Brian leaped off the bed and ran to the window. “Jaysus, Sharon. Your uncle’s shed is on fire.” He snatched his mobile phone from the nightstand and hit the button for the emergency services while he threw on a pair of jeans. Pulling on a shirt, he raced down the stairs and out the door. “Stay here,” he yelled. “It might be dangerous.” As he pounded down the pavement, it occurred to him that those words were more likely to send Sharon after him than persuade her to stay inside. Out on the street, a crowd was gathering. Brian ran the length of a few houses until he stopped outside Buck MacCarthy’s shabby dwelling. It was in desperate need of a fresh coat of paint, and the roof was missing more than a few slates. He scaled the wooden gate at the side of the house that separated the front from the back garden and gasped at the sight before him. Buck’s shed was engulfed in a fiery ball.
