CHAPTER 24
I sidestepped quickly off the asphalt drive and onto the grass to muffle my footsteps. He must have approached my trailer from the back, from the river, to keep from being seen. And he must have known I wasn’t at home — or he didn’t care.
I fingered the phone in my pocket. There wasn’t time, and if I spoke, he’d hear me for sure.
If he wanted to, he’d be able to see me from the knees down from his position under the trailer. I was counting on his being occupied. Tuppence came with me, stalking on stiff legs, head lowered until her shoulder bones protruded.
I stopped at the back corner of the trailer, trying to slow my breathing, straining to hear. He was very quiet — just a muffled metallic clank and a few pebbles scraping as he shifted.
I folded in half and lowered my head until my eyes cleared the bottom of the trailer. Blood pounded in my ears, and I held my breath.
Scuffed cowboy boots, toes up. He was on his back, head toward the other side of the trailer.
I figured he’d come out head first, but he’d surely see me if I moved to that side of the trailer now. What I needed was a distraction.
I laid a soft hand on Tuppence’s shoulders. She flinched and glanced at me.
“Get him,” I whispered.
She didn’t have to be told twice. She dove under the trailer, straight for the boots and pant legs, a nasty growl ripping from her throat.
I think he must have tried to sit up, because something — I presume his head — whanged against the trailer’s undercarriage with a reverberating clang. He yelled hoarsely and scissored his legs, but Tuppence hung on, playing a fierce game of tug-of-war with his jeans.
I darted around the end of the trailer and moved a few steps back from the opposite corner.
His shoulders emerged. He was army crawling on his stomach and dragging Tuppence — her growls moved further under the trailer, and her nails scrabbled on the pavement.
When he was half out, I jumped forward and dug my knee into the thick muscles of his back. Nothing short or scrawny about this one.
He flailed his arms and almost knocked me over. I brought the other knee around and straddled him, pushing with all my weight into his back. I pulled the slingshot out of my pocket and jammed the round end of the handle against the base of his skull.
He froze, tense, his breathing labored.
I probed the slingshot handle deeper into the soft valley at the top of his neck. I hoped it was nice and cold.
“Don’t shoot,” he whimpered.
“Cooperate and maybe I won’t.” I pressed my left hand between his shoulder blades and rose on my knees. “Hands behind your back.”
He finagled his arms around so his hands rested on the small of his back. In lieu of handcuffs, I sat on his hands and reminded him of the slingshot handle by wiggling it around a bit.
He groaned.
“How much time do we have?” I pulled my phone out of my pocket.
He didn’t answer.
I leaned forward and hissed in his ear. “I have all night, but maybe you don’t.”
“Four hours,” he grunted.
Tuppence had grown bored under the trailer. Tug-of-war’s no fun when the other party stops resisting. She scootched out and came over to investigate. She stuck her cold nose against the guy’s temple and sniffed.
He whimpered.
“Good girl,” I said and dialed Sheriff Marge.
“Yeah,” she answered.
“My trailer. We’ll need the bomb squad. He says we have a four hour window.”
“He? What are you doing?” Sheriff Marge growled. The Explorer’s brakes squealed in the background, and I heard her huffing as she cranked the steering wheel.
“Trying not to shoot him.” I shifted the slingshot handle to reinforce the idea.
The man moaned. What a coward.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” Sheriff Marge barked and hung up.
“Too late for that,” I whispered.
My legs were falling asleep. And the tea was working its way through my system — fast.
Two fire trucks arrived about fifteen minutes later. The firefighters didn’t seem to know what to do with a woman sitting on a man and prodding him with the back end of her slingshot while being watched by a dog, so they stood around us in a loose semicircle and asked if there was smoke. I told them not yet.
From their reaction, I gathered Sheriff Marge hadn’t mentioned the possibility of a pipe bomb to them. I suggested they establish a perimeter since other campers were being lured to the scene by the spinning red lights atop the fire trucks like buzzards to carrion. Then I held tight and waited.
