On Fire

CHAPTER 1

Maddy locked the door after the last customer left. Her white-shirted wait staff wrung their hands and shifted foot to foot. Julianne gulped her usual sweet tea at the hostess station while Nick stared from the swinging kitchen door, everyone waiting for the magic number.

Two-fifty. Maddy raised her arms in the air.

Whoops and cheers. Applause. High-fives all around.

Maddy slumped against the glass front door and closed her eyes, relishing the sounds of triumph. And relief. Three years of paper napkins at lunch, cutting out her truffle-infused dessert, mortgaging Aunt Betty’s house to make payroll—and tonight, finally, two hundred fifty plates served meant The Haven had made a profit.

Nick’s hug squeezed Maddy so tightly it was almost painful, but she didn’t care. She pushed her brother away, wiped a gathering tear from her eye, and turned to her staff. Okay, guys. We did it, but we still have to clean up. Moans and groans followed, but both front and back of house staff turned to wiping tables and shining wine glasses as Maddy returned to the kitchen. Sous chefs Billy and Joel scrubbed the kitchen’s stainless-steel countertops while belting out their off-key version of Uptown Girl.

Julianne burst into the kitchen. You should see the people at Flannery’s. There’s a line waiting to get in.

Servers and chefs ran to the front and gawked across the parking lot at the crowd of flip-flop-wearing men and women pouring into and out of Flannery’s Bar and Grill, the newest, and apparently hottest, eatery in Lake Havasu City.

What do you think? Joel asked Maddy.

She rested her forehead against the glass and stared at the busy—correction, packed—competition.

How can they do that? she asked. How can they get so many customers so fast?

It’s only a bar and grill, Nick told her. Maddy didn’t hear him. The past few years of trying almost any marketing gimmick Nick thought of mocked her with this new invader. This new place was an invader taking her hard-earned customers.

It’s only a bar and grill. Nick repeated.

Maddy heaved a much-exaggerated sigh then shrugged her shoulders. She turned to her staff. It’s only a bar and grill. That’s a different clientele. We made our budget tonight. From now on, it’ll only get better. She raised her arms a la Rocky Balboa. Applause and cheers again sounded from her staff.

Maddy forced a smile, but inside she quaked. One positive cash flow night didn’t put The Haven into free-spending territory. Would they draw more customers tomorrow? The day after? Could that bar and grill steal her customers with its casual food? Maddy’s mind swirled. She scrubbed and scoured until the image of a full Flannery’s Bar and Grill was washed from her.

After a half hour of double-checking stock for tomorrow’s menu, Maddy called an end to the night. She looked around her kitchen. Sparkling clean. And empty.

We’re the only ones left. Julianne folded stray gray hairs behind her ear then threw her towel onto the counter.

I couldn’t have done this without you. Maddy hugged the petite sixty-something hostess who should be enjoying a beach somewhere, rather than putting up with The Haven’s recent struggles. Thank you for staying with me during these bad years.

The Haven is your dream. I’ll do whatever I can to help you, Julianne answered. They walked out the door hand in hand, Maddy grateful for her loyal staff and a brother with business sense.

Tourist towns across the nation had been hit hard during the economic downturn, especially the upscale boating-oriented Lake Havasu City located at the state’s western edge. With tourist season beginning this Labor Day weekend, The Haven’s future shined brighter than the Arizona sun. At least, that’s what Maddy hoped.

Maddy waved to Julianne who drove off in a small sedan, then shuffled to her decade-old Volvo parked in the far corner of the lot at the edge of a patch of glowing lamp light.

You shouldn’t be walking out here by yourself, a deep voice sounded behind her, sending a shiver down her spine.

Key almost in the lock, Maddy turned to see a tall, muscular man. What?

It’s the middle of the night. You should have someone walk you out to your car, he said as he stepped into the circle of light.

Maddy clutched her keys, ready to jab him in the eye. But he didn’t seem threatening, and wounding one of those beautiful light blue eyes would be a shame.

Ryan. He held his hand out. Across the parking lot. He nodded toward Flannery’s.

What are you doing over here? Maddy shook his hand with a firm grip, and found herself holding on longer than she should have. He felt strong, confident, and inviting. Her heart thumped.

