warehouse toilet!
Clutching my burning arm, I made a desperate sprint for it. Another shot rang out and ricocheted off the metal door. As I slipped inside, I glanced back.
Halfway down the cluttered aisle, a shadowy figure held the little gun with two hands braced on a wingback chair.
Terrified, I slammed the door shut and rammed the sturdy lockbolt in place.
An instant later, the door rattled and banged in manic frustration.
“Go away!” I screamed inanely.
Something heavy crashed against the door but the metal held firm.
With my ear against the door, I thought I heard footsteps click away, but it could have been a trick. Didn’t matter to me at that point because no way was I coming out before Will got back.
If the warehouse was poorly lit, this place was even darker, and the smell of urine and cheap pine cleansers almost gagged me. The single window was small and dirty and no bigger than a legal pad. Hinged at the bottom, it was probably meant for ventilation before air-conditioning. For the moment, I was glad it was at least twelve feet above my head so that I didn’t have to worry about being attacked from the outside. Too, it let me see a light switch by the door.
The bulb hanging down from the ceiling must have been a forty-watter, but I didn’t care. It was enough to show me the sink. Also filthy. I tried to wipe it out with liquid soap on a paper towel, but by now the pain was so intense that I quit dithering about germs. Easing off my jacket, I soaked it in cold water and held it to the oozing gash the bullet had made in my arm. Ah! Better. Much better. The wound still hurt like hell, but it didn’t seem to be spurting. Not spurting was good, wasn’t it? Meant no major vessel had been hit? I tried to remember the first-aid instruction Portland and I got when we gave Girl Scouts a brief try a million years ago.
Irrelevant thoughts and disconnected images tumbled through my head in kaleidoscopic turmoil as the adrenaline that had been pumping through my veins slowed down and leveled off. Throughout it all, I worried with the identity of who had shot me. In the dim light, that face had looked vaguely familiar, like a face I might have seen around town without ever putting a name to it.
Whether it was the adrenaline rush or the loss of blood, I felt myself getting light-headed and sank down on the floor. Random and almost incoherent thoughts flicked in and out of my mind—the dollhouse . . . the flash drive . . . Dwight . . . Candace Bradshaw’s irritating giggles . . . insider information . . . power plays . . . playing loose and dirty . . . this dirty floor . . . Candace’s shining clean bathroom and this filthy, stinking hole . . .
I don’t know if I actually passed out, but when my head cleared again, I thought I knew who that face was and why Candace and Dee had been killed. If I was right, it explained how John Claude had lost that big case to Greg Turner and why Jamie’s presentation didn’t win her the contract for Grayson Village.
I looked at my watch. Ten till one and I was due back at the courthouse at one. Forget that. Call Dwight. Tell him—
Oh. Right. Phone’s in my purse and it must have slipped from my shoulder when that first shot hit me.
Well, it would have to stay out there. Sooner or later someone would come and then—
Abruptly, I realized it wasn’t just the odor of pine cleanser and urine that was making me cough. Smoke seemed to be seeping in around the edges of the door.
I managed to stand and quietly slide back the bolt, then eased the door open slowly, half expecting gunfire. Instead, I heard the crackle of flames. Horrified, I saw a wall of fire blocking my way to the doors, and clouds of smoke billowed toward me.
CHAPTER 24
In the register of deeds office, the clerk smiled and handed over the receipt for the fees the office charged to register new deeds. “Good thing for y’all that there’s no transfer tax in Colleton County yet.”
The two men smiled and thanked her for her help.
Outside they shook hands.
“I can rest easy now,” Kezzie Knott said, hefting the small carrying case in his hands. “Can’t nobody ever dig up that man’s body now and I know you’ll use this for the good of the Lord.”
To Faison McKinney’s dismay, the old man opened the case right there on the sidewalk for all the curious world to see had the world been looking. April sunlight gleamed and flashed on the tangle of bright metal and faceted gemstones within.
“Since these here earrings ain’t worth all that much, I reckon you won’t mind if I keep ’em for a souvenir,” he said and drew out the glittering pair that he had given McKinney to prove that his story was as genuine as those diamonds.
McKinney bit back his protest. No point being greedy. Not when he was getting a pile of gems worth five or six million in exchange for land and goods worth half that. “Not a bit, Brother Kezzie.”
