Dead End Road

by Lori Whitwam

  “I’ll try.”

  Seth hugged her tightly. “That’s all I can ask, darlin’, that’s all I can ask.”

  They returned to the house, with Dilbert trotting along in front of them, and stepped onto the deck. Abby filled a stainless steel water bowl from the outdoor faucet and gathered their empty coffee cups from the railing. Dilbert took a noisy, sloppy drink, and ambled off to lie in the impressive hole he had dug beside the deck.

  They were about to go inside when a colossal roar shook the house. The blast rattled the doors, and forced Abby back a step, the deck rumbling underfoot. She dropped the coffee cups, and they clattered at her feet as her shriek was reduced to a strangled cry lodged in her throat. Seth grabbed her arm and pulled her back from the French door and raced in ahead of her. Abby was right on his heels, desperate to find out what had happened inside her precious house.

  On the other side of the living room, smoke billowed from the hallway. Seth led the way toward the back of the house, and it was soon evident the blast had occurred in the spare bedroom. There was a jagged, refrigerator-sized hole where the window and part of the wall had been, and the smoke was already beginning to dissipate in the cross breeze. A few tongues of flames licked around the edges, and plaster from the ceiling littered the splintered and blackened floor.

  Seth grabbed a towel from the bathroom and batted at the small fires until they merely smoldered. Fine black ash drifted down, adding to the mess. Abby stared in shock at the splinters of her grandmother’s table, which had been beneath the window. Her stomach roiled at the nauseating sweet-scorched scent of burned marshmallows stinging her nostrils.

  “What the fuck just happened here?” asked Seth, as Dilbert’s face appeared on the other side of the gaping hole, the same question echoed in his single eye.

  Abby stomped out a flaming scrap of olive green duffel bag. “Well, I’d say your luggage just blew a hole in my house.”

  Chapter Six

  Seth

  Seth pulled his cell phone from his pocket and discovered he didn’t have a signal. He stared at it, trying to generate one by force of will.

  “No signal?” asked Abby. “No, you probably wouldn’t have one. There’s only one company with consistent coverage out here.” She dashed out the door and quickly returned with her own phone. Seth listened as she called 911 and reported the explosion. “It’ll probably take about ten or fifteen minutes for the fire department to get here.”

  “I think we should wait outside, in case…well, just in case,” Seth said. They probably shouldn’t have gone inside to begin with.

  “Guess we’ll have to postpone the nap, huh?”

  “Looks that way.” Damn.

  Standing out in the driveway, Seth’s head was spinning. He rubbed his temples in a futile attempt to focus his thoughts. Had his duffel bag blown up? Really? Or was the source of the blast something related to the house itself?

  “Good thing you had some of your things in the washer, or you’d be down to the proverbial clothes on your back,” said Abby, sagging against her Jeep.

  Stated out loud, Seth felt startled. He hadn’t yet thought very far into it. “I don’t guess there’s much left of the rest. My shaving kit’s in the bathroom, and I left my favorite boots on the other side of the bed when I was digging through the clothes, so maybe they survived. That’s about it.” A thought occurred to him. “Oh, shit, your book was in there.”

  “I’ll give you another one. At least your guitar is still out by the breakfast bar,” Abby said.

  “Yeah, good thing. I don’t think I could stand losing two guitars in twenty-four hours. Especially not the Gibson. It hasn’t been out of my sight a single day in ten years.” He’d written most of his songs, including “Make or Break,” on it.

  Abby called Dilbert away from the damaged side of the house. “Hey, guess what. You’ll get to meet my mom.”

  That bit of information seemed oddly out of context. “I will?”

  “Yeah, in about fifteen minutes.”

  “And you know this, how?”

  “As soon as the call went out on the scanner, someone would definitely call Mom. I bet she gets here about five minutes after the fire truck.”

  “Well, this should be interesting.”

  “Yep. I’m thinking about that rather than the fact there’s a gigantic hole in my house, and it could still theoretically blow up some more and burn to the ground.” Her voice, while light, had the tightness of a person trying to avoid hysteria, and Seth noticed her legs were shaking.

