I scurried over to the bushes that lined the stairs and ducked behind them. I hadn’t expected Freddie to start off with such a bang, but there was nothing to do but go with it. I ground my feet into the dirt and crouched down between the bush and brick wall, pushing away the thin braches scratching at my neck.
“I demand justice!”
I peeked through the branches. Freddie had his arms spread wide and was turning in a slow circle. My eyes darted to the doors. No sign of Rhonda yet. Hopefully, Grady was a heavy sleeper.
“I say, I say,” Freddie shouted, suddenly slipping into his southern accent—he really must be tired—“is this the United States of America? Or is this Communist Russia?”
I looked at the doors again. Still nothing.
Freddie turned to where I was hiding in the bushes and started to shrug but cut it off with a jolt when the doors swung open.
“Freddie! What are you doing?” Rhonda shout-whispered, speed-walking outside. “You just got out!”
“I don’t know,” he said putting his hand to his forehead. “But I’m not feeling well. Maybe I didn’t drink enough prison water. I feel f—” And just like that, Freddie hit the ground in what I hoped was a break fall. Rhonda rushed over and started to smack his cheeks. I half stood to make sure he was okay. His left hand shot me a thumbs-up.
Go time.
I frog-walked out of the bushes, then ran in a crouch to the front doors. I swung the door open just enough so that I could slide through, then dropped to my hands and knees. Hopefully Grady was still asleep, but I couldn’t take any chances. I needed to stay below the bottom frame of his office window.
I scuttled toward the front desk, only stopping to take one quick look behind me. Rhonda was talking on her shoulder walkie-talkie thing, probably calling an ambulance, by the look of Freddie’s protesting hand waves. Oh boy.
I peeked up over the desk. Okay, so Rhonda wasn’t exactly a clean freak. I shuffled through the scattered papers, every now and then darting a glance over to Grady’s office. No sign.
Come on. Come on.
I lifted my head again to look outside.
Was that a fire truck?
I reshuffled the papers. Seriously, where was the stupid—
Bingo! Sign-in ledger.
I ran my finger down the column of dates.
Dammit! Nothing for yesterday. Either the murderer snuck in—which seemed highly improbable, given that the only entrance to the hallway that led to Tweety’s cell was from the front foyer—or it was someone who came to the prison so often that they weren’t considered a visitor at all …
I brushed the grit from the floor off my hands before planting them back down to get dirty all over again. I scurried back around the desk. I needed to get out of here before—
Just then the front doors swung open. Rhonda stalked in, muttering, “Freddie and his freaking jail water—Erica!”