glanced at her notes while she waited on hold. She knew every name on the list—knew these people personally—and just couldn't believe any of them would burn a home.
"Jonas Baxter."
"Hey, Jonas. It's Layla." She smiled and leaned back in her chair.
"Hi, Layla. Sorry to read that article about you in the paper. Nasty business."
She let the smile slip away. "It is. Listen, I wanted to ask you about that project."
"Yeah?"
"Do you remember anything odd about the job?"
"The Hope-for-Homes house?"
"Yeah." She lifted her pen and chewed on the end.
"What exactly are you thinking of?"
"Nothing in particular. Just wondering if you remembered anybody hanging around the site who didn't belong or something like that."
"No. I'm sorry."
"Do you have a list of your crew who worked there?"
"Of course."
"I know you had one Second Chancer."
"Yeah. Sam Roberson."
"What do you remember about him? Was he a good worker?" Sam had also worked for Bob Johnson on some days. Was he flipping interests to get onto sites?
Jonas laughed. "I hope so. I hired him on full time after he was released from the program."
Alana would be pleased to hear that. "No problems with him, then?"
"Not a one. He's one of my best workers."
"Thanks, Jonas. I appreciate it." She replaced the receiver and made a note. At least she could cross one name off her list. If Sam Roberson had gone even slightly over the line, Jonas would've yanked him back faster than a flooding in a hurricane. He sure wouldn't have hired him.
Layla glanced back over the list. She'd save the call to Bob for last. Going to the next number, she lifted the receiver again and dialed.
"Denny Keys Electric." The older woman's forced chipper tone grated against Layla's nerves.
"Denny, please."
"May I ask who's calling?"
"Layla Taylor."
"Hi, Layla. You haven't heard?"
She sat forward, hunched over the desk with every muscle tensed. "Heard what?"
"Denny had surgery two weeks ago. Had his hip replaced. He's still in the physical-therapy unit."
Two weeks ago. Definitely couldn't be involved with the burning. "No, I didn't know. I'll have to send him a card. Thanks."
"Anything I can help you with, hon?"
"No. Just give Denny my best when you talk to him." Layla replaced the receiver and crossed another name off the list.
Progress, although she hadn't learned anything useful for her situation. She didn't even really know what she hoped to find out. Something. Anything.
The phone rang, startling her. "Hello."
"How's it going?" Alana sounded awful, even compared to her tone earlier that morning.
Layla swallowed the sigh and forced her voice to come out upbeat. "Making some calls. What's up?"
"I just heard Ms. Ethel passed away."
Words wouldn't form. Layla's heart tripped.
Alana sniffled. "Her grandson says she slipped into a coma and just stopped breathing."
Tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision. "I-I can't believe it."
"I know." Alana sniffed again. "I called Pastor Chaney. He's headed to the hospital now. It's awful."
"I don't know what to say."
"There's nothing to say. I just wanted you to know."
"Thanks."
"Cameron and I are still planning on going to your performance tonight."
"You don't have to."
"I want to."
"Well, considering Ms. Ethel . . ."
Alana let out a little laugh. "She'd be the first one to tell you the show must go on."
Layla smiled as the woman's face danced across her mind. "Yeah, she would."
"She loved watching you dance, Layla."
The ache in her chest tightened. "I know."
"Well"—Alana cleared her throat—"we'll see you tonight. Seven, right?"
"Right. Thanks." She hung up the phone, a large hole already forming in her heart. She'd miss Ms. Ethel. More than she missed her mother.
No. She wouldn't go there now. Layla forced herself to shove aside the grief. She knew all too well she'd take it back out and deal with it later. When she was in the privacy of her house.
Layla glanced at the clock. She had time for another call or two. She
"Jonas Baxter."
"Hey, Jonas. It's Layla." She smiled and leaned back in her chair.
"Hi, Layla. Sorry to read that article about you in the paper. Nasty business."
She let the smile slip away. "It is. Listen, I wanted to ask you about that project."
"Yeah?"
"Do you remember anything odd about the job?"
"The Hope-for-Homes house?"
"Yeah." She lifted her pen and chewed on the end.
"What exactly are you thinking of?"
"Nothing in particular. Just wondering if you remembered anybody hanging around the site who didn't belong or something like that."
"No. I'm sorry."
"Do you have a list of your crew who worked there?"
"Of course."
"I know you had one Second Chancer."
"Yeah. Sam Roberson."
"What do you remember about him? Was he a good worker?" Sam had also worked for Bob Johnson on some days. Was he flipping interests to get onto sites?
Jonas laughed. "I hope so. I hired him on full time after he was released from the program."
Alana would be pleased to hear that. "No problems with him, then?"
"Not a one. He's one of my best workers."
"Thanks, Jonas. I appreciate it." She replaced the receiver and made a note. At least she could cross one name off her list. If Sam Roberson had gone even slightly over the line, Jonas would've yanked him back faster than a flooding in a hurricane. He sure wouldn't have hired him.
Layla glanced back over the list. She'd save the call to Bob for last. Going to the next number, she lifted the receiver again and dialed.
"Denny Keys Electric." The older woman's forced chipper tone grated against Layla's nerves.
"Denny, please."
"May I ask who's calling?"
"Layla Taylor."
"Hi, Layla. You haven't heard?"
She sat forward, hunched over the desk with every muscle tensed. "Heard what?"
"Denny had surgery two weeks ago. Had his hip replaced. He's still in the physical-therapy unit."
Two weeks ago. Definitely couldn't be involved with the burning. "No, I didn't know. I'll have to send him a card. Thanks."
"Anything I can help you with, hon?"
"No. Just give Denny my best when you talk to him." Layla replaced the receiver and crossed another name off the list.
Progress, although she hadn't learned anything useful for her situation. She didn't even really know what she hoped to find out. Something. Anything.
The phone rang, startling her. "Hello."
"How's it going?" Alana sounded awful, even compared to her tone earlier that morning.
Layla swallowed the sigh and forced her voice to come out upbeat. "Making some calls. What's up?"
"I just heard Ms. Ethel passed away."
Words wouldn't form. Layla's heart tripped.
Alana sniffled. "Her grandson says she slipped into a coma and just stopped breathing."
Tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision. "I-I can't believe it."
"I know." Alana sniffed again. "I called Pastor Chaney. He's headed to the hospital now. It's awful."
"I don't know what to say."
"There's nothing to say. I just wanted you to know."
"Thanks."
"Cameron and I are still planning on going to your performance tonight."
"You don't have to."
"I want to."
"Well, considering Ms. Ethel . . ."
Alana let out a little laugh. "She'd be the first one to tell you the show must go on."
Layla smiled as the woman's face danced across her mind. "Yeah, she would."
"She loved watching you dance, Layla."
The ache in her chest tightened. "I know."
"Well"—Alana cleared her throat—"we'll see you tonight. Seven, right?"
"Right. Thanks." She hung up the phone, a large hole already forming in her heart. She'd miss Ms. Ethel. More than she missed her mother.
No. She wouldn't go there now. Layla forced herself to shove aside the grief. She knew all too well she'd take it back out and deal with it later. When she was in the privacy of her house.
Layla glanced at the clock. She had time for another call or two. She
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