Death of the Lion: Burned

By Christie Adams

A fire, the loss of an icon, and two strong women who seek the truth.

 

Once the centre of a thriving local community, the Red Lion pub has seen better days. It long since shut its doors to the regulars. Locked up, boarded up, and slowly becoming an eyesore. 

Then one dark night it sets alight.

Once the smoke has gone, the building just a pile of scorched rubble most locals soon just walk on by. Too busy to care what happened.

 

Josephina 'Jo' Vela isn't a walk on by type of woman.

She soon discovers a young local boy may hold the secret to the destruction.

Inspired by mum Jo's grit and stubborn determination, insurance investigator Jezzabelle 'Belle' Jones sets out to learn the truth about the fire.

 

Little do both women know how their lives would change in just a few short weeks.

 

A short story of investigations, threats and ultimately the truth about the Death of the Lion.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christie Adams
• Release date: Apr 1, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224934355

Christie Adams

Christie Adams is a Writer, Coach and Entrepreneur. *** She writes short stories and fiction for adults and children. She’s currently working on a dystopian thriller set in her childhood city, Sheffield, England and a fairy story with her granddaughter. *** Her early career was in the corporate world, she used to escape the stress by diving into books. As her family grew older she decided to indulge her love of words and writing and studied in her spare time. She now very proudly holds a degree in Literature. *** Her work and love of travel currently takes her around the globe. She’s keen to encourage others to follow their dreams and see more of the world and create their own written legacy. *** Christie lives happily in South Yorkshire with her family, indulging her inner child and keenly fighting stereotypes of those aged over 50. *** You can contact her on social media: *** Twitter https://twitter.com/ChristieAdams23 *** Facebook https://www.facebook.com/christieadams23/ *** Instagram https://www.instagram.com/christieadamswriter/

Book preview

1

FIRE

Belle gazed out of the front-room window. Or rather, back at her own reflection. Too comfortable to get up and close the curtains, even though darkness had fallen outside. Next to her on the sofa, sprawled, scruffy and leggy, lay Flo-Jo, the rescued greyhound. Nose and paw twitching in what she guessed would be a dream about chasing squirrels. Maybe even catching one.

They both sighed, stretched and snuggled down again, the dog nuzzling her snout deep into Belle’s palm.

Outside, a loud shout, then sounds of panic startled them both. Belle jumped up and lurched to the window.

Pins and needles and cramp caused her to lose her footing. The blanket tangled around her ankles, then the dog. The ultimate humiliation came when she banged her forehead on the double-glazing in her enthusiasm to look outside.

Swearing under her breath, she fought off Flo-Jo who guessed it was walkies time, took a moment to find her feet. Retrieved the thankfully empty mug she’d knocked over in the commotion, then peered out. Her throbbing forehead reminding her to be a little more cautious.

Neighbours silhouetted in front doors as they rushed out to see what was happening. Concerned shouts and pointed fingers indicated something was very wrong.

‘Mum, something’s happening outside. Wait there OK?’

Telling her mum to wait was a waste of breath, shutting the door after the horse had bolted. It wouldn’t make a blind bit of difference. Her mum Jo, always the first one to step in and take action.

It was something Belle loved about her, took pride in. She often wished she’d inherited the Spanish passion and Yorkshire grit and determination to do the right thing. Not that she’d ever told her mum. Instead, she’d merely doled out sulky teenage reprimands at her mum for being nosey or just plain embarrassing.

Older now, not wiser, Belle shook the thoughts from her head. The sound of chaos outside demanding her attention. She slammed shut the door to the front room, keeping Flo-Jo safely tucked up inside. Ignored the whine of disgust and scratches at the door frame.

The kitchen door slammed opened, Jo barged through to join her in the rush to the front door.

Belle shoved her toes into her trainers, stepped out onto the cold stone front step. Expected to breathe in cool evening air, instead coughed against the heavy stench of smoke in the air. Immediately, they saw the source of the chaos. What Belle had assumed was a late sunset russet sky was far from it. The warm orange glow emanating from a building at the far the end of the street. Thick plumes of smoke billowing from it into the evening sky.

A burst of adrenalin kicked in. Her mum about to run down the road towards trouble. Belle placed a hand on her arm. Nothing could be done.

