“Had being the operative word.” She glanced at the left pocket of his jumpsuit where the name Cody was embroidered.
He nodded sympathetically. “I know. I know how it looks. You can’t imagine things could ever be the same. But I’m here to tell you you’ll be surprised by how fast you can bounce back. That’s where we come in. CowTown Fire and Water can be the first step in getting your shop back in order. After you’ve had your insurance people in, of course.”
“I’ve already done that.”
“Good. As long as we’re doing that job—he glanced at the shop next door—I thought I’d check to see if you’d hired anybody.”
“Not yet.”
He grinned, a kind of nervous energy driving his speech. “Now I don’t want to be pushy, but it might be simpler for you to hire us, too. Seeing as we’re already on-site.”
Carly fingered the card. “I need to think about it, okay?”
“Absolutely. We’ll be here a while. Mind if I look around, since the damage next door is connected to what’s happened in here?”
Carly nodded. “Please step carefully. There are pieces of jewelry in the water.”
“Will do.” Even so, his thick rubber boots made waves as he waded a few feet in. Carly watched him closely, alert for any hint of a crunch. But he moved slowly, shuffling along so as not to step hard on anything.
He wasn’t as young as she first thought. He had the loose-limbed body of a teenager. His suit didn’t fit him anywhere except in the shoulders, which were broad. But she decided he was older, more than thirty, maybe even thirty-five. Plain-featured, he had skin permanently roughened by a bad case of acne.
When his visual inspection was done, he turned back to her. “I can see you are busy, so I won’t take up more of your time.” He came back toward her. “Whoever you get in here, do it soon. You don’t want to wait. Terrible things happen in standing water. Mold begins and then you got to worry about more damage than having holes drilled in the wall boards to drain them.”
“Do you own the company?”
“No, ma’am. That’d be the Dodd family. Been doing this for a while and let me just say you’re lucky. What if the fire had started during the day and you’d been here and all?”
Carly shivered involuntarily. “I was here.”
His eyes bucked. “You were? Gosh, that’s terrible. You must have been scared to death, what with a fire breaking.” He came toward her, eagerness making him smile too hard. “Did you call the fire department?”
He was asking too many questions, like the claims adjuster. “I’m not supposed to talk about it, the police said.”
“I see. Yes, I can see that. Guess there’ll be a lawsuit. Happens often enough when there’s a fire. You might even bring a case, since the fire wasn’t your fault, starting next door and all.”
Carly looked away. “I need to finish so let me show you out, Mr.—”
“Cody. Just Cody, ma’am. You have a good day now.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Noah turned into the parking lot behind the Fort Worth Fire Investigation building located at Texas and Macon at a little after ten a.m. It was the home to the Fort Worth Arson/Bomb Unit. The two-story buff-and-cream brick Art Deco–styled structure sat next to its architectural building mate, Fire Station #2, the oldest station house in the city. The elaborate multibayed fire house with red-tile roof still boosted a brass firepole. That pole was the viewing delight of every visiting school class, and the curse of rookie firefighters required to polish it regularly to keep it gleaming.
Usually the sight of the building representing firefighting tradition gave him an uptick in pride. Today the place might have been razed and rebuilt with Legos for all the attention he gave it.
He’d had to borrow his father’s truck because he had no idea where his own was. And he needed to find Harley. The woman who’d come to his hospital room all but admitted she had his dog. He didn’t know who she was, or how to find her. But before he went in search of Harley, he needed to see the lay of the land at work.
Usually, he came in the back way, using his pass. But with his ID in his truck, at least that’s where he’d left it, he needed to get buzzed in at the front door like a guest.
The older building was utilitarian-white inside, the broad hallway bisected by a large desk where all visitors were stopped. Crissie, the administrative assistant who controlled access through the front, gasped softly when she saw him. “You’re okay?”