  A few minutes later, a fire truck pulled into the yard, followed by a battered SUV. Two suited-up firemen emerged from the truck and went directly to where a few wisps of smoke still drifted from the broken wall, dragging a hose attached to their pumper truck. A short, stocky man in jeans and a plaid shirt stepped out of the SUV and approached Seth and Abby.

  “Hi, Frank. Thanks for getting here so fast,” she said.

  “Abby, what the hell happened?” Frank pulled a filthy baseball cap from his head, revealing a large bald spot surrounded by short, ginger-colored fuzz. After giving the fuzz a good scratching, he replaced the cap.

  “You got me. We were on the deck, and boom. Lots of smoke and a great big hole where the wall used to be.” The pinched lines of barely controlled panic around her mouth belied her casual tone.

  “Sammy and Karl should be here any minute. They had a kid who ran his car off the road tryin’ to miss a deer, but nobody’s hurt. They were about done when we received your call.”

  “Mom’ll probably be here pretty soon too,” she said.

  “Then we don’t need nobody else. Marilyn most likely has you a new set of curtains all ready to hang. By tonight, it’ll be like nothing ever happened.”

  Abby laughed, the sound brittle. “She’s not quite that good, but almost.” She nodded toward Seth. “Frank, this is Seth Caldwell. Most of his stuff was blown up along with the wall. Seth, this is Frank Paulsen, our fire chief.”

  Frank extended his hand, and Seth shook it. “Pleasure to meet you, son, though we generally like to meet folks without involving emergency vehicles.”

  “My first choice too,” Seth said. “I’m just glad Abby wasn’t inside when it happened.” He put an arm around her waist, feeling they could both benefit from the contact.

  Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a police car. Seth watched as the occupants stepped out and looked at the house, and started toward where the three of them were standing. The two young officers were of average height, but one had a head of shaggy blond hair, and the other had close-cropped hair the same color as Frank Paulsen’s.

  Hands were shaken all around. Abby introduced the blond as Karl Briggs, and the one with red hair and a sharp chin as Frank’s son, Sammy. Sammy’s pale eyes narrowed a bit when he noticed Seth’s hand resting on Abby’s hip, giving Seth the impression there was some history there, at least in the mind of the hometown cop. Everybody had run out of comments to make about the circumstances when the two volunteer firemen joined them.

  Taking off his helmet, a young-looking man with a face full of freckles said, “I don’t think you have to worry about fire, Abby. Looks like once the blast went, the fire was extinguished in the vacuum it left behind. Happens like that.” His eyes darted toward his fire chief, who gave him a nod. “Thing is, we don’t want to pour a bunch of water on it if we don’t have to. We’re going to have to call in the ATF guys. We don’t have resources to investigate a bombing, and there’s all those Homeland Security laws.”

  Abby looked shocked. Her mouth opened and closed several times before she said, “Bombing?” She rolled her eyes. “Well, of course it was a bomb. I just didn’t want to think about someone doing this on purpose.”

  Neither did Seth. But as big a kick to the gut as it was, he knew he’d have to do a lot of thinking about it in the immediate future.

  Frank said to Sammy, “You’d best call your chief, son, and have him contact the ATF.�
�� Sammy hurried off to make the call, casting a worried look over his shoulder at Abby.

  They were still standing off to the side of the driveway when a bright red Volkswagen Beetle skidded to a halt at the edge of the yard. This previously quiet little homestead was getting awfully crowded.

  A sixtyish woman bounded from the car and power walked toward them, her stark white athletic shoes churning the gravel. Salt-and-pepper hair fluffed around her face, and she wore teal track pants and a sweatshirt covered in pictures of birds. Abby took a few steps toward her, but whether to meet her or head her off, Seth wasn’t entirely sure.

  “Abby, sweetie!” the woman cried, flinging her arms around her daughter. “Thank goodness you’re okay!”

  Abby disentangled herself, returned to Seth’s side. “Mom, you knew I was fine. I called the fire department, remember?”

  “I couldn’t believe it till I saw you with my own eyes. Do you know what happened?” She was talking to Abby, but kept shooting appraising looks in Seth’s direction.

