Chapter 17: The Crew Speaks

I took the warrant out of the detective's hand and read it on my own porch.

It named my address, and it listed "any notebook, ledger or photographs the property of Thurston Construction."

"It's my father's notebook," I said. "He wrote it. He kept it. It was never theirs."

"The judge decided otherwise."

"Which judge?"

"One who sits on Mrs. Thurston's foundation board."

Behind me, Kelsey let out a sound that was half a laugh and half a sob.

The detective glanced at her for the first time.

"Miss Dunn. You should not be here."

"I'm a witness," Kelsey said, in a high, clear voice, loud enough for the street. "Mrs. Thurston sent you, and I'm a witness."

Every stoop on the block had someone on it.

The woman with the phone had crossed the road and was filming from my curb.

I put my hand on the strap of the bag at my shoulder.

"The warrant covers the residence," I said. "Search the residence."

"I'll take the bag," the detective said.

"The bag isn't the residence. It's my purse."

"Ms. Linden."

"Detective, you have a warrant for rooms. Take the rooms."

His jaw worked under the mustache.

He signaled to two uniformed officers in the second car.

They went past me up the stairs, and I let them.

I stood in my doorway and listened to strangers open my closets.

Dalton had still not looked up from the pavement.

At the corner, a battered green pickup swung into my street too fast.

Florence was at the wheel.

Three men climbed out of the cab and the bed.

The first was a stooped old man in a feed cap.

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