They stood at the door, speechless, hands covering their mouths, frozen to the spot.

Just a stone’s throw away from their front doorstep, red-hot flames engulfed the Red Lion.

2

INFERNO

Thick smoke and firelight soon eclipsed the almost full moon. Distant sirens and blue lights approached the burning building, the local pub, the Red Lion.

Once a bustling hub of laughter, famous for its Friday night 1980s discos, quiz nights and curry recipe, empty now, like so many public houses in the city.

The fire roared, sought fresh air. Upstairs windows that had survived previous vandalism blew out. Flames fuelled by solid roof timbers and the old-fashioned wooden window frames, covered in thick blistering layers of paint.

Belle pulled her hoodie around her, more for comfort than warmth. Glanced down at her mum’s feet tucked up in much loved frayed-edge slippers. The dew-damp footpath a pitch black backdrop to faded pink fur.

Too late to fight the fire, they watched, awestruck alongside neighbours, whilst the flames broke loudly through the last of the windows. The odd boarded up frames back lit by a warm glow of imminent destruction.

Red and orange flashes hid inside thick black clouds. A dramatic display of destruction that left everyone standing like silent mourners, stunned into silence.

Even at a distance, the heat warmed their cheeks. Forced them to step back to the comparative safety of front doorsteps and porches.

‘I hope no one was sleeping in there.’

She felt a wave of embarrassment at her mum’s comments. It hadn’t even occurred to her someone might be hurt, or worse. Typical of her mum, always thinking of others, whilst Belle just thought of how it had dragged her away from a relaxing evening.

She shivered, tried to bat away the guilt that threatened to bring her to unexpected tears, linked her arm in the loop of her mum’s and snuggled closer. Brushing a mark from her mum’s shoulder, she studied her grubby fingers. Took a moment, realised it was ash floating on a non-existent breeze. More flakes fell at her feet, a timely reminder.

She pressed her hand over her mouth, used her hoodie as a mask. Told her mum to do the same. When a breath of air brought smoke their way, she suggested they should go indoors and watch from behind the closed window.

‘In a minute.’

Both women stood arm in arm, faces almost covered, stamping out the occasional spark of debris that blew their way.

‘You’ll ruin your slippers.’

The words laughably inappropriate as the iconic building burned to the ground.

Belle dealt with insurance claims all day, every day. Anything from loss of a suitcase, a too common car accident, or just good old boring but potentially life-shattering property damage could end up on her desk or that of her team.

She knew empty properties had a high rate of fire damage or destruction. It gave an absolute solution. Arson for the insurance claim cash, a fire brought about by general neglect or a quick and easy solution to costly asbestos removal.

As always, when she saw an incident on the news, Belle wondered which of her colleagues would deal with the insurance claim the next day.

She took out her phone to film the flames as they tore up into the night sky. It could help a colleague.

Other neighbours did the same, holding up phones, even hanging out of upstairs windows to get a better angle. She wondered, with her usual cynicism, if their recordings would end up on social media.

The chorus of sirens echoed in the near distance, growing louder.

The young couple who lived next door stood and watched as the pub burned. Chain smoking, they brushed ash from their agent’s house-for-sale board. Turning their backs, they both went inside and closed the door, leaving the building to burn, wishing the old abandoned building good riddance.

Her mum mentioned the newlyweds had been burgled twice. Empathised with their keenness to sell up and leave, whilst reassuring Belle she never would. Her tiny, cosy, hard earned Victorian terrace would be forever home.

Emergency crews rushed to confront the fire, too late to do anything except stop it from spreading. The building well past the point of being saved for the next generation of drinkers. No conversion to a mosque or fancy apartments for this Red Lion.

Belle felt an unexpected pull of sadness in her chest at the sight of the aged architectural detail turning to ash. It’d no doubt be hammered into brick dust. The site used for another mini-supermarket or betting shop at best. At worse, neglected and rubble strewn as an unofficial fly-tip site.

The street had become littered with onlookers. Teenagers on bikes and strangers with mobile phones, collective sadness, shock, and anger, hung in the air.

The pub had been popular back in the day. Recently, like so many others, it had fallen on hard times. Finally, closed its doors to anyone but the odd pigeon, rat or homeless stranger. Witnessing it