Steadman's Blind

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 5

Frost kept his eyes forward, working to stay focused on Lieutenant Sharpton’s report on search and rescue operations in the county. It was a lost cause. The delicate scent of shampoo or shower gel, floral with a hint of spice, teased at him, reminding him how close she was. So close he could almost feel the radiance of her body heat.

He made notes and tried to formulate an intelligent question he might ask if the opportunity presented. The lieutenant pointed to lines on a chart and spouted figures Frost tried to pay attention to, but he couldn’t help worrying about the golden half of the orange he’d peeled. It sat untasted on the curl of rind, slowly dessicating. Like his ego.

She hadn’t touched it, had only given him a glance and the faintest, fleeting smile as he’d passed it over. He stamped down on his disappointment and opened his chocolate milk, determined to appear as nonchalant as she did.

The lieutenant finished, and the sheriff motioned with his pen like a symphony conductor. “Jamieson. You’re up!”

The girl rose and rounded the table, turning to face the roomful of officers. She smiled and Frost’s pulse ramped up, despite his best intentions.

“Thank you,” she said. “Chief Deputy Steadman sends his regrets, and I’ll do my best to cover the material like he would.” Her brow furrowed, and she took a few steps as if gathering her thoughts before addressing the room. When she spoke, her voice was clear and authoritative. Frost’s admiration climbed another notch.

“We all know that the destruction and loss of life will be catastrophic if Rainier erupts. But Chief tells me it’s not a matter of if—only when. And it could be any day now. He believes that, and he’s got me convinced. Here’s what we can expect.”

Frost took another swig of his milk while she brought up a map of western Washington on the screen at the front of the room.

“Scientists predict an eruption will go sideways—blowing out the western flank of the mountain. Ash and gas will spurt as high as six miles into the sky, and we’ll talk about that in a moment, but our first and biggest concern will be the mud.”

“Really?” questioned a sergeant in the second row. “When I think volcano, I think lava, magma, balls of fire. You’re saying mud is our primary concern?”

“There will be plenty of hazards vying for attention, Sergeant Givens,” she said, leveling her gaze at the questioner, “but this mud is no joke. Thirty-five square miles of ice and snow sit atop Mt. Rainier. If a pyroclastic eruption hits that snow pack with a thousand degrees Fahrenheit, melting that snow and mixing it with clay, rock, ash, and debris, the potential devastation is unimaginable. That tidal wave of mud will grow in size, speed, and power, plowing down everything in its path and traveling up to forty miles an hour, with the consistency of wet concrete.”

“Holy crap,” said Givens. “I have a newfound respect for mud.”

A titter of nervous laughter skittered among the lawmen.

“As you should,” the beautiful lieutenant said, nodding. “And if you care to use the proper name for those rivers of mud—out of respect—they’re called lahars.”

She tapped on the map. “Situated as we are, on the opposite side of the inlets, the lahars are unlikely to reach us. However, we’ll feel their effects in profound ways. That wall of mud—carrying the wreckage of trees, bridges, buildings, cars, and all manner of debris—will slam into the Point of Tacoma and will likely travel down the Nisqually valley as well, spilling into the Reach. When it hits our waterways, it will force our water to go elsewhere and we’ll have flooding of disastrous proportions, cutting off transportation routes and disrupting power and communications.”

“Sounds like it will set us back a hundred years in the space of a couple seconds,” shouted someone from the back.

“It may well do just that,” Jamieson said. “We’re used to ease and convenience, but if this catastrophe happens, it will rock our little corner of the world.”

Frost felt a niggle of misgiving. Could something this momentous really happen here and now? It seemed unreal, but harsh things had happened in his life before and he was under no illusions about them happening again.

“What about the ash?” asked the sheriff. “I was a kid when Mount St. Helens blew and I remember ash raining down for weeks afterward, suffocating people, caving in roofs, clogging jet engines, making it cold and dark and causing all sorts of trouble.”

“Absolutely,” Jamieson agreed. “Ash is a big problem, too, but the degree to which it affects us will depend on the direction of the wind. If it’s blowing our way, we can expect greatly reduced visibility and air quality. Everyone should be stocking filter masks as well as all the usual emergency prep items.”

“Both Home Depot and Lowes are sold out,” said a sergeant from the table behind Frost.

“That’s your typical good news/bad news situation,” said the sheriff. “Good news is people are paying attention and stocking up. Bad news is—you’re going to choke, sergeant.”

Another scattering of laughter echoed in the room and the sheriff stood. “Anything else for us, Jamieson?”

“No sir, except to say I hope everyone will take this matter seriously.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. All right,” he said, glancing at his wristwatch, “let’s take a ten-minute break. Back in your seats by half past.”

People rose and started moving around the room, chatting and stretching. Frost stayed where he was, thinking about his mother, deciding he’d check on her after work and make sure she had emergency provisions, including filter masks. The lovely Lieutenant Jamieson sank into the chair next to him, releasing a long sigh and letting her head fall back, a tendril of raven hair escaping a pin to bounce against her cheek.

“Whew!” she said, pulling the peeled orange toward her and taking a big bite. “This hits the spot.”

Frost perked up, pleased and surprised.

“I was starting to fear you’d turned your nose up at my gift,” he said.

“Gift? What gift? This is payment—remember, juggler boy?” She laughed. “No, I was just so nervous I couldn’t eat anything this morning and now I’m starving.”

“Nervous? Why—about that?” Frost asked, gesturing toward the podium.

“Yes. Chief left me big shoes to fill and I’m terrible in front of a crowd.”

Frost shook his head. This woman continued to amaze him.

“I’m a trained detective, ma’am, and I saw no evidence of that whatsoever. You were fantastic.”

She smiled, and Frost noticed a dimple appear in her left cheek, sparking a little flame somewhere inside him. He considered this an auspicious moment.

From the time he was small, he’d had a consistent answer for those who asked what he wanted to be when he grew up. A sheriff’s detective, like his Granddad. His years in traffic and patrol, the hard work and study he’d put into his exams, all the stress and angst over getting this promotion was worth it, and he couldn’t wait to get started on his first real investigation.

And now, like a cherry on top of it all, Lieutenant Jamieson comes along as part of the team he’ll be working with. Maybe he should buy a lottery ticket on his way home. He smiled big and opened up his packet of peanut butter toast.

He was going to love this new job.