Sheriff Marge, an ambulance and deputies Archie Lanphier and Dale Larson drove up in a sort of motorcade a few minutes later, parting the crowd.
Archie and Dale took over manhandling the suspect and whisked him off to the caged backseat of a cruiser. Archie, with a funny look on his face, also confiscated my slingshot, muttering something about evidence.
Sheriff Marge grabbed me by the shoulder. “Have you seen the bomb?”
I shook my head.
“Listen up,” she hollered to the firefighters, cupping her hands around her mouth. “We gotta get all these people outta here. And I mean out like in their cars and driving away in the next five minutes. Tell them it’ll be several hours before they can come back, so they should take some food and water, sleeping bags, whatever they need for their families. They can wait at the county park, near the Imogene Museum. Go!”
She whirled back to me. “You. Hustle over to the Tinsleys’ and stay there.” She jabbed a stubby finger at me. “I gotta stay on scene until the bomb squad arrives.” Her gray eyes were hard behind the reading glasses.
I gulped and nodded. I whistled for Tuppence and took off trotting. At Harriet’s flowerbeds, my phone rang.
“Babe,” Pete said, “are those sirens for you?”
Of course, if I could hear sirens racing toward the port, then he could hear them swarming the campground. Panting, I filled him in.
“I’m coming over.”
“You can’t,” I huffed. “They won’t let you in. They’re evacuating everyone.”
“Where are you?”
I pulled open the back porch door. “With the Tinsleys per Sheriff Marge’s order. I guess the farmhouse is far enough away she thinks it’s safe.”
Harriet stood in the kitchen doorway with a worried look on her face.
I tried to smile reassuringly. “And Pete? Thanks for winning me the slingshot. It’s the best insurance I’ve ever had.”
Harriet frowned.
“I call you later,” I whispered hurriedly into the phone. “I’m fine. Really.” I hung up and slipped past Harriet into the kitchen, pulling her with me. “Is Herb here?”
She nodded.
“Good. We’ll have to stay inside for a while.”
oOo
Herb, Harriet and I spent the interminable minutes bunched around the kitchen table, not saying much after my initial explanation. Tuppence sprawled on the floor under my chair. I think we were all holding our breath, waiting for an explosion.
I clasped my hands in my lap, squeezing tightly to mask the shaking. My adrenaline drain and fear seemed to kick in at the same time. Why can’t I be like normal people and feel a sensible amount of fear first, then use the resulting adrenaline to make a good decision about how to deal with the cause of the fear?
If Tuppence hadn’t been with me — if he’d turned even a little and seen that I was essentially unarmed — if he’d fought back; he was a lot bigger than I am — I shuddered at what might have happened. For something to do, I stretched down and gave my hound a thorough belly rub.
Sheriff Marge knocked on the porch screen door and let herself in about three-quarters of an hour later. “Bomb squad’s here.” She slid a chair out and dropped into it.
Harriet jumped up and pulled a Folgers tub from the cupboard.
“They’re
sending their robot under the trailer to get a view of the bomb. Then they’ll decide how to handle it. Be a while yet.” Sheriff Marge checked her watch. “Three hours left, give or take, if he was telling the truth. Shouldn’t be a problem.”
I exhaled. She was so calm — maybe everything would be okay after all.
Sheriff Marge turned to me. “You know he matches the description Gloria gave us of one of the fellows she saw with Frankie’s car.”
“Does he?” My eyes widened. I hadn’t seen his face. The parts of him I’d had the best view of were the bottom of his cowboy boots and his neck.
Sheriff Marge grunted and lifted a cheek, reaching for something in her back pocket. She plunked my slingshot on the table. “You can have this back since it wasn’t used in a crime.” She pursed her lips — I think she was trying not to smile. “Archie enjoyed informing the suspect he’d been apprehended with the back end of a slingshot.”
“Who is the suspect?” I asked.
“Won’t say.”
“That makes two who refuse to talk.” I bit my lip.
“Yep. Interesting. Usually means they’re being paid extraordinarily well or there are threats against their families.”
