Chapter 51

“There’s the scarlet thread of murder running through the colorless skein of life, and our duty is to unravel it, and isolate it, and expose every inch.”

-Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, A Study in Scarlet

James Dodd was no longer the Casper Milquetoast of my first impression. Tonight he acted more like a wild beast than a high-powered society attorney. His face was darker, reminding me of the old Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde movie. Maybe it was because he needed a shave. His eyes were sharp and menacing. As he talked to Grace Dunbar, he gazed around the room like a hungry carnivore searching for food. I shivered and tried to think of some way to get us out of this disaster. Why had I given in to Tom and come here in the first place? No matter how much Tom begged, I should have refused. What had I been thinking? Then I snapped back to reality. I had to come up with some plan - any plan - to get out of here. There wasn’t anything on the walls or tables that could serve as a weapon. Grace Dunbar had Morgan’s Glock, and even if Morgan had been carrying a back-up gun, there was no way I could get it now.

Tom, I saw, was now completely drained. His shoulders sagged and his expression was pained. He’d already missed his time for more pain meds. Wolfie sensed we were in danger. He’d been skittish since the gunshots and blood, and he now stood forward, up on his toes at nervous attention in front of Tom’s bad leg. He’d lowered his tail, and the tip was twitching.

“We have time. No one else will be coming,” Grace Dunbar assured Dodd. “We’re completely isolated. I cancelled the contract with that security service a month ago, and I never turn on the lights in here.”

“What about the dead cop? He’s sure to have told someone on the force, and sooner or later they’ll come to check on him. Cops always leave a paper trail of some kind.”

Grace Dunbar disagreed. “I don’t know. I heard him say that he was doing that one over there a big favor. He said a friend flew him down, he’d be in real trouble if anyone else knew.”

“I can’t take any chances,” Dodd said. “They might connect him with the Haven, so let’s get the packet of bonds before we dispose of our friends here. I want to take the stuff right now and move it to my place in case they come after him. So let’s hurry it up. We’ve got a lot to do. After we dump them in the wells, we’ll have to come back here and clean up the place.”

Grace Dunbar nodded. “Okay. Whatever you say.”

She walked to the wall behind her just left of the stone fireplace. She stopped almost exactly where Morgan’s bullet had penetrated the decorative wainscoting. We watched as she ran her hand along the edges of the fireplace. Suddenly part of the decorative wooden panel popped up, revealing a secret cubbyhole - another hidey-hole devised by the lumber baron.

She reached into the hidden recess and withdrew a brown, legal sized envelope. It had to contain the bonds James Dodd had taken. I wondered if it also held The White Company manuscript and Grange’s diary with Doyle’s notes.

Grace Dunbar ran her fingers along the edge of the fireplace again and the secret cubbyhole panel dropped neatly back into place. The panel was so well camouflaged, I’d never have suspected it housed a secret hideaway. But Tom had. He whispered to me, “That’s exactly where I was going to look first on the principle of the old priest hole. It was a common hiding place.”

Philip Green looked wan in the light from the lamp. He watched but said nothing.

Grace Dunbar turned from the wall. She held the packet of treasures in her right hand, close to her chest. As she took a step toward James Dodd, Philip Green let out a banshee yell and threw himself at the packet. She screamed as they both fell to the ground and scrabbled for the priceless brown envelope.

James Dodd didn’t hesitate. His arm came around, and he fired. The shot narrowly missed Green and hit the kerosene lamp. It exploded with a whoosh as the table overturned. Grace Dunbar and Philip Green were entwined in a fight for the envelope. Flames engulfed them both in their terrible embrace. Grace’s screams were awful. Wolfie was whimpering. Grace, Philip, the precious packet with the manuscript, the notes, the diary and the bonds were all wildly burning now.

