Note to self: focus on cardio this month.
The Dumpsters sat between the back lawn and the faculty parking lot. I briefly considered rolling my car up against the flaming Dumpster, using it as a fire wall, and, once it was heroically charred, claiming the insurance money. But alas, I was too much of a good girl and Will already had the fire extinguisher aimed, huge white clouds choking out the black ones snaking from the box.
Within minutes the whole thing was extinguished. A cheer went up from the girls pressed against the window; they hugged and shot thankful googly eyes at Will as though he had saved a bus full of puppies rather than a Dumpster full of now-charred cafeteria waste.
“Any idea on the cause of the fire?” Principal Lowe wanted to know.
Will handed him the expelled extinguisher and hiked up on the edge of the Dumpster, looking inside. “I won’t be able to really get in there until the smoke clears and everything cools off.”
“Okay, okay. I’m going to tell the girls that everything is fine. Will, I’ll take charge of your class for the rest of the hour, and Sophie, Heddy can look in on yours.”
I waited until Principal Lowe disappeared through the front of the school before tugging Will’s shirtsleeve. “So?”
“So what?”
“Does anything about the fire look suspicious?”
“Other than the fact that garbage rarely bursts into flame on its own? No, not really, though I won’t be able to tell until the heat dies down.”
I sighed. “We don’t have that kind of time! Here.” I snapped a branch from one of the trees lining grass. “Use this.”
“As what? A bippity-boppity?” Will bobbed the twig wand style.
“God! Do I have to do everything?”
I snatched the twig out of his hands and threw my weight against the rim of the Dumpster, the toes of my dress shoes thunking and squeaking on the dirty metal. “Can you at least give me a hand?”
Will gave me a good hard yank and I situated myself next to him on the side of the Dumpster. With my twig held fishing-pole style and our legs dangling into the Dumpster, we would have made a lovely—though twisted—Norman Rockwell painting.
I leaned slightly forward, stretching out one leg. “It’s not hot anymore.” I poked my stick into the blackened rubble and fished out the remains of something that had once been white. I pulled it closer to me, then delicately touched it with my index finger.
“Oh, see, not hot at all.”
“That’s brilliant, love.” He snatched my catch from the end of the stick, gave it a cursory look, then tossed it back in the box. “You’ve found a sock. Notify the queen.”
“Shut up, Will. We need to see what it was that started the fire. If there are witches here, they must be lighting candles. Maybe they tossed one in the trash.”
Will cocked a brow, lips pressed together. “No one is dim enough to throw away a lit candle.”
I craned my head, scanning the debris.
“You might want to watch yourself, love. It’s a bit moist out here—”
Will may have finished his sentence. I wasn’t sure, because I was face-first in yesterday’s cafeteria lunch, my ears, I was fairly certain, clogged with some sort of maggot-type brain eating insect.
“Ugh! Oh, God!” I kicked and dog paddled my way through a mass of spaghetti, then found my footing on a garbage bag filled with something hard.
“Find any clues?” Will’s grin was smug.
I grabbed a handful of spaghetti and tossed it at him.
He dodged it. “Now that’s just mean!” He leaned down and offered me a hand. “Come on, out with you. There’s nothing in there but garbage. Probably some of the tough birds were out here smoking.”
I tried to move toward him, but something was wrapped around my right foot. “I’m stuck on something.”
“It’s probably a Salisbury steak or something. Shake it off.”
“I can’t. It’s stuck. It’s got me.”
A little niggle of panic shot through me as I unsuccessfully tried to free my foot. My heartbeat sped up. I truly never considered my demise could be at the behest of a three-day-old hunk of cafeteria meat.
Will hopped into the Dumpster with me, though he landed on a spaghetti-free, solid-looking bag across from me. “Take my hand and I’ll pull you free.”
“What if it’s some kind of animal? What if it eats my leg?”
He clamped down on my wrist. “I’m willing to risk that.”
I gritted my teeth while he yanked; my foot came free and so did I, barreling into Will’s chest and laying us both out on a black garbage bag, ash raining down around us like snowflakes.
“Still have your foot?”
I yanked my leg up and examined it. “It wasn’t Salisbury steak,” I said, yanking the cloth wrapped around my foot. “It was this.”
Will pulled us both to standing and climbed out of the Dumpster. I followed him.
“And what exactly is that?”
“It’s fabric. Or the remains of fabric.” I turned the charred remains in my hands. “Here’s a zipper. Oh, and a tag.”