Sheriff Marge’s phone rang. “Yep. Uh-huh.” She checked her watch again. “Be right there.”
Harriet returned a ceramic mug to the cupboard and replaced it with a lidded thermal mug which she filled from the carafe.
Sheriff Marge pushed her chair back and stood. “Bomb squad says it looks straightforward. Bomb’s clamped to the axle. They’ll remove it and take it to the riverbank for a controlled detonation which you’ll probably hear within the next hour. I’ll call you when we’re letting people back in the campground. Dale and Archie’ll inform the campers and provide traffic control so they can get in their beds as soon as possible.” She took a sip of coffee. “Thanks, Harriet. We’ll try to keep the fuss to a minimum.”
The screen door slammed behind Sheriff Marge. Herb, Harriet and I looked at each other.
“Guess I have some paperwork to do,” Herb mumbled and shuffled from the room.
Harriet thunked an encyclopedic cookbook on the table and started thumbing through it.
None of us would be sleeping for a good while yet. I stood and stretched. Sheriff Marge hadn’t said anything about staying put this time. And while people couldn’t enter the campground right now, there didn’t seem to be a reason I couldn’t leave.
“I think I’ll go for a drive.” At Harriet’s worried look, I added, “to clear the cobwebs.” I patted her shoulder and snapped my fingers for Tuppence.
CHAPTER 25
What I really wanted to do was talk to Frankie, in person. I wasn’t exactly sure how to phrase the questions that were just beginning to form, but they weren’t the kind of thing I could ask on the phone, especially not if she was still on her date with Zane.
Tuppence, ecstatic about riding in the truck, bounded onto the bench seat. I rolled her window down so she could stick her nose in the hurtling scent stream.
I started the pickup and backed out of the barn. The campground was dark except for lighted walkways that wound through the campsites and the massive floodlights that lit up my site like an alien invasion. Black forms meandered in the pool of white light, a couple of them puffy in protective suits.
No point in bothering Sheriff Marge with my niggling worries. Probably a short conversation with Frankie would clear everything up. Unlike Tuppence, I didn’t hang my head out the window with my ears flapping, but I did appreciate the somewhat cooler blast of air — and the thinking space it provided.
I pulled into Junction General’s gravel parking lot, then drove around back near the dumpster. The store was closed for the night with just the florescent bulbs in the freezer cases providing dim illumination inside. There weren’t any lights on in Frankie’s studio apartment above the store.
She and Zane were probably enjoying a late dinner, maybe even eating what they’d caught. Plus there was the hour drive back. I slouched in the seat to get comfortable. Tuppence heaved a weighty sigh and rested her chin on the window ledge.
Leaving home is like putting on a snowsuit — there are certain things you should do ahead of time, especially if you’d spent the evening guzzling iced tea. Unfortunately, my brain had been engaged in other concerns and had ignored the basic necessities — until now.
It’s weird how the flurry of activity around apprehending the suspect, dealing with the pipe bomb and commiserating with the worried Tinsleys had completely distracted me from my need to pee. Now all there was to do was sit here and think about it.
I tried to think about things other than Niagara Falls, the gushing of a fire hose, and how long it might take Frankie to arrive home. I squinted at the bushes in the dark, but the idea of trying to find a spot among blackberry brambles and who knows what kind of litter was stuck in the tall grass gave me the willies.
Finally, I thought moving around might help. I opened the truck door and hopped out. Tuppence exhibited sudden interest, but I told her to stay. I paced the length of the pickup and realized I was making matters worse.
Maybe Frankie had left her door unlocked. She’s from a big city, but it was possible she’d already adopted the locals’ habits. I jogged to the side of the store and took the outside stairs two at a time. I jiggled the handle. No luck.
I needed to go with a vengeance.
I dashed back down the stairs and around to the truck, stretched through the open window and grabbed my purse. Back up the stairs, I fumbled with my wallet, pulled out a credit card and jammed it into the space between the door and the frame.
