I had the impression he’d be thrilled to see the old Thunderbird blow. I was beginning to long for Sgt. Yates and his inscrutable eyebrow.
“Ivy says she may have some ideas about who planted the dynamite,” Hanson offered.
“Oh?” Officer Simpson looked me over as if suspecting I’d come up with names of ladies from my knitting society with whom I’d squabbled about the luncheon menu.
“She’s the person who found the body of that woman who was murdered not long ago,” Hanson added. He nodded toward Tara of the Ozarks. “The woman in the lake.”
“Is that so?” Deputy Simpson regarded me with greater interest. Apparently being the Lady Who Found the Body gives one a certain credibility even if one is possum-gray and semi-invisible. Perhaps I should add this qualification to my resume.
He flipped his notebook to a fresh page. “And these persons might be … ?”
“Will Sgt. Yates be back soon?” I asked.
“Should be back by this afternoon or tomorrow. He had a bad tooth and went into Fayetteville to have it extracted.”
I was reminded that police officers aren’t always dealing with life-or-death crises; sometimes they just have bad teeth like the rest of us. Two more sheriff’s department cars arrived.
“I’ll wait and talk to him then.”
Deputy Simpson, who a few minutes ago had acted as if my speaking capabilities rivaled that of a stump, now frowned with obvious annoyance that I wasn’t talking. “We’d prefer to have the information now—”
“I’ll wait.”
Reason one was that I trusted Sgt. Yates more than I did this man who couldn’t even ask me directly when I last drove the car. Second reason was a fresh jolt of awareness about what this news about Brad’s relationship with Leslie was going to do to Tammi and Skye. For all Tammi’s bubbly, exclamation-point personality, she really loved the guy, as did Skye. Was it fair that they get hit like a bomb exploding in their faces when the police came to question or even arrest Brad for murder and/or car bombing?
It was, of course, going to be a devastating personal bomb for them whenever it went off, but maybe it would help if Tammi had some warning ahead of time about Brad’s involvement with Leslie. I wouldn’t mention my suspicions that he could be involved in the murder as well, of course. Or that he may have planted dynamite under my car. That was police business. But if I could just do something to prepare Tammi for the devastating revelation about Leslie …
Perhaps, if I talked to her, Tammi could even persuade Brad to go to the police about the relationship. Then, if he wasn’t guilty of murder, just infidelity (and I cringed when I found myself putting that just in front of infidelity, because infidelity is definitely not a just), maybe it wouldn’t have to become public knowledge and the family relationships could somehow be salvaged.
“Did you see anyone around the car between when you last drove it and this morning?” Deputy Simpson asked, finally directing a question to me.
“No, but I’ll discuss it all with Sgt. Yates. He’s already familiar with … the situation.” Part of it, anyway.
Deputy Hanson looked as if he’d like to set off a small explosive device under me, but I just stared back at him and held my ground.
Two more vehicles arrived. The parking area was large, but space was getting crowded. A couple of deputies moved the sheriff’s department cars out of the way to make room for the new arrivals. One of these was a car, the other a pickup pulling a trailer with what appeared to be a huge ball on it. Both car and pickup bore state police logos. The big ball baffled me.
“Bomb squad,” Deputy Simpson said. He went over to join the growing number of official types gathering near the new vehicles.
After a brief discussion, two men from the bomb squad returned with him to where Hanson and I were standing. They questioned both of us further, going into considerable detail with Hanson about the dynamite.
My big question was, of course, were they going to make mincemeat out of my old ’bird. Finally I asked.
“Right now, from what you and Mr. Watkins have told us, it sounds like a relatively unsophisticated explosive device. We have X-ray equipment we use in some instances, but that probably won’t be necessary here since the dynamite is readily identifiable. We’ll send someone in to take a look, and if we can safely disable the bomb where it is, we’ll do it.”
I felt marginally more hopeful. He sounded like a reasonable man. Definitely competent. But he hadn’t, of course, assured me they wouldn’t blow up car and all. I wondered how my insurance company would feel about a claim for a car detonated by a bomb squad. I suspect something such as this tends to raise one’s premium rates considerably.