He smiled. Sandy hair plastered his forehead, and crinkled laugh lines surrounded his eyes. Maddy thought he’d be gorgeous, if only he didn’t have one major flaw: he wore a white chef’s jacket embroidered with Flannery’s Bar and Grill.

Needed a breath of air and some quiet. He leaned against her car. You off for the night?

Yes. Long night. She glared at him leaning on her car. I’m ready to go home.

Oh. Sorry. He stepped away. Didn’t get your name.

Didn’t give it to you. Maddy climbed into her Volvo, too tired to talk and not interested in a midnight conversation with anyone from the enemy camp.

Well, okay, then. Guess you can’t take some competition.

Hey. Maddy took the obvious bait, and jumped out of her car to stand toe to toe, glaring up at those gorgeous—yes, they were—blue eyes. Competition is fine, but that bar and grill is not my competition. The Haven’s a real restaurant.

"What do you mean real?" Ryan returned her glare.

Frozen fries and machine-pressed burger patties are not food. I would never serve that to my customers.

My food is always fresh. And there’s nothing wrong with burgers and fries.

Maddy rolled her eyes.

What does that mean? he asked. That eye roll thing.

Burgers are fine for a backyard barbecue, but a real meal—

Real meal. Ryan threw his hands in the air then pointed to The Haven. I can cook as well as anyone in that snobby restaurant.

Snobby? It’s not snobby. Maddy placed her hands on her hips.

Ha, he snorted, putting his hands on his hips.

Game on.

A dictionary’s worth of swear words tickled at Maddy’s tongue, but instead, she decided she was too tired. Remembering her brother’s words, she shrugged and climbed back into her Volvo.

It’s only a bar and grill.

She slammed the door and sped off, leaving Ryan in the dust.

Hey, Flannery. A slim, young woman with dark, curly, shoulder-length hair jogged toward him as he spit out the dust the Volvo had kicked up in his face. Stop goofing off and get back to work. She jerked her thumb at his brightly lit restaurant.

I’m the boss. I can goof off if I want, Ryan told her.

Lisa came back at him, putting her hands on her hips, a mirror of The Haven’s owner’s defiant stance a few minutes ago. You know the bar and grill idea was mine, right, Flannery?

Ryan threw his hands in the air. That means you want another raise.

Lisa smiled. Saw a great pair of shoes at Peabody’s.

And whatever my manager wants, she gets. Ryan laughed.

You’re right. Lisa turned toward Flannery’s, ready to head back.

Ryan grabbed her arm. He sniffed the air. You smell that?

You’re hallucinating again, she told him.

He sniffed deep and recognized the odor from years of experience. He searched the cityscape then found the long, thin haze of smoke billowing into the night sky obscuring the stars. A big one. Three alarm, probably.

Another fire. Ryan muttered.

You’re done with that fire stuff, Flannery, Lisa told him.

Once a fireman, always a fireman, he corrected.

CHAPTER 2

Beyond Flannery’s and The Haven, over London Bridge onto McCulloch Boulevard, past Walgreen’s and Tire Pro, around Wheeler Park with the city’s gigantic evergreen, a few blocks east in Old Downtown, three red fire trucks anchored in the two-lane street. They sprayed water onto the surrounding rooftops of the buildings adjacent to the now-destroyed Luigi’s Italian Restaurant, a fifty-year fixture in the Lake Havasu restaurant scene.

If that’s not arson, I don’t know what is. The big voice came from the little man standing behind Fire Marshal Ted Houser. At a hair over five feet, Chief of Police Bill Wharton’s voice commanded more attention than his height.

Houser wasn’t going to let Wharton get away with coming out in the middle of the night to check on how he investigated fires. Houser told him, You can call it arson all you want, but I’m the one who determines if this fire was set intentionally or not.

Come on, Ted. This is the fifth restaurant fire this this year.

You counting? The men stood in the middle of McCulloch Boulevard, stared at Luigi’s, and then turned to Anna shrunken under a blanket inside the EMT rescue vehicle next to her husband. Their livelihood was now a pile of smoking char. Glowing ash floated down like hundreds of fireflies. Gawkers collected on the sidewalk, cell phone camera flashes speckled the elderly couple, and the ubiquitous local newscaster, Clark Dean, tried to shove his way through the yellow tape.

