Chapter 3
Firefighters swarmed the front yard, dragging heavy canvas hoses and barking orders that dissolved into the cacophony of spraying water and hissing steam. The aggressive jet of water slammed against the side of the house, creating a massive cloud of acrid white steam that enveloped Martha and Elena. They were forced backward, coughing and shielding their faces, retreating toward the safety of the perimeter where a police cruiser had just parked.
A tall officer with graying temples and a clipboard marched briskly toward them. His name tag read Detective Miller. He surveyed the scene with practiced cynicism, his eyes lingering on the broken gas meter before shifting to the two women standing apart from the terrified neighbors who had gathered across the street.
"Alright, who called it in?" Detective Miller asked, his voice gravelly and authoritative. He looked from Elena’s pristine white top and black jeans to Martha’s eccentric blue-and-purple tunic and soot-dusted purple trousers. "And more importantly, who owns this property?"
Elena opened her mouth to speak, her professional demeanor as a corporate mediator instantly kicking in, but Martha stepped slightly in front of her.
"I called it," Martha said smoothly, her voice betraying none of the internal turmoil of a few moments ago. "And the house belongs to my late husband’s estate. I reside here."
Miller raised an eyebrow, jotting something down on his pad. "And you reside right next door, correct, ma'am?" He glanced at Elena.
"I live at forty-two," Elena confirmed, keeping her voice carefully neutral. "I saw the smoke billowing from the eaves and rushed over to assist. I found Martha outside trying to manage the situation."
"Manage the situation by breaking the gas main?" Miller asked sharply, pointing the end of his pen toward the ruined meter. "Standard protocol for a house fire is evacuation and calling emergency services, not wrestling with high-pressure gas lines in work gloves."
Martha met the detective’s suspicious gaze without flinching. "The line was already compromised, Detective. I heard a hiss, a distinct leak. I was trying to prevent a catastrophic explosion that could have leveled half the block. If I hadn't shut the main valve down manually, we wouldn't be having this conversation; we'd be digging out the neighbors."
May you like
Miller studied her for a long, uncomfortable moment. His sharp eyes scanned her posture, looking for the nervous micro-expressions that usually accompanied deception. But Martha stood calm, her breathing controlled, her expression a mask of weary civic duty.
"We’ll see what the fire marshal says about the state of that pipe," Miller said finally, slipping his notepad into his pocket. "Nobody leaves the immediate area. We’re going to need formal statements from both of you once the flames are suppressed."