Two guys from the bomb squad suited up in padded gear that looked suitable for space exploration. I hadn’t encountered this in my mystery novel reading. When ready, another officer lifted the yellow tape protecting the area, and the two men lumbered toward the cars.
“Suits must be heavy?” Hanson suggested.
“Something like 110 pounds.” Deputy Simpson spoke importantly, as if pleased to be able to show off his knowledge on this subject. “The men can spend only about 20 minutes inside a suit because of the weight and because it’s made of a special, nonbreathable type material that sometimes causes blood pressure to go sky high.”
I wasn’t even in a bomb suit, and I suspected my blood pressure was careening around up there in the stratosphere.
“Can these suits really protect them if the dynamite actually blows while they’re up close to it?” I asked.
“I’ve never actually seen the suits in use when a bomb went off,” Deputy Simpson admitted. “I’m sure they offer considerable protection, but still …” His voice trailed off as if he also had some doubts.
And scared as I was for me and the old Thunderbird in all this, I was suddenly much more scared for these two men. I didn’t want to have to find out whether or not the suits worked under full explosive attack.
Protect them, Lord, as you protected me!
The two men carried out their inspection slowly and deliberately. In spite of the bulky suits, they both got down on the ground. Their bodies blocked the view of what was going on under the car. Everyone outside the yellow tape was silent and motionless, as if any sound or movement might set off the dynamite. I found I was holding my breath.
Several minutes went by. No actual clock was ticking, but I could feel one ticking inside me. Or maybe it was my heartbeat. Tick-tock, tick-tock.
Maybe the thing was rigged so that if anyone so much as touched it, it’d go off. Maybe it was on a timing device rather than connected to the ignition, and the time was any minute now …
Then one man stood up. The other one still on the ground gingerly handed him something.
“That’s the dynamite,” Hanson breathed.
I could see the dangling tape that had held the reddish sticks of dynamite to the car. And a length of cut wire.
The two men walked back to that big, ball-shaped thing on the trailer. The man not carrying the dynamite opened a door on the ball. I was surprised. I hadn’t realized it had a door. The man in the protective suit placed the dynamite inside. He closed the door.
The whoosh of released tension among watching officers was palpable. The silence of held breath turned to a babble of voices.
“The big ball is a protective container for hauling an explosive device. The walls are about this thick.” Deputy Simpson held out his hands in a knowledgeable gesture, but they still had a giveaway tremor. “They’ll take the dynamite off to some safe place and detonate it.”
I went all saggy with relief. I’d rather have seen the old ’bird blow sky high than have anything happen to those two men, but I had to admit relief that the car was still in one piece.
“Now what?” I asked.
“I’ll check,” Deputy Simpson said.
I had hopes they wouldn’t take the Thunderbird away, that they could look for fingerprints or other evidence right
here and at the end of the day I’d still have my old ’bird. Those hopes fizzled when Deputy Simpson returned to say the car would be towed into a secure warehouse for processing.
“Will the bomb squad do that?”
“No. Our department will handle it.”
“How long will it take?” I asked.
“Hard to say.”
The pickup pulling the big ball departed. I wondered where they’d take the dynamite. I had to admit, now that it was safely removed from the ’bird, I wouldn’t mind seeing it blow myself. But no invitation was forthcoming.
A tow truck arrived. A deputy got in Hanson’s pickup and moved it out of the way. A few minutes later the tow truck, with my Thunderbird strung up like a hunk of beef on a hook, disappeared down the road, leaving me with only a paper in my hand to signify that it was in their custody now. Deputy Simpson returned to suggest that, since the person who planted the bomb was still unidentified, I should leave the house and stay away for a few days.
“I wish we could offer you guards and protection, but we just don’t have the manpower.” He sounded apologetic. “Perhaps you could stay with friends for a few days?”