Then there was a crash.

Wooden roof trusses could hold a few hundred pounds of asphalt shingles, but not when the wood had been burnt to charcoal. One beam cracked, split, collapsed, and dumped charred scraps onto another; then like dominoes, beams cascaded into what was once Luigi’s front entrance.

Gordon, one of the firefighters shouted. Then, Gordon’s inside the building.

Firefighters rushed toward the pile of rubble, pulled at planks, metal ducts, wire, plasterboard. Hunks of debris flew into the street as each firefighter grabbed a piece of something, yanking it.

Chirp…Chirp

Here. Under here. Part of the crew moved to a corner, working deeper into the ruin, closer to Gordon’s PASS alarm, the emergency location beacon that all fire personnel wore in case they were trapped. Like this.

Chirp.

Someone threw off a layer of plaster. A thick leather glove wiggled in the tangle.

Here.

EMTs waited with a gurney. Gordon’s firefighting buddies grabbed his arms and pulled him out from the mess. Part of the roof collapsed; the rest could too—there was no taking chances. The EMTs arranged their medical gear, whatever they needed to insure Gordon remained—

"Stable," an EMT called out then slammed the back doors. Red and white lights twirled, like a bad Christmas display. Sirens blared. The speeding emergency van raced to Lake Havasu Medical Center.

Wharton had stood back while Houser and the other firefighters dug into the debris. Now, he spat onto the concrete street and told the fire marshal, Don’t you think it’s time you admitted you need help?

Houser smoothed his thinning gray hair then spun around and walked to the fire marshal’s truck parked across the street. The two men had almost a century of city service and both were ready for retirement. He hoped to do exactly that next year, but he couldn’t with these fires hanging over his head.

Bill Wharton was right. In his gut, Ted Houser knew the fires were set intentionally, even if he couldn’t prove it.

He needed help.

CHAPTER 3

Well past midnight, Maddy lounged in her tub surrounded by frothy bubbles, and twirled a near-empty glass of chardonnay. The tight muscles in her neck refused to relax. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the crowd at Flannery’s, heard the loud music and raucous laughter. The servers wore tight T-shirts and short-shorts. Men and women.

Good looks don’t mean good food.

On the other hand…Ryan’s square jaw and dimples seemed burned behind her eyelids. She imagined him in The Haven’s kitchen massaging dry grilling rub into a flank steak.

The heat rising in her body wasn’t from tub water.

How long has it been since I had a date? Years?

Maddy took another sip of chardonnay. She regretted being mean to Ryan. That certainly wasn’t her nature. After all, didn’t she fill in for Hank at the Scorpion Club when he was rushed to the hospital? Wasn’t she the one who shared her fresh basil with Angela and Gil at the Rocking Coyote? They were The Haven’s competition, right? But, everyone was still family. Maddy took another sip.

Could this Flannery guy move into town and take my customers?

Rather than the relief and elation Maddy had expected after a profit-earning night, she soaked in resentment.

Front-of-house wait staff and back-of-house chefs buzzed. Julianne took charge as usual, herding lunch servers to stations and barking orders to any and everyone. The short, round Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum duo of Billy and Joel cut jicama and avocado for the lunch special while singing their off-tempo version of ‘80s pop hits.

Staunch regulars drifted into The Haven. Maddy’s usual customers had remained loyal, enjoying special appetizers she had created for them. The family of Lake Havasu business owners stuck together pretty well. Most of them.

She sat at the corner table with Robert Talbert, the egotistical owner of the most famous and successful hotel in the city. Talbert’s sprawling hotel included three restaurants, one of which had a four-diamond rating that he never ceased bragging about. The hotel’s most noteworthy feature was its placement at the edge of the original London Bridge, which once spanned the River Thames in London. The original bridge was deconstructed and then reassembled stone by stone in Arizona, where it now straddled a water inlet and connected Lake Havasu City to the island, a small peninsula jutting into Lake Havasu.

Flannery’s hopping today, isn’t it? Robert Talbert’s question set off Maddy’s ire.