  “No, we’re waiting for the ATF to get here.”

  Sammy rejoined the group and nodded to Abby’s mother. “Chief said ATF will be here in about an hour. They had a few teams up north of the Cities for a training seminar, else it would’ve taken a lot longer.” He directed a pointed look at his father, the fire chief. “They said to stay away from the scene till they get here. Lots of times there’s a second bomb set to explode when investigators start poking around.”

  Frank bristled. “Damn Feds think we’re stupid? We don’t have the sense to stay away from something liable to blow up in our faces?” Even as he spoke, he was casting disappointed looks in the general direction of the house. He, Sammy, and Karl moved as close to the house as they dared, muttering among themselves.

  “Let’s get out of the sun,” Abby said. Though she seemed to be passing it off as a comfort issue, Seth could see she had paled and seemed unsteady on her feet. She walked to the shady side of the garage and pressed her back against it. Seth followed, and Abby leaned against his shoulder. Dilbert plopped beside them and placed his head on Seth’s foot.

  Abby’s mother looked toward Frank and the two police officers, but turned and approached the garage. “I know you’ve had a terrible shock, Abby, but shouldn’t you introduce us?”

  “I didn’t imagine I needed to. I’m sure you already know who he is.” Though Abby’s words were somewhat direct, her tone was affectionate, and the color began to return to her face.

  “Now, sweetie, how would I know?” The older woman tried to look innocent, but failed spectacularly.

  “Monique called Molly, so it’s a sure thing she called Paige too. You probably had two calls about Seth last night, and three this morning.” She massaged her temples, as if afraid to consider the full extent of her mother’s inquiries.

  Her mother looked smug. “For your information, it was three last night and two this morning, not counting Paige calling to tell me about your emergency or the calls I made myself.” Abby’s mother was not at all the mild-mannered widow Seth had for some reason expected after seeing some photos of her in Abby’s living room. This could be fun.

  Abby sighed. “At some point we’re going to discuss the exact nature of your phone calls, but right now I prefer to remain oblivious. Mom, this is Seth Caldwell. Seth, my mom, Marilyn Delaney.”

  He clasped the offered hand. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Delaney.”

  “Now, now, none of that ‘Mrs. Delaney’ nonsense. It’s Marilyn. And it’s nice to meet you too.” She turned to her daughter. “Sweetie, do you think you should go ask Frank if there’s anything he needs you to do?”

  “Forget it.”

  “Why?”

  Abby folded her arms. “I’m not leaving you alone with Seth. He’s not yet been fully briefed on how to deal with you. We haven’t even had time to work out a hand signal meaning ‘run, run for your life.’”

  “Ridiculous. What could I possibly do?” She looked at Seth, and he swore he saw her eyelashes flutter.

  “You’ll ask him completely inappropriate questions.”

  “I most certainly will not.” Marilyn tried for indignation but missed the mark by a mile. “Besides, you’re my daughter. What could be inappropriate about wanting to chat with someone who happened to be here very early in the morning when your guest room blew up?”

  “He didn’t blow up my guest room, Mother.”

  “I’m sure he didn’t. Not on purpose.” She smiled in Seth’s direction, conveying he didn’t look the least little bit like a crazed guest-room bomber.

  Abby clenched her jaw and fumed, moving on to grinding her teeth. Seth covered his mouth with one hand to conceal a grin. Marilyn Delaney was a pistol, but he sensed only curiosity, not hostility, in her determination to talk to him. He knew the type well, since he was raised by someone with similar tendencies.

  Abby clutched his hand and attempted to postpone her mother’s interrogation. “Can’t this wait till we can go inside and sit down? And have eight or ten beers? Right now I want to try to get my head together, not dodge land mines with you.”

  Marilyn patted Abby’s cheek. “Of course, sweetie. I’m sure I’ll have plenty of time to get to know Seth.” An electronic sound crackled from where the rest of their patiently waiting little band was gathered, and Frank pulled his radio from his belt. “I believe I’ll go see what’s going on. We’ll find time to chat later, though, won’t we, Seth?”

