“This” was a bulky insulated fireman’s coat that he pushed through the broken window. I grabbed it and cowered beneath its comforting weight, my arm throbbing with pain.
A grappling hook on a cable caught the bottom edge of the opening and soon a chunk of concrete blocks broke away. Pieces of mortar fell and bounced off the sink, but the heavy coat protected me from the few chips that reached me.
As fresh air poured in, smoke rushed in from cracks at the top of the door. Then the hook was back and another small section of blocks tumbled away.
“One more ought to do it,” said Dwight’s voice in my ear. “How you doing, shug?”
“Hanging in,” I managed to say before another fit of coughing took my voice.
Seconds later, a fireman appeared in the now-sizeable opening. This one wore a face mask against all the swirling smoke. He slid a ladder over the wall and lowered it to the floor on my side. “Can you make it yourself, ma’am, or—?”
Before he could finish his sentence, I had shucked off that coat and was halfway up the ladder, choking and gasping till I reached the top. He grabbed me and guided me over the broken wall to his own ladder and down into blessed fresh air. My purse was still around my neck and one grimy hand still clutched the phone to my ear until Dwight took me from the fireman and gently loosened my fingers.
“It’s okay, now,” he said, as I hugged him wordlessly. “It’s okay.”
CHAPTER 26
Three hours later, my arm had been stitched and bandaged. I had brushed the glass from my hair and Nadine and Herman let me use their bathroom there in Dobbs to scrub away all the dirt and filth and smoke odor. When I was squeaky clean once more, I put on the fresh underwear, jeans, and T-shirt that Annie Sue had laid out for me. Except for the bra, which Dwight had to hook for me because of my arm, she and I were almost the same size.
Will’s warehouse was a total loss, a sodden shell of charred rubble. The fire was out, but everything of value was destroyed, including that exquisite dollhouse that Candace had loved, a dollhouse where she had hidden her flash drive within easy access of her laptop. She had never let her daughter play with it and in the end, it had led to Dee’s death.
From the moment he saw all the blood, Dwight had barely let me out of his sight and now I sat in Bo’s crowded office to give an official statement.
The order for Gracie Farmer’s arrest went out within five minutes after I was rescued.
“No cushy retirement in Costa Rica for her,” Dwight growled.
So far, the charges included first-degree murder in the death of Candace Bradshaw, second-degree murder in the death of Dee Bradshaw, attempted murder (me), and arson.
“And if she didn’t smash that flash drive as soon as she got her hands on it—”
“The Ginsburg twins have it now,” Terry assured me.
“—then there’s probably evidence that she and Candace ransacked the files of the offices where they have the cleaning contract. Candace wasn’t just checking up on her cleaning crews, she was using that flash drive to copy any unprotected computer files that looked interesting or could help her cronies.
“Bradshaw did say she was always asking him about hypothetical scenarios,” said Dwight. “If we pin him down, we may learn that some of those scenarios had nothing to do with her commissioner’s agenda.”
I nodded. “Every office has a copier of some sort these days and I’m willing to bet good money that she or Farmer printed out John Claude’s memos and trial preparation notes and sold them to Greg Turner. Probably one of my old cases, too. Jamie Jacobson said another advertising firm came up with an almost identical presentation for the Grayson Village project, so I’m guessing there’ll be other instances of selling a firm’s work product to interested parties.”
“Including Danny Creedmore?” asked Bo Poole with a sardonic glance at Doug Woodall.
Our DA was sitting there with a stunned expression on his face. I could almost see the wheels turning as he tried to figure out how this was going to affect his race for the governor’s mansion.
Mayleen Richards was there at Bradshaw Management when Gracie Farmer was arrested. “Her assistant told me that a week or so ago, one of their clients—a caterer—accused them of selling his customer list to his main competitor so that the competition could undercut them. She said Mrs. Farmer managed to convince him that it was a coincidence, but that was the second time this month a client had complained. Candace Bradshaw must have gotten a little careless.”
“Or greedy,” said Bo. “We thought her letter was an apology for misusing her public office. Instead it was Gracie’s attempt to throw all the blame on Candace for misusing her business office. Even if it did almost get you killed, Deb’rah, it’s a good thing you remembered hearing that—what was it? A toy freezer?—rattle.”
“Yeah, wasn’t it?” Dwight said, his voice carefully neutral.
I knew he didn’t totally buy my story, but he wasn’t ready to cross-examine me in front of his colleagues.
Sensing that my throat was still raw and parched, Mayleen Richards handed me a bottle of orange juice from the vending machine down the hall. For the first time, my presence didn’t seem to make her self-conscious and she was finally treating me normally. “Mr. Bradshaw said that when he mentioned to Farmer that your brother had taken the dollhouse back to his warehouse yesterday, she suddenly remembered a lunch appointment. What she really remembered was that Dee Bradshaw was probably packing it up right before she called to ask about some of