I nodded. I felt as unsteady as if I were trying to walk that narrow beam Sandy does gymnastics stunts on, shakier than during most of the action. Because now I was thinking of the danger not only to myself and the car but to Sandy too. So many times we’d ridden in it together, and whoever planted that bomb hadn’t cared if I wasn’t the only one who blew up.
People, already pushed back to the property line by the deputies, dispersed. Police cars, fire truck, and ambulance departed. Except for Hanson’s pickup, the yard was empty. At some point rain had started falling again, but I hadn’t noticed it until now.
I shivered, partly from the cold rain, partly from leftover nerves. It was really true. Someone had tried to blow me sky high.
Hanson held out a palm, catching the rain, and I remembered the leaking roof he’d been fixing.
“You’d better get back to your roof. Thanks for coming over.”
“I can stay for a while. In fact, if you don’t have someplace to go, I could come over and sleep on your sofa tonight. You and Sandy definitely shouldn’t be alone. I could bring my dad’s old rifle—”
“Thanks, but as soon as Sandy gets home we’ll go to a motel or something. We’ll be fine,” I assured him.
“Well, I’ll go on home and see if my patch job on the roof is holding up, then. But you call if you need anything, okay?”
I thanked him again. I wondered if the Big Brad would be giving the news about my car bomb on his early TV show. And what his expression, always so suited to the occasion, would be if he did so.
“I guess we can be grateful for the bad battery,” Hanson added. “If not for that, you, me, and the old ’bird would all be scattered around here in shrapnel-sized pieces.”
Bad battery … or a good Lord? I knew the answer to that.
“You might consider telling the Lord thanks for that bad battery,” I suggested.
Hanson gave me a startled look, as if he hadn’t considered that angle, then nodded. “I’ll do that.”
Now, I realized as I started toward the house, I had to decide. Should I talk to Tammi before I told Sgt. Yates what I knew about Brad and Leslie? I looked at my watch. I felt oddly drained. It seemed a week since I’d walked out to the car, intending to spend the day on a leisurely drive, but it was only late afternoon. Sandy wouldn’t be home for quite a while yet. She had a team meeting and practice at the gymnastics studio after school.
I’d missed lunch, although the hollow feeling inside me wasn’t hunger. The thought occurred to me that I didn’t have to decide right now about talking to Tammi, because I was at the moment quite without transportation. I didn’t feel it was something I could discuss over the phone, and I had no way to get over to her place.
Although there might be a solution to that problem … And I had to call DeeAnn and Mike anyway. They had a right to know what was going on.
DeeAnn answered on the third ring. It still astonishes me that I can dial Hawaii. I can remember back to when it took a couple of long-distance operators just to call a few states away.
I gave DeeAnn as nonsensational a version as possible of the day’s doings, although having someone plant dynamite under your car tends to come off as somewhat sensational no matter how you put it.
DeeAnn didn’t fall apart or go into hysterics while I was telling her. She is not the hysterical type. But the waves of fear rolling through the phone felt bigger than anything hitting the Hawaiian beaches.
“Sandy was never in any danger,” I emphasized. Though it was a weak comfort, given the circumstances, and we both knew it. Because nothing about future danger was guaranteed. “I—I think the Lord was looking out for both of us.”
“I’m sure he was, but …”
But we both knew about those unexplainable times when tragedy happened.
“DeeAnn, I’m just so sorry about this. If I’d really thought my coming here would put Sandy or any of you in danger, I’d never have done it. But I thought … Well, apparently I was wrong.” The thought of anything happening to Sandy sent tidal waves of fear rolling through me. “Look, how about I send Sandy over to Hawaii just as soon as I can get her on a plane?”
“Oh, my goodness. In all this, I forgot that I have something to tell you too. In fact, I was going to call you later today.
We’re coming back to Woodston!”
“To visit, you mean? Or to pick up Sandy?”
“No. Home to stay!”
