Deputy Defender. Cindi Myers

slid the silverware into the soapy water. “I’ve been racking my brain and I can’t come up with anyone who would want to harm me or the museum.”

      “Maybe one of Andy’s blackmail victims has decided to take his anger out on you,” Dwight said as he began to wash dishes. “We don’t know who besides Jan he might have extorted money from, though the records we were able to obtain from his old bank accounts seemed to indicate multiple regular payments from several people.”

      “Why focus on the book?” She picked up a towel and began to dry. “Part of me still thinks this is just a sick prank—that we’re getting all worked up for nothing.”

      “I hope that’s all it is.” He rinsed a plate, then handed it to her. “I want to dig into Parker Riddell’s background a little more and see if I can trace his movements yesterday.”

      “Why would he care about me or a rare book?” Brenda asked. “He’s a kid who made some mistakes, but I can’t see how or why he’d be involved in this.”

      “I have to check him out,” Dwight said.

      “I know. I just wish there were more I could do. I hate waiting around like this.” She hated being helpless.

      “I know.” He handed her another plate. They did the dishes in companionable silence for the next few minutes. The domestic chore, and the easy rhythm they established, soothed her frayed nerves.

      Dwight’s phone rang. He dried his hands and looked at the screen. “I’d better take this,” he said. He moved into the other room. She continued to dry, catching snippets of the conversation.

      “When did this happen?”

      “Who called it in?”

      “What’s the extent of the damage?”

      “I see. Yes. I’ll tell her.”

      She set the plate she had been drying on the counter and turned to face him as he walked back into the room. His face confirmed her fears. “What’s happened?” she asked.

      “There was a fire at your house. A neighbor called it in, but apparently there’s a lot of damage.”

      She gripped the counter, trying to absorb the impact of his words. “How did it start?” she asked.

      “They think it’s probably arson.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “We aren’t dealing with a prankster here. Someone is out to hurt you, and I’m not going to let that happen.”