  “Absolutely. I’m looking forward to it.” And he was.

  Marilyn went to pester Frank, and Abby’s shoulders relaxed.

  “Don’t worry. I’m sure your mom and I will get along fine.”

  “That’s not what I’m worried about.”

  “What, then?”

  Abby’s eyes rolled. “Believe me, you’ll find out. Come on. Let’s go sit by the lake. The bugs aren’t bad this morning. Mom will come find us when they need us.”

  It sounded like an outstanding idea, and they walked down the path to the bench. He draped an arm around her shoulder. “Alone at last.”

  Abby looked toward the top of the path, where her mother wandered in and out of view while talking nonstop into her cell phone, complete with hand gestures. “Relatively. Dammit, Seth, this is not what I had planned for the rest of our morning.”

  “No, me either.” What he wanted more than anything was to be back in that big bed with her, and for the world to leave them alone for at least three days. “We’ll be swamped with even more people in a few minutes, but I need to know if you’re doing okay.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Abby, stop. Look at me.” She tilted her chin and he saw the distress in her eyes. “You’re not fine. This is your Fortress of Solitude, and something just happened to upset that. Don’t cut me out.”

  “I know. I won’t. But right now I don’t know whether to be mad, scared, sad, or just sit here and scream.”

  “Those are all part of it. You think I don’t feel that way too? All I can think about right now is who the hell would want to…”

  She interrupted him, gently placing her fingers on his lips, which he appreciated. He really didn’t want to complete the thought. “No. Don’t talk about it. Not yet. If someone wanted to hurt you, I can’t deal with it right now. Let’s wait until the bomb experts get here. Maybe it was just some freak accident.”

  Seth knew he didn’t have anything in his bag with the potential to blow a hole in a house. Someone had put something in it, with the intent of leaving him in the same condition as the wall in Abby’s guest room. But he was willing to keep the thought to himself for now.

  “Fine by me. I have a better idea, anyway.” Seth wrapped his other arm around her and zeroed in on her lips.

  He was amazed. Overwhelmed. Confused. He’d never felt this way before, and didn’t know how to balance all these different emotional and—had to be honest, here—physical issues. He tried to convey his feelings in the depth of his kiss, and the gentle but ins
istent touch of his hand as he refamiliarized himself with her tantalizing curves. He cradled her in his arms, hearing her very appreciative sounds, when footsteps approached. Damn. “Company coming.”

  “Naturally.” Abby sat up with a disgruntled sigh and flushed cheeks.

  “The sooner everybody gets here, the sooner they’ll get gone.”

  “One can only hope.”

  They watched the approach of a tall, lanky man with dark hair displaying a serious case of bed head. Abby introduced him as the Emporia police chief, Bob LeFevre.

  “Guess you’ve had a pretty interesting morning, Mr. Caldwell,” he said, shaking Seth’s hand. Saying Minnesota men tended to be a little stoic was like saying Lake Superior tended to be a little damp.

  “Yes, sir, you could say that.”

  “What can you tell me about what happened?” He pulled a notebook from the pocket of his dark gray uniform pants and extracted a pen from his breast pocket.

  “Near as we can tell, my duffel bag exploded.”

  “You don’t think it was a gas line or something in the structure of the house?” the chief asked, glancing up from his notebook.

  “I doubt it,” Abby said. “There aren’t any gas lines along that wall. Plus, there were flaming bits of duffel bag and jeans all over the room. The table the bag was on is gone, and there’s an enormous hole in the wall.”

  “I saw the hole when I came by. Impressive. From what you’re saying, I’d guess you’re right. We’ll find out.” A furrow appeared between his eyebrows. “Son, who knew you’d be up here?”

  “Nobody, really. I didn’t even know till after the show last night. The bag and I should’ve both been in our tour bus this morning, far as anybody knew, right up until I left.” Which meant the bomb was all about him, and had nothing to do with Abby or her house till be brought it right to her doorstep. The thought was like an icy fist squeezing his heart.

  The chief’s furrow deepened. “Where’s the bus now, and who’s on it?”