1105 Yakima Street. Debbie Macomber

you,” he said, his voice husky, “for looking after Charlotte.”

      Mack didn’t feel he’d done anything out of the ordinary.

      “Mack, what about the damage to the house?” Olivia asked him. “That’s being assessed,” he replied, “but there doesn’t appear to be any damage to rooms other than the kitchen.”

      “I’m so grateful you got here when you did,” Charlotte murmured.

      “Mom. Ben.” Will Jefferson, her son, hoofed it up the last part of the steep street and across the lawn. Apparently he’d run from the Harbor Street Art Gallery, where he lived and worked. It was only a few blocks away, but unfortunately they were all straight uphill.

      “Everything’s okay,” Olivia told him. “Mom, Ben and Harry got out in time.”

      “Thank God.” Will leaned over and placed his hands on his knees, wheezing as he attempted to catch his breath. “I didn’t know what to think when you called,” he said to Olivia.

      “Mrs. Johnson left me a message at the courthouse,” Olivia told their mother, “and then I phoned Will.”

      “I hope I didn’t upset you too much,” the next-door neighbor said, her brow furrowed. She stood a few feet away. “I saw the fire and phoned it in, but Ben had already taken care of that. Then I thought if it was my house I’d want my children to know what was going on, so I called the courthouse. I do hope that was the right thing to do.”

      “It certainly was,” Olivia said fervently. “Don’t ever hesitate to contact me in regard to Mom and Ben. About anything,” she emphasized.

      “Me, too,” Will chimed in.

      “Oh, yes,” Charlotte echoed, reaching for her daughter’s arm. “I feel much better now that my children are here.”

      “What happened?” Will asked, still a little breathless. He glanced from Ben to Mack and back to Ben.

      “I’m not sure,” Ben said, turning to Charlotte.

      “I made lunch the way I always do—chicken noodle soup, which was on simmer—and then Ben and I sat down. We were reading when Ben said he smelled smoke.”

      Ben nodded in agreement.

      “I didn’t smell anything, so I didn’t worry about it. My new cooking magazine arrived today and they had twenty-eight recipes on how to use zucchini and I was absorbed in that. Then all of a sudden Ben threw down his book and let out a yell.”

      “Yes,” Ben said, picking up the tale. “I saw flames.”

      “Thank goodness Ben can deal with a crisis because I panicked. My first thought was that we needed to put out the fire ourselves, but by then the kitchen drapes were in flames, and it was … just too much.”

      Mack cringed since trying to handle the fire themselves was one of the biggest mistakes homeowners made.

      “One look told me it was already more than either of us could deal with,” Ben continued, “so I got Charlotte and Harry out of the house and used my cell phone to call 9-1-1.”

      Mack was grateful that Ben had remained calm. Too many people stayed inside the home to contact 9-1-1, putting themselves at greater risk. “You did the best possible thing,” he said. “The first action to take is always to get everyone out of the house, then call the fire department.”

      “What happens next?” Olivia asked, directing the question to Mack.

      “The fire department will investigate the cause,” he told them.

      “When will the investigator get here?” Ben asked, standing close to Charlotte.

      “Usually within a couple of hours,” Mack told them.

      “What about the Crock-Pot?” Charlotte said suddenly, clutching Ben’s arm. “I had tonight’s dinner in it. Should we try to find it in this mess?”

      “Mom, I think dinner is the least of your problems,” Will inserted. “I’d assume the Crock-Pot’s a lost cause.”

      Mack couldn’t remember seeing it, but his attention had been focused on putting out the fire.

      “What can you tell me about dealing with the insurance people?” Ben asked, looking at Mack. “Will they get in touch with us or will I need to call them?”

      “You’ll need to notify them.”

      “The contact information is inside the house,” Ben muttered.

      “Do you have the same carrier as you do for your car insurance?”

      “Yes.”

      “Then the phone number should be on your insurance card.” Washington state law required carrying proof of insurance when driving, so either Ben had the insurance card in his wallet or in the car’s glove compartment.

      “Of course.” Ben grimaced. “I guess I’m more rattled than I thought.”

      “It’s understandable,” Mack said. He glanced over his shoulder to be sure he wasn’t needed elsewhere and noticed that Andrew McHale, the fire investigator, had arrived. Before he could point him out, Andrew disappeared around the back of the house.

      “How long will it be before we can go back in the house?” Charlotte asked. “I do hope everyone will be gone by five—that’s when Ben likes to watch Judge Judy.”

      “Mom,” Olivia said, gently patting her mother’s hand. “You won’t be able to go back in the house. The kitchen’s going to need a complete overhaul. It might be several weeks before the house is livable again.”

      “We can’t go back in the house?” she asked in confusion. “For several weeks? Why not?”

      Mack realized that Charlotte hadn’t taken in what Olivia was saying.

      “The kitchen’s been destroyed,” Will said, speaking slowly and clearly.

      “I know that, dear, but the rest of the house is fine.”

      “Still, you can’t live there until the damage to the kitchen has been repaired.”

      “But …” Charlotte turned to Ben as if asking him to plead her case.

      Mack understood that she was bewildered and uncertain; she didn’t seem to understand the gravity of what had taken place.

      “But … where will we go?” Charlotte asked helplessly.

      “Depending on the type of insurance coverage you have, the company might pay for you to stay in a hotel while the repairs are made,” Mack explained.

      “A hotel?” Charlotte shook her head as though the very idea was repugnant to her.

      “Mom, you can stay with me,” Will said. “I’m close to the house and—”

      “Not a good idea, Will,” Olivia cut in. “You’re living at the art gallery. That’s no place for Mom and Ben. They’ll stay with Jack and me.”

      The moment Olivia mentioned her husband’s name, he drove up—almost as though he’d been summoned. The town’s newspaper editor, Jack Griffin also did reporting duty when required; in this case he would have recognized the address. Accompanied by a cameraman, Jack headed in their direction, his ever-present raincoat billowing out from his sides as he strode across the lawn.

      “I suppose you’re wondering why I called this meeting,” he said, introducing a bit of humor.

      Mack smothered a laugh.

      “Jack, this is no time to joke,” Olivia said, then hugged him. She seemed relieved that he’d come.

      “Oh, Jack, they say we can’t go back inside,” Charlotte wailed. “I’m afraid this is all my fault.”

      “No