustrating.

Especially since I know they’ve been in the area to visit the scenes of the fires.

On a head shake, I close my email, then move to the document I’ve started outlining all my research in.

One thing I’ve learned so far is that it’s easy for wildfire causes to get swept under the rug because nine times out of ten, the cause is the same—especially in a town like Ember Grove.

Even worse, without concrete evidence, wildfire arson is rarely assumed because many of the well-known arson indicators can occur naturally in wooded areas.

But I’m not willing to turn a blind eye until I’m positive these fires are what everyone believes them to be.

Maybe I’m overthinking things—desperate to redeem myself and save my career that’s hanging on by a thread.

But if there’s even the smallest chance I’m right, I’ll stop at nothing to prove it.

Letting out a sigh, I continue my research.

The archives provide a deeper history and also outline every fire EGFD has fought in their jurisdiction.

As it turns out, the area that is now known as Ember Grove was unincorporated until the fifties.

After a wildfire burned over 700 hectares of land in this area in 1952, they decided to build the new, incorporated town I currently reside in—hence how Ember Grove got its name.

Building a fire department was one of their first priorities once the town was developed, and in the 73 years since its inception, EGFD has fought six hundred wildfires and around a thousand structural fires in their jurisdiction.

The largest wildfire they’ve seen was just under 200 hectares, and that was shortly after Ember Grove came to be.

They’ve gotten good at preparing for the fires and taking steps to make sure when they do pop up, they stay small.

They direct most of their annual budget toward protecting the surrounding forests, educating civilians on how to avoid starting a wildfire, and preparing for them by building fire lines in hazardous areas, clearing dry debris, and setting clear guidelines for open burning.

It’s worked. The last wildfire that grew larger than 12 hectares was over thirty years ago, so whatever preventative steps they’ve taken have proven effective until now.

But something tells me that if they aren’t careful, this year is going to give them a run for their money.

I pull up the picture of the map of all the current fires and annotate it with locations of fires over the past decade. Viewing the small version on my laptop is tricky to read, so when I get back to the inn, I’ll transfer the information over.

Once that’s done, I dive deeper into whatever information is available about each fire in the past decade.

There are nearly two hundred, and most of them—wildfires and structural fires alike—were determined to be caused by lightning.

I didn’t realize lightning caused so many fires, but I guess in an area that often faces long stretches of droughts and frequent dry lightning storms, it’s not surprising.

It takes me hours to go through everything, making detailed notes of each of the fires and marking the ones I think are worth taking a closer look at.

By the time I finish, the sun is beginning to dip below the tree line, so I return the files to their proper place, then step out of the library into the brisk May evening.

A shiver runs up my spine on the walk to my car, though it’s not from the cool breeze in the air.

I glance around, getting the feeling that I’m being watched, but nothing pops out at me.

This side of town is quiet, and aside from the other car in front of the library—which I assume belongs to the librarian, who was still at the counter when I left—no one else is around.

I continue toward my vehicle, locking the doors immediately when I get inside. I’m sure it was nothing, likely just a gust of wind that I mistook for my sixth sense.

Except when my phone pings with an email a moment later, the subject reading I’m watching you , that feeling returns. The body of the email is empty, save for the Sent from my iPhone message that’s automatically included. The email address looks like spam, yet something tells me it’s not.

I shake it off, blowing out a breath as I delete the email. I start my car and pull out of the lot, resigning myself to the fact that it’s probably just someone trying to scare me into leaving. It’s not the first time I’ve received creepy, threatening messages in this career.

But this town will soon come to learn that they’re shit out of luck if they think they can chase me off that easily.