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breathing apparatuses. The last man secured his equipment and gave Jimmy the thumbs-up.
    “Ready,” Jimmy said.
    Colleen nodded and Jimmy signaled the men to enter the building.
    As the men made their way to the front door, curtains in another room of the house ignited in flames.
    “We need to get this thing under control. Get the guys on layering the fire to protect our men. Salvage as much of the Crepe home as possible,” Colleen said.
    “Got it,” Jimmy said and moved away to attend to the fire control and conservation duties.
    Colleen listened on her walkie-talkie as her team made its way into the smoky structure. She bit the inside of her lip, a nervous habit that wouldn’t subside until all were safely out of the building.
    The men cranked open the hydrant and began dousing the flames, working in layers, from ground to roof, right to left, and back again. As Colleen monitored their progress, Bill joined her.
    “You think anyone was home?” he asked.
    “I hope not,” she said with genuine concern. “See anything before I got here?”
    “A broken window in front maybe. Could have been the explosion.” Colleen nodded and an awkward pause followed. “Well, let me know if you need anything,” Bill finally said, tipped his hat, and jogged off.
    Colleen exhaled deeply. She hated when they fought.
    It took a while before the men got the fire under control. Colleen surveyed the exterior of the residence. Her squad had managed to save half of the structure but the roof over the kitchen was gone and there was extensive smoke and water damage. The men had done well, all things considered. Colleen relaxed a little. Then the bad news came. The rescue team had found a body.
    Her heart sank. It was an experience no firefighter wanted to have.
    “Chief? You there?” said the rescue team leader over the walkie-talkie.
    “I’ll be right in,” Colleen responded. She took a breath, donned protective gear, and proceeded toward the house.
    Colleen stepped over the threshold and made her way through the remains of the foyer. The rescue team parted to let her pass. She entered the kitchen and saw the body. It was scorched beyond recognition but Colleen could tell by its size that it was the body of a woman, a stout woman. She stood in the middle of what was left of the room and shook her head in disbelief. Myrtle Crepe was dead.
    She scrutinized Myrtle’s charred body: hair burned from the skull; hands curled protectively over the chest; one leg bent under the torso. A horrible way to die, Colleen thought.
    “Someone call the coroner. See if he’s still local,” Colleen said and stepped away. “And tell Bill he’ll need Rodney to get pictures before we cover her,” she added over her shoulder. “The coroner could be a while.”
    There was a brief silence, then Rodney was summoned and the team got to work. As photos were snapped, Colleen collected herself and turned her attention back to the kitchen. She still had a job to do. She owed it to Myrtle to find out what had happened.
    She put her hands on her hips and eyed the layout. She remembered what Bill had said about a broken window. She walked to the window frame and felt glass crunch under her boots. Given the explosion, the glass should have been blown out. Why was there so much glass inside? Something must have been thrown in through the window. Colleen’s brows furrowed as a new thought crossed her mind. Did somebody mean to start the fire? If so, that meant an arson investigation.
    “Look at this,” Jimmy said, motioning to a soggy pile of debris near the stove.
    Colleen glanced at a fire extinguisher still in its cardboard box and sighed. She suspected that the batteries in the smoke detectors, if Myrtle even had a smoke detector, probably needed replacing. She had seen it one too many times. Lives and property lost because someone forgot to perform a simple task like changing a battery.
    Colleen rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand. Perspiration