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The butler held open the front door. Olivia turned, and with one more look at Christopher’s portrait, she turned to the butler. “If you think of anything to help our investigation…” She handed him her card.
Eighteen
Jackson talked briefly with his company, got report from the night captain, grabbed a cup of coffee and headed to his office. He sat at his desk and booted up his system, where he typed into the search engine. “Come on, there's got to be something here... Waverlys, Ashcrofts, town history... anything.”
The office phone rang. “Captain Reynolds.”
His lieutenant was on the phone. “Cap, we've got a call. Fire at 5th and Main, possible gas leak.”
He shook his head, not believing he missed hearing the alarm. He quickly gathered himself. “I'm on my way, Luke. Be right there.”
Jackson hurriedly shut down his computer and rushed out of the office, grabbed his gear and jumped into his Tahoe. He decided to separate himself from his personnel for their safety.
The scene was ablaze with the distant flickers of fire fueled by a broken gas main. Jackson, clad in his firefighter gear, arrived at the scene, his eyes glazed over with a distant expression. His thoughts drifted beyond the immediate crisis at hand.
As Jackson approached, a firefighter from the squad urgently called out, “Cap, heads up.”
The warning pierced through the turmoil surrounding him—the relentless crackle of flames, the distant wails of approaching sirens. Yet, despite the urgency of the moment, his mind was elsewhere.
As he moved forward, oblivious to the imminent danger, he felt a sudden, powerful tug. It was his lieutenant, Luke. With a swift action, Luke pulled him back, his grip firm and unwavering, just in time to shield him from the explosive surge of water from the hose line.
The abrupt halt jolted Jackson out of his mental fog. “Cap, snap out of it. You're not focused. Take a step back; catch your breath. We’ve got this.”
The echoes of the lieutenant's words reverberated in Jackson's mind. His urgency conveyed the seriousness of the situation. Jackson took a step back from the scene as flames roared in the background. He inhaled a deep breath.
“Everything alright, Jackson?” Luke looked worried.
He nodded. “Yeah, just... got a lot on my mind. But I'm good now. Let's get this under control.” He called out his orders to shut down the main and suppress the flames. Thankfully, it was a routine fire. Equipment failure. Not an arson.
Back at the station, Jackson apologized for being distracted. He returned to his office and dropped his head into his hands. “Get your act together, Reynolds.”
He opened his computer again and typed “Ashcroft” into the search line.
As part of the Westward expansion, children of the first Appalachian Ashcrofts settled in an area and named it Ashcroft Crossing. There were four children: William, 1830-1898; Catherine, 1832-1902; Thomas, 1835-1915; and Cassandra, 1836-?
His brows creased. No matter how he spelled her name, he couldn’t find any other record of her. No death, nothing. He opened his wallet and pulled out his debit card. With that, he bought a membership for Ancestry.com. He found other Ashcroft records but nothing later than 1945 and nothing more on Cassandra and nothing on Rainey.
As he was about to move on to the Waverly family, another alarm for a motor vehicle collision with passengers trapped came in. He took a cleansing breath. “Okay, Reynolds, you have your real job to do.” He shut his computer down and ran for his truck. The weather had turned cold, and a fine rain began to fall.
Upon arrival, he found a mess of a scene. In his head, he called it a clusterfuck. The police were only beginning to arrive. Other vehicles were trying to drive through the intersection around the crashed cars, as well as looky loos, groups of people who had to see, or others who used the Citizen app to record the scene for sale to local news.
A collision involving multiple vehicles coming from different directions had left some people trapped inside their cars, likely caused by the dead traffic light. He shot a quick picture of it.
A cold rain now pelted down, making the rescue effort more challenging. Jackson didn’t get on his radio, avoiding listeners—another group that seemed to enjoy the fire department’s work. Before he could help victims, he had to make it safe for the first responders. He asked the engine’s chauffeur to block the oncoming traffic from one direction. The rescue truck blocked the second crossroad.
He asked the same from the police, to block the other two crossroads. Pulling his collar up, he tried to stop the cold rain from dripping down his back.
One of his firefighters approached. “Cap, we have five pinned, all neck and back. One injury looks serious. And, Cap, one of the injured is that defense attorney, Ruth Everhart.”
Jackson frowned. “Which vehicle?”
“The red Jeep,” she answered. “She’s calm at the moment—her head starred the windshield. She hasn’t threatened a lawsuit yet.”
Jackson nodded. They had dealt with lawyers before. And many had threatened lawsuits long before they were extricated from their vehicles. He wasn’t concerned with a lawsuit. He was worried about Liv’s sister.
“Cap, we're working as fast as we can!” one of the firefighters shouted over the sound of the tools clanking.
“We need to move quickly. If I’m cold, they’re freezing. Get blankets on them. Where the hell is EMS?” Jackson roared.