Two seconds later, Frankie’s latch slipped back far enough for me to shoulder the door open. I dropped my purse and fled to the bathroom.
Frankie had a little blue nightlight plugged into an outlet in the bathroom, which was all I needed to perform the necessaries. Relief.
Feeling better than I had in hours, I washed up. My phone, which I’d stuffed in my purse, rang. I felt my way back in the dark, tripping over a chair leg and slamming my hip against the kitchen counter. I found my purse on the floor and dug the phone out.
“Hello?”
“What’s going on?” Pete asked.
“Oh,” I sighed. “I’m sorry I forgot to call you.” I flipped on the light over Frankie’s stove and pushed her door closed. It was such a tiny apartment, I did both without moving from the same spot.
“I’m going crazy with worry.”
“No need. The bomb squad assured Sheriff Marge it was a piece of cake.”
Pete snorted. “So they’re not blowing up your RV?”
I frowned. “No?” It was a question. Now he had me worried.
“Bomb techs are notoriously optimistic.”
“Don’t tell me that now. I wouldn’t have left if I’d known.”
“Where are you?” His voice pitched up a notch.
“Frankie’s. I had to use the bathroom. I mean — I want to ask her about her date with Zane, but she’s not back yet.”
Pete was notably silent.
I thought I’d better explain a little more. “Harriet and I were playing a drinking game with slingshots earlier, and I consumed way too much iced tea, so when I got here I really had to—”
Muffled footsteps sounded on the stairs outside, then voices.
I froze. Frankie and Zane wouldn’t have seen my pickup since I’d parked around back. I didn’t want to scare them, but I also didn’t want to admit I’d broken in — and why. How embarrassing.
“I gotta go,” I whispered.
“Didn’t you already?” Pete said. Poor guy — he was trying to catch up with my spastic comments.
“No — I mean yes — the other kind of go.” The footsteps outside were climbing closer. Zane said something, and Frankie giggled. “Call you later.” I hung up and flicked off the stove light.
Maybe I could outwait them. Then I’d only have to explain to Frankie after Zane left. Fr
ankie knows me — she’d get over it, maybe even have a good laugh, later. But Zane would think I was some crazed friend of Frankie’s, and maybe that’d change his opinion of her as well.
The question was — hide or be unabashedly honest, as in standing directly in front of the door when Frankie walked in. Except they were talking on the landing now, murmuring on the other side of the door.
I’m mildly chagrined that I stepped forward and pressed my ear to the door. But I did feel a sense of responsibility for Frankie’s happiness. And what better way to do a background check on her suitor than to eavesdrop?
The talking sounds had dwindled to a few shuffles, like fabric rubbing, maybe a moan. I held my breath in horror. Were they smooching? Something bumped the doorknob, but it didn’t turn.
My eyes darted around the dark room, and I clamped a hand over my mouth. What if they brought the smooching in here? That would increase the awkwardness quotient exponentially.
I made a flash decision and flung the door open. I also bumped the switch for the landing light.
To say they were shocked out of their socks would be an understatement. Frankie gaped at me, her face pale and chest heaving. Zane, with lipstick smears on his cheeks and chin, stared, his eyes narrowing to slits.
“Meredith,” he grunted. He checked his watch with a quick flick of his wrist. “Why aren’t you at home?”
“Long story.”
Zane nudged Frankie, not too gently, through the door then blocked the opening, his hands pressed on either side of the frame.
My stomach hollowed into an empty pit. I’d hoped, hoped, hoped that my qualms about him weren’t true, but his stance indicated otherwise.
“Did you go out in the speedboat tonight?” I asked.
“It’s being repaired—” Frankie was cut off by Zane’s snarl. “But we had a nice time,” she whimpered, “fishing from the dock — didn’t we?”
Zane grabbed us both by the upper arms, his big hands like tourniquets. He propelled us around the table and shoved us onto the couch. Frankie’s jewelry jangled with the impact. She huddled against me.
Tin Foil (Imogene Museum Mystery #4) Page 17