Yes, they’re pretty loud over there, aren’t they? Maddy’s casual comment nearly hissed through her clenched teeth.

Heard the food’s pretty good. Talbert bit into his sliced roast beef sandwich garnished with Maddy’s spicy sauce. Of course, not as good as yours, he added with a full mouth.

Is that why you wanted to talk to me? To tell me that Flannery’s food wasn’t as good as mine?

As a matter of fact, it is. And that I have a business proposition for you.

I told you before that I’m not interested in selling.

Work for me. I want you as my executive chef at my hotel. You can still keep this place.

This place? Maddy clenched her fists under the table.

Not interested. She shoved her chair away from the table. Talbert held her arm.

You have an excellent reputation in this city—hell, in the entire state of Arizona—as a great chef. You know I’ll pay you more than you’ll ever bring in here. You’ll have full control of my kitchen, set the menus for my three restaurants, and you’ll have a huge staff.

Maddy stood. I have full control of my kitchen already. I set my menus. I have my own staff. Maddy leaned over the table closer to Talbert. I’m staying in my restaurant. She stalked off, leaving him munching roast beef.

It’s only a bar and grill. Nick whispered behind her. His dark hair and green eyes mirrored hers.

Am I that obvious? Maddy asked. The lunch crowd remained steady with boaters docking at slips along the shore and weekenders taking photos of the bridge. Her staff joked with customers, smiled, and collected generous tips. Prosperity had finally returned to The Haven.

Their buoyancy changed in the hour between lunch and dinner service.

Maddy. Julianne pushed through the swinging door to the kitchen, before two men followed her through, one dressed in full firefighting turnout gear and the other a short, thin man wearing a pressed white shirt and a tie printed with the state of Arizona sunset flag. The second man held a clipboard, and Maddy recognized him as Fire Marshal Ted Houser.

Fire inspection, Houser announced.

Maddy dropped the wooden mallet she’d been using to macerate a chicken breast and removed her spotted white apron. She led them to the mandatory fire extinguisher then the non-required backup. Her mind twirled—inspection, fire truck, customers. Inspectors always brought a fully equipped fire truck, in case something happened. A big, bright-red truck was probably parked outside her restaurant. Maddy’s stomach sank into her toes. Who’d want to eat at a restaurant with a scary fire truck in front?

Nick appeared behind her. There’s another extinguisher behind the bar also, in case.

Houser checked the clipboard then said, I want to take more of a look around. He and the firefighter walked around the kitchen, peering at the deep fryer and vent, checking electrical outlets, even the plugs to the mixers and blenders.

Are you looking for anything specific, Marshal Houser? Maddy asked. Twice yearly fire inspections were routine, but inspectors had never before checked the oven temperature.

We’re checking your equipment, Maddy, Houser told her.

You’re unusually thorough today.

You heard about the recent fires? he asked. Maddy perked up, in tandem with Nick, Julianne, Billy, and other curious staff in the kitchen. Luigi’s had a fire last night. Everything’s gone.

Oh, no, Maddy cried. Luigi’s is historic. I remember eating my first tiramisu there when I was a kid.

What happened? Julianne asked.

He shrugged. Probably an electrical fire. That’s why we’re making extra sure everything is okay with the other restaurants in town, especially at the beginning of the tourist season. We’ll only be a few more minutes.

We really appreciate that, marshal. Nick followed the two men as they poked around.

The few minutes turned into half an hour, and then more. Maddy again glanced at the clock on the wall. The dinner crowd would be arriving soon, but with a fire truck parked outside and the fire marshal checking and double checking everything, Maddy fretted about finishing kitchen prep on time. The last thing The Haven needed was to turn diners away, but she certainly didn’t want a fire.

What else could go wrong? Maddy mumbled to herself.

CHAPTER 4

Joel moved behind Maddy, making her jump. He pointed to the tall man wearing a white Flannery’s chef jacket standing inside the kitchen door. Maddy’s heart leaped into her throat and tingling warmth spread from her face down to her toes. Even from across the room, Maddy recognized Ryan’s light blue eyes and chiseled chin. Like last night, he stood with damp hair plastered to his head.

