sat up straight and slid her hand over her tummy. A baby. Boy or girl? she wondered. Would her child look like her, or like Charlie? She had to admit, other than his rotten sense of timing and the fact that he’d apparently been cheating on her with Ms. Junior Partner, Charles Pruitt, III, wasn’t all bad. A little too self-absorbed obviously, but not completely narcissistic. And they’d had a good time together. At least until she’d been assigned to lead the team of advertisers for the large ad campaign. She’d been keeping long hours for the last couple of months, and Charlie hadn’t seemed to mind. Of course, she hadn’t known he’d been otherwise occupied.
She hadn’t even realized she was pregnant, and she couldn’t help wondering what that said about her. When she’d become increasingly tired, she’d first suspected the long hours spent on the ad campaign had her run-down. She’d caught that wicked cold, followed by the flu, and had just never seemed to regain her usual verve. With her hectic and demanding work schedule, there hadn’t been time to take off work to see a doctor for antibiotics, so Charlie had stocked her up on over-the-counter cold relievers. She’d managed to muddle through the cold, but the flu had left her feeling weak and tired much of the time.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. That was it! That was the how—the antihistamines in all those over-the-counter flu and cold medications she’d been taking must have counteracted her birth-control pills.
A hysterical laugh bubbled up inside her, but she tamped it down lest she wake Grandy’s roomy and the poor woman thought a lunatic was loose in the room. It might take two to tango, as the centuries-old saying went, but it looked as if Charlie was even more responsible for her newly acquired status as mother-to-be than she’d originally believed.
Cheatin’ Charlie might have a skewed version of the meaning of monogamy, but he did know about responsibility. Of course, she couldn’t tell him. He might be the father and he did deserve to know, but not now. Later, when he wouldn’t dream of accusing her of stooping low enough to make a desperate attempt to hang on to a relationship that had gone south.
As for a place to live and finding gainful employment, she knew all she had to do was ask and she could temporarily room with either of her two dearest friends, Susan or Annie, until she found a job. She and Susan Carlson had been roommates in college, so it really wouldn’t be much of an adjustment for either of them, especially since Susan traveled a great deal, thanks to her recent promotion in the public relations firm where she worked. Annie Pickett, on the other hand, a struggling actress who waited tables in between plays to pay the rent, would no doubt appreciate the financial assistance of a roommate.
Emily wasn’t exactly destitute, but finding a job that paid as well as Anderson’s would be difficult in the current job market. And an employer willing to hire a pregnant woman would be virtually nonexistent. Equal opportunities and discriminatory laws aside, when it came down to a final decision, why would someone hire her when she’d be taking a couple of months off for maternity leave within six or seven months of being hired?
She had a lot of thinking and planning to do. A natural list-maker, she reached into her purse for the small pad and pen she always carried with her and started making notes.
She was out of her home, out of a job and her man had dumped her.
Home, she wrote, followed by, Call Annie.
Job…Call headhunters.
Man. She made a noise and crossed that one off her list.
Baby. She tapped her pen, staring at the word, not having a clue where to begin.
A small smile curved her lips as she put pen to paper again.
Ashley, Adam.
Brandi, Brandon.
Chloe, Charles.
She drew a line through Charles. Carter.
Daisy, Drummond.
Eleanor, Ethan.
Fiona, Franklin.
Georgia…
DREW PARKED the state-issued, red Dodge Dynasty in the lot behind the firehouse, then took the rear entrance into Trinity Station. He headed up the back stairs to the second floor, avoided the bunkroom and walked straight to the deserted locker room. The guys who weren’t out on calls would either be playing a few rounds of pinochle, watching the tube or catching some Z’s before the next alarm sounded. Since he’d promised Emily he’d come back for her in a couple of hours, he didn’t have time to guzzle coffee and shoot the breeze the way he usually did at the end of his shift. All he wanted was to change out of his uniform and take Emily back to her grandmother’s house.
What came next, he couldn’t say. He agreed with the doctor’s opinion that Emily shouldn’t be left alone tonight. She’d suffered a shock to her system, physically and definitely emotionally based on her stunned reaction to the announcement of her pregnancy. When he’d asked her if there was anyone he could call for her, she’d recovered enough from her surprise to give him a hard stare and emphatically state there was no one in her life to call.
He wasn’t exactly certain what that meant, but one thing he did know, Emily Dugan was not his responsibility. Unfortunately that didn’t prevent him from feeling otherwise. Not only had she fainted on him, but he’d gone and promised her grandmother he’d look after her. And a Perry’s word was like oak—solid and unbreakable.
Before returning to the station, he’d gone back to the school to further inspect the damage. While he’d suspected an accelerant had been used, he’d been unprepared to find cooking oil coating the trash bin, which meant he had to consider Velma Norris as a suspect, at least temporarily. He didn’t want to think the sweet old woman could be his firebug, but neither could he discount the evidence. The blaze hadn’t been an accident. No one had simply disposed of old cooking oil. Someone had literally taken the time to coat the interior of the Dumpster. In his book, that spelled arson. Firebugs weren’t limited to a specific gender, age group or even social or economic status. In Drew’s experience, there were usually four motivating factors for an arsonist. Vandalism was a typical one, and these fires were usually started by teens. Trash bins, like the one today, were often the most common starting point, and if it hadn’t been for the two previous fires and the evidence he’d found at the cooking school, he might have discounted this latest incident to vandalism.
The motive to profit from an insurance claim, especially during hard economic times, as a way to escape a failing business or a big mortgage was likely, and something he had no choice but to consider. The place was definitely run-down, and from his two prior visits, he hadn’t seen all that many students hanging around.
Revenge was often an arsonist’s main objective, and usually an enraged, jilted lover or disgruntled employee was responsible for the burn. Actually, Drew considered revenge fire starters the most dangerous because of their emotional instability. They were also the easiest to catch, primarily because they were more concerned with the act of revenge than with hiding their crime. He’d considered this option briefly, but since there’d been no witnesses, he had his doubts this was the motive. Nor did he believe he was dealing with a garden-variety pyromaniac or even a firebug wanting to cover up another crime. Which brought him back to the answer he dreaded the most…fire for profit.
He tugged his shirt out of his trousers before he sat on the varnished wood bench to remove his work shoes. Reaching forward, he lifted the latch on his locker and opened the door. A basket tumbled out, followed by the plaintive cry of “Mama” from a child’s doll. It sounded more like a braying lamb than a baby as it rolled