DeeAnn went on to explain that the company’s deal on a site for a manufacturing plant there on Oahu had fallen through, and the company had decided to give up the venture. “So now it’s pack up and move everything home again. We weren’t planning to make a rush deal out of it …” She paused, then added emphatically, “But that’s changed now. Now it’s going to be a real rush deal. A week or ten days at the most.”
“Are you disappointed you won’t be living over there?”
“Oh, in a way. It’s lovely here. But Woodston is home. Now Sandy will be able to graduate from there, and it’ll be safer for you with all of us living together.”
I’d have to think about that, considering the events of today. But later.
“Sandy and I will go to a motel as soon as she gets home, okay? And we’ll stay there until you and Mike get here.”
“Have Sandy call me as soon as you get to a motel, will you?”
“Will do.”
“The Braxtons did this?” DeeAnn’s voice had a surface steadiness now, but I could feel the fear lurking underneath. I could also feel her already leaping into packing and moving mode.
“It was probably the Braxtons. But not necessarily.” Honesty made me add, “I may have … irritated a few locals.”
DeeAnn waited, but I didn’t elaborate, and finally she sighed. “Ivy Malone, for a sweet, harmless little aunt, you do seem to get yourself in an unusual amount of trouble.”
I decided I couldn’t deny it, so I skipped to another subject. “One more thing. Until I get the ’bird back I need something for transportation—”
“Use whichever one you need,” she said promptly, referring to the SUV and the Buick in the garage. “The keys to both are on that hook by the kitchen door.”
“Thanks, DeeAnn. I’ll be really careful with them.”
“Just … umm … don’t irritate any more car bomb people, okay?”
“I’ll do my best.”
So now I had transportation and was back to the problem of Tammi.
It would surely be a horrific blow for her to learn about her husband’s infidelity from the police. Yet more than infidelity was involved here. There was murder and attempted murder … my attempted murder. There was also the possibility that, if I told Tammi about the affair, she’d immediately rip into Brad with more than exclamation points. He might then realize he was in jeopardy on bigger charges, take off for
South America or other parts unknown, and escape justice.
As it turned out, however, I didn’t have to decide whether to contact Tammi. She called me.
31
Actually, at first I didn’t know who was calling, just that it was a woman sobbing and gasping and choking as she struggled to say something.
“I think you have the wrong number, but maybe I can do something to help?” I asked anxiously. The woman sounded on the verge of hysteria. Or collapse. If I could find out who she was trying to call …
“Oh, Aunt Ivy.” Choked sob. “It’s me, Tammi.”
“Tammi! Hon, what’s wrong? Are you sick? Has something happened to Skye?”
“No.” Sound of blowing nose. “Oh, Aunt Ivy, I just had to talk to someone … and I didn’t know who … and then I thought of you!” Another burst of tears.
“Is it Brad? Has he been hurt or something?” May the Lord forgive me, but right then I was hoping something had happened to the rat.
“Oh, yes, it’s Brad!” Sudden flash of fury breaking through the tears. Then more sobs. “I—I don’t know what to do! I just found out something awful … I can’t believe it … I don’t want to believe it … and yet I’m afraid it’s true.”
So. The buffalo chips had hit the fan. Tammi knew about Brad and Leslie. How had she found out? And had the knowledge of his infidelity expanded into a suspicion of his involvement in Leslie’s murder? No, I didn’t think so. Right now, Tammi was simply trying to deal with this first shock of Brad’s unfaithfulness. The worst might be yet to come.
“I’ll come over and we’ll talk and see what can be done,” I said quickly. “Until I get there, you just … oh … fix a cup of tea and snuggle up with Baby. Okay?”
I wanted to add something soothing like, “Don’t worry, everything will be okay,” but the knowledge that everything probably wasn’t going to be okay stopped the false words. “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” I said instead.
I started to put the phone down, but a second thought suddenly grabbed me. What about Brad? He surely wasn’t home now, or Tammi wouldn’t be calling me. But was he apt to walk in? The man may have tried to kill me this morning, and I’m not as brave as Daniel boldly joining the lions in their den. I didn’t want to find myself with Brad in his den.
In Plain Sight Page 23