What does he want? Maddy asked.

He wants to know if he can help, Joel squeaked.

I don’t need any help, Maddy mumbled as she stomped to the enemy cook.

Hey, Flannery, Houser yelled out, and waved across the kitchen to him.

Hey, marshal. Ryan waved back.

Flannery? Maddy’s mouth fell open at him.

Yeah. Ryan Flannery. I own that ‘only a bar and grill’ across the parking lot. He seemed to dare her to blow her top. Ryan shook hands and exchanged niceties with Houser and the fireman.

Saw the truck and came over to see if I could help, Ryan explained to Houser.

Help? With what? Stealing my customers? Maddy stepped to a few inches from Ryan and placed her hands on her hips, ready to pounce at the interloper.

What customers? He spread his arms wide.

Houser squeezed between Maddy and Ryan, forcing them apart and glaring at one then the other. Before you two go at it like two coyotes over a jackrabbit roadkill, Houser turned to Ryan, thanks for the offer, Flannery, but we’re okay here. Official fire department business.

Maddy winced. Official fire department business? That sounds like I’m being investigated for something bad. How could Marshal Houser, a loyal customer, say that to my competition? Maddy’s heart fell to her feet.

Who knows what Flannery would say about the inspection? Would he, could he, sabotage The Haven with false rumors? She’d be closed in a week if Flannery told everyone the fire department inspected The Haven. And she was sure he would do exactly that.

Ryan glanced around the restaurant at the wide-eyed staff. He nodded and shook hands with Houser then said, I’m right across the parking lot if you need me. He left without a second look at Maddy.

She slumped, but raised her head long enough to snatch a peek through the front glass, and saw Flannery talking with a firefighter outside. Probably telling him everything that was wrong at The Haven. Maybe she needed more fire extinguishers? More sprinklers? More whatevers. She felt numb.

Houser said, We’re done here.

She shook her head, trying to clear her dark-clouded thoughts, then squeezed out a smile. Thank you, Marshal Houser.

Maddy stood in the doorway watching the fire truck drive off and patrons walk into Flannery’s Bar and Grill. She fumed. She looked around at her restaurant. Hers. She had fought hard for The Haven and wasn’t going to let anyone spread false rumors. A fire inspection right before dinner certainly didn’t seem coincidental. And that firefighter and Flannery seemed to be friends.

Maddy pushed open her front door then stomped across the parking lot, heading to Flannery’s.

A young, dark-haired and short-shorts-wearing hostess smiled at Maddy. Welcome to Flannery’s.

Before the hostess could say a word, Maddy snarled, Kitchen. Lisa pointed to the back. Maddy continued her stomping through the dining room of surprised patrons, many of whom she thought were her loyal customers, into the loud, steaming kitchen.

She found Ryan searing a petite fillet and laughing with his sous chef. She poked Ryan’s shoulder.

Stay away from my restaurant. Whatever scheme you and your pals in the fire department are cooking up—

What? He plated the fillet then slid the plate to another chef to finish with a whirl of buttered-garlic smashed potatoes and an arrangement of button mushrooms.

She poked his chest with her finger. Don’t play innocent with me. Whatever your fireman pal told you—

He didn’t tell me anything. Ryan towered over Maddy.

You two were—

I offered to help.

With what? Searing a fillet? She grew hotter in the sweltering kitchen, and was aware their argument drew the attention of chefs and servers.

First aid. I thought someone needed first aid.

Ha. You—

Listen, Miss Snobby. Ryan leaned over, bending to be nose to nose with her. I spent ten years as a fireman with the Lake Havasu Fire Department. I know how to handle emergencies. A bright red fire truck in front of your restaurant looked like you were having an emergency.

Maddy opened her mouth to say something, but couldn’t think of anything that would hide the utter embarrassment she felt.

That’s how I know Fire Marshal Houser, Ryan told her.

Okay, then why did he come at the beginning of dinner service?

Ryan threw his hands in the air. I dunno. Maybe he was doing his job?

She frowned. That’s too much of a coincidence. Stay away from my restaurant, Ryan Flannery. She turned heel, not waiting for his comeback.

Maddy swung the kitchen