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Liv was exhausted from another scorching day at the fire academy. Her office in the Waverly County PD’s detective unit was brightly lit thanks to her adding a torch light at the side of her desk.
Michael stood and grabbed his suit jacket. “Don’t stay too late. Goodnight, Liv.”
“Night, Michael.” She smiled.
Her eyes fixed on the preliminary coroner's reports for the glass vials. With the two dead bodies, she wasn’t able to take leave during the academy. The report revealed a chilling combination of contents: a smattering of human ash, broken teeth, and a cryptic note. A shiver ran down her spine. What are you telling us? she wondered.
She’d have to wait for more evidence. She’d already tried to light a proverbial fire under her sister. Liv wondered if the ash and teeth were related to each dead man. She turned her attention back to the messages. Were they meant as a taunt or a challenge to law enforcement? They left her with more questions than answers. Her gut churned. Would there be more deaths?
Taking a deep breath, Liv added the cases to VICAP, theViolent Criminal Apprehension Program, looking for similar cases. Shereached for her notebook and began researching the fictional phoenix. She’d run a computer search for any crimes involving the name Phoenix as well.
The radio call broke Liv’s concentration. There was a fire at Fiddler’s. Waverly Junction's old saloon, transformed into a family-friendly restaurant, was a popular spot for both children and adults. It was precisely eight o'clock, and the place would be packed at this hour. Liv's heart raced as she grabbed her jacket and hung her badge around her neck before rushing out of her office. A second large-scale fire in as many days. She hoped it was a coincidence, but somehow she knew it wasn’t.
As she made her way through the police department, the frenzied chatter coming from the police and fire department radios filled her ears. Fred Lamply was coordinating the FD response. The Waverly County Fire Department was on its way to the blaze.
Liv raced to her patrol car, sirens blaring as she sped toward Waverly Junction's old-saloon-turned-restaurant. Billowing smoke floated on the horizon, ominous against the evening sky. Panic welled up inside her as she thought about the people who might be trapped inside.
As she drove, Liv could hear Jackson calling for assistance. “This is Captain Reynolds, Station 3. Fire fully involved. Multiple people trapped.”
His request continued, “Urgent: request fifth alarm. Fire at Fiddlers Restaurant in Waverly Junction. Requesting immediate assistance from neighboring departments. Also need a comprehensive EMS response—requesting all available ambulances. Please mobilize all available units to the scene.”
She’d never heard that kind of urgency in any firefighter’s requests since she was assigned to the unit. Not even the day of the nail salon bombing. Her foot pressed harder on the gas pedal. As she drove, Michael keyed up his radio that he was also responding.
Liv pulled up to the restaurant and momentarily froze at the sight of the building fully engulfed in flames. “This is Detective Everhart, request additional police response and municipal buses to transport the uninjured, and open the high school gym,” she went over the radio.
People were panicking and running in all different directions from the building. Her gut lurched as she saw the fear in the eyes of the restaurant’s customers and staff. The radio exploded with requests for additional police units to assist with crowd control and evacuation. The first to arrive at the scene began setting up a triage area.
Liv, along with other officers from Waverly County and Waverly Junction, began guiding people away from the danger and toward safety. The intense heat from the flames warmed her face, and the scent of burning wood and furnishings irritated her nostrils. She watched the firefighters struggle to clear the building of anyone left inside.
Her black sedan was parked a distance away, hidden among the trees in the poorly lit parking lot. “Cover for the arsonist,” she muttered. Liv popped the trunk, revealing her neatly organized gear. She swiftly began dressing, her police badge hanging under her turnout coat. She’d removed “police” from her gear to attend the fire academy.
With her gear on, Liv took a deep breath, choking on the humid air. Before she moved, she took a moment to watch the fire and the crowd. No one in the crowd seemed to be watching the fire except the firefighters and her freshly arrived partner. As she approached the front doors of the building, which were engulfed in flames, she spotted Jackson directing operations over the radio. Their eyes met briefly.
“Jackson, I know you're short-handed,” Liv said, her voice determined and unwavering despite the scene unfolding around them. “What do you need?”
Jackson, still listening to radio chatter, turned to Liv with a grateful but tense expression. “We could use some extra hands outside the building. We've got people trapped on the upper floor, and we're trying to contain the blaze. The chief was out of town and is on his way. Another engine is working a motor vehicle collision. I need someone to assist with crowd control outside. It's bedlam out here.”
Liv nodded in understanding, her commitment to her dual roles unwavering. She adjusted her helmet. “Got it,” she replied, the blaze reflecting in her irises. “PD has the crowd managed.”
Jackson gave a nod of approval and went over the radio, requesting the team from one of adjoining town’s departments. “Livvy, can you join Spring Hill FD? We need extra support for exterior firefighting.” The strain was evident in his voice.
She turned toward the blazing inferno, offering a thumbs-up. She moved swiftly and with purpose. She had been through countless drills that morning, yet she’d never experienced anything like this. Her heavy boots stomped on the debris-strewn grounds as she joined the fire company from Spring Hill FD.
The flames sizzled hungrily, casting eerie, dancing shadows on the walls. The sound of wood creaking and metal groaning under the intense heat added to the unsettling atmosphere. As she helped man a hose line, she watched the fire. This one burned white-hot, and its flames felt alive. Like the theater fire, she saw similar pops of flame. She also caught an occasional whiff of garlic.
“Good to see you, Detective,” one of the firefighters from Jackson’s team said, his voice muffled through his breathing apparatus. His air alarm was ringing. “We've got reports of people trapped on the second floor. We’re changing out our bottles and going back in. Keep the water coming.”
Liv nodded in agreement and activated the channel on her fire radio to stay in contact with the other companies. Alongside the team from Spring Hill FD, she assisted with the exterior firefighting efforts at Fiddler's Restaurant.
The roar of the blaze filled the air as Olivia and the Spring Hill team manned the hoses, their faces partially obscured by protective gear and masks. Intense heat radiated from the building.
“Open the lines! Let's hit it hard!” the Spring Hill FD’s lieutenant’s voice pierced through the mess, guiding the coordinated attack on the fire. Olivia knew things were bad when they risked drowning the interior firefighters.
The hose company responded in unison, directing powerful jets toward the heart of the blaze. Streams of water arced through the air, hissing as they met the roaring fire, attempting to quench the flames.
Olivia worked tirelessly alongside the Spring Hill team, adjusting their positions, coordinating the water streams, and aiming to contain the fire's spread.
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