He tapped the plastic casing of the radio against his palm, his eyes tracking the arrival of the second fire engine.
“I must apologize for the disruption, Ms. Embry,” Nestor said, his tone formal and dry.
“Was there an actual thermal event in the kitchen?” I asked.
“No,” Nestor said. “The manual pull station near the party rooms was activated.”
He glanced toward the lead firefighter, who was carrying a heavy iron pry-bar toward the main doors.
“The county will issue an emergency response invoice of four hundred and fifty dollars for a false activation,” Nestor said.
“Do you have digital recording units in that corridor?” I asked.
Nestor tapped the walkie-talkie against his thigh.
“We have three high-definition cameras covering the rear party rooms,” he said.
“I will need a copy of that footage for our insurance record,” I said.
Nestor looked at me, his eyes narrowing slightly as he registered the lack of surprise in my voice.
“The system archives are processed at our corporate office on Monday morning,” he said.
“I can call you at ten o’clock,” I said.
