The police arrived. Two black and white sheriff’s cars and a white county vehicle, lights and sirens blaring. They pushed back the surging crowd, some of whom had helped us.
“I’m a doctor,” I said. “I’m okay.”
A minute later the EMTs came.
No matter how I stared at the melted, smoking chassis, I still couldn’t believe what had taken place.
I was okay. Just some slight burns on my fingers and a scrape on my arm from the tumble. Gabby had some first-degree burns on her face and legs. But she was completely in shock.
I muttered to one of the EMTs that I was a doctor.
They took her off to the ER in Arroyo Grande. I declined any treatment and stayed, taking the police officers through what had happened. I traced the black river of smoking fuel from beneath my own vehicle to a Dumpster around the back of the market where the fire, and whoever had set it, had originated.
Two local detectives came on the scene and took my story. The lead one was a young Latino with a shaved head. He asked if I knew anyone who might want to hurt me.
I didn’t even know where to begin.
I told him I had to speak with Sherwood.
“Detective Sherwood’s with the coroner’s office in San Luis Obispo,” the detective replied. “We’re here to help you. This isn’t his terrain.”
“Find Detective Sherwood,” I said, not backing down.
It took a few minutes to locate him.
“I just heard what happened,” he said when I finally got him on the phone. “Are you all right?”
“I know what it’s all about,” I said, my blood racing, ignoring his concern.
He didn’t answer. Maybe he thought I was raving. Or a little wacky, from the shock.
“Sherwood, I know what my brother did back then. Why they want to hurt him. You can meet me at Charlie’s later. I’ll get him to talk.” I exhaled a breath, grateful Gabby and I were both alive. “We’re going to bust this wide open now, Sherwood.”