“No,” Tom yelled. He rushed forward and tried to grab Green’s coat to pull him out of the fire. Wolfie knocked Tom in the back of the knee with his head and pushed him sideways, away from the flames. Dodd fired again, this time at Tom. Wolfie growled. His ears were pulled all the way back, and his hair was raised.

Philip Green and Grace Dunbar writhed and screamed in agony. The flames were fierce. Their cries were heartrending. I lunged forward trying to grab Green’s leg and pull him out, but the flames leapt at my hands. I couldn’t reach him. I pulled my tunic over my mouth and breathed through it to avoid the searing heat.

Tom and I backed away as Wolfie stared intently past us at Dodd. I saw Dodd had now aimed the gun at us.

I pushed Tom, and we rolled together onto the floor just as Wolfie leaped at Dodd’s throat.

Dodd yelled. He raised both arms, and the gun went flying. I could hear Wolfie’s throaty growl as he savaged Dodd’s arms.

I crawled towards the gun. The flames provided some light, but the smoke was intense. I grabbed it and aimed in Dodd’s direction. As I squeezed the trigger, I prayed I wouldn’t shoot Wolfie by mistake.

I missed them both. Somehow Dodd managed to shake free of Wolfie. Wolfie fell into the midst of the flames with a yowl of pain. I shot again wildly in Dodd’s direction, then yanked my jacket off Morgan’s body with my left hand and threw it over Wolfie’s burning fur. Through the flickering flames and the smoke, I saw Dodd running to the front door. I shot at him again as he went through it.

Wolfie shook himself and blood splattered from his muzzle. I hoped it was Dodd’s blood and not his. He struggled to stand, and I could see some singed fur. I picked up my smoldering jacket and realized that Morgan’s wet blood on it had quenched the flames. Wolfie had resumed the hunt for Dodd.

Philip Green and Grace Dunbar were now silent and engulfed in flames. Their limbs still jerked spasmodically. The fire was spreading rapidly. The walls had caught fire, and the beamed ceiling was burning. The floor was hot under my feet. The heat and fumes were unbreathable. The smell was horrid - a mix of blood, singed hair, burning flesh and lumber. I was dizzy but remembered what I’d learned at one insurance seminar and dropped to the floor. I put the jacket over my arms and crawled around searching for Tom. The intense heat and flames were reaching for us. If we didn’t get out of here fast, we’d be as dead as Grace and Phillip.

I called Wolfie. He appeared at my shoulder, and we maneuvered to where Tom was collapsed on the floor. I wasn’t sure if he’d already passed out or was about to. I pulled one end of his jacket over his mouth and nose. He lifted his good arm to hold it over his face and breathed through it.

Coughing and wheezing and barely able to see, Wolfie and I found the window through which we’d entered earlier. I pushed Tom out through it, and then Wolfie and I tumbled out together right behind him in a mad embrace.

I hit the ground hard. My eyes stung. I was coughing, and I hurt all over. I couldn’t move. The crisp night air filled my lungs, and I gasped for more, willing myself not to pass out. Where was Dodd? I knew we were vulnerable.

My arms were like lead. Where was the gun? I must have dropped it inside trying to get Tom out the window. Where was Tom?

I craned my neck. Tom’s limp body lay to my left. I inched over. He was out cold. Wolfie stood watch over him. I didn’t think Dodd was going to mess again with a mad wolf, so we might be all right unless Dodd had another gun - something I had no way of knowing.

I tried to sit up. We were going to need help. Long flames were shooting out the window we’d used to escape. My jacket had somehow come out with us and lay mangled in the dirt. It was burned in a few spots and still wet with blood, but my cell was still in the pocket. I was in the middle of nowhere, dazed and fuzzy. I didn’t have a lot of hope as I pushed the universal 911.

The loud crackling of the fire on the dry timbers behind me was suddenly interrupted by the no-nonsense voice of a woman coming from my phone. I was coughing and sick to my stomach from the smoke. My throat was so sore, I could hardly speak. In a croaky voice, I reported the fire, then passed out before I could hang up.