Sierra chattered on. “Yep. They’re not much different than peanuts. Did you know people didn’t eat peanuts for the longest time? They fed them to their animals. Acorns are the same.”
“There are no nuts in these, Sierra,” I said, staring at the brownies. There’s a big one sitting on the couch with me, but none I could detect in the brownies, and I’d been on high alert.
“That’s because I ground up the acorns, after I boiled them, of course, and used them like flour.”
Of course she did. Why did I even ask?
“What a day.” Bill reeled to his feet. “I’ve got to get going. I’m getting too old for this kind of excitement.”
Even drunk as he was, Bill went into escape and evade mode once he’d heard about the acorns.
“Yeah, me too. It’s been a long day.” I stood, Riley right behind me.
“They weren’t that bad, were they?” Sierra asked, her gaze darting between the three of us like a furry little rodent. She clasped her hands together under her chin, and I braced myself for her to start clicking her front teeth together. I hoped to heaven she’d had her rabies shots.
“See you later, Sierra.” I disappeared upstairs before Sierra could show me where she’d stored food away for the winter.
“That was interesting,” Riley whispered as we trotted up the stairs together.
“Get used to it. Things like this happen quite a bit with Sierra.” I leaned against my door and cast a soft grin at Riley. “Thanks for all of your help today. I really appreciate it.”
“It’s no problem.” He looked at the floor. “You have a package.”
I saw the brown paper wrapped box on the ground and picked up the shoebox-sized mail. “No return address,” I said, looking at the corner.
“Expecting anything?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know what it could be.” I reached for the heavily taped end to tear it open.
“Stop.” Riley caught my hands.
Something about his tone made me freeze instantly. I raised my eyes to his, frightened.
His eyes locked on the package as he took it from me. Moving cautiously, he set the box on the ground and reached for me. “Step away from it, Gabby. Now.”
He pulled me toward the stairwell. Backing up, I never looked away from the box with my name scrawled in black ink on top.
“What’s wrong?”
“We’re better safe than sorry. You should call the police and have the package checked out.”
The implications of what he said solidified in my mind. “You think it might be a bomb?”
“Smell your hands.”
I did as instructed. “Almonds.”
“And the package made a sloshing sound. We need to evacuate the building.”
“You mean, everybody?”
“Yeah, everybody.”
“But what if it’s nothing?”
“What if it’s something?”
His argument won. “I’ll go get Mrs. Morgan upstairs.” I started toward the attic apartment.
Chapter Eleven
All I wanted was quiet. I slid down the side of Sierra’s car, my knees bent up to my chest, my hands clasped between my legs. I wanted time alone to deal with the hand life dealt me today. I wanted to mourn Harold’s situation. I wanted a shower to wash away the sweat that had covered my body ever since I’d found out someone might be trying to kill me.
It appeared I wasn’t going to get what I wanted.
Lucky squawked from his cage, which rested beside Riley’s car. Sierra tried to comfort her nervous cats, all of whom were crammed into one large carrier. Bill paced back and forth, much more sober than he’d been two hours ago. But then bombs had a sobering affect on people. He muttered something about having a lot to talk about on the radio tomorrow. I’d have jumped at his ankles when he paced by me and knocked him down if I hadn’t been so tired. Glad my life and death experience could provide the listening public with entertainment.
Mrs. Morgan, the writer upstairs, twisted her hands together and jabbered about losing years off her life. I didn’t think that was possible. She weighed ninety pounds and dressed all in white to match her gray hair and pasty skin. And she was so wrinkled she looked mummified. Not even an explosion could kill her. What we needed was an Egyptian curse.
Aside from the noisy tenants who scattered across the parking lot, the normally comforting sounds of Ghent annoyed me. Cars zoomed past, honking and calling out college cheers. Groups of young professionals lingered on the sidewalk. Faces pressed into the glass at the coffeehouse as spectators wondered what new loony thing happened in their little community. The heat didn’t deter the masses from coming out to enjoy Ghent’s nightlife. Its patrons were fierce and loyal. And tonight, they were getting even more for their money as a bomb squad invaded the apartment complex.
Glad I could help.
The only things quiet about the night were me and Riley.
My gaze wandered across the asphalt to where he stood, staring up at the house like he wanted nothing more than to be inside. Was he a bomb maker as a past career? Or maybe he was on the bomb squad? Really, I didn’t know so much about him. He didn’t offer much in conversation. So why did I feel as if I could trust him?
Calling the bomb squad was probably just a big mistake. What if it turned out to be new underwear from my Aunt May? Every year for Christmas she sent me a package of white cotton panties big enough to rig as a sail and power a yacht down the coast to Cuba. Had she sent them early this year?
Or what if my father decided to send me a box full of bills he needed help with? That’d be perfect. My father’s incompetence, topic one on the Bill McCormick Show. I wouldn’t put it past him. The small amount of social security my father received went straight to Anheuser-Busch.
Food? That was my job. Lucky for my father beer had a high grain content or he’d have starved on what I’d chipped in lately.
Dad? Aunt May? Crazed bomber? I had to go with my family. The possibilities seemed realistic, yet I knew the handwriting belonged to neither of those people.
What if Riley was right? What if the package contained a bomb? There was no reason for anyone to kill me.
The idea that had been zooming around in my head, looking for a functioning brain cell to land on, finally settled. Unless they knew about the gun.
But who knew about the gun? Only four people I could think of.
Riley, who hadn’t left my side all day. Parker, who was a policeman, for heaven’s sake. Me, and despite my pathetic life, I wasn’t inclined to bomb myself.
And the murderer.
The person who had left the weapon in the cubbyhole to begin with.
Michael Cunningham.
What if he knew I’d found the gun and was determined to silence me?
My heart rate quickened.
What a night.
What a day, for that matter.
Could it get worse?
I tapped my foot and leaned against Sierra’s car, unable to concentrate, on edge. Desperate for peace yet terrified to be alone.
How long did this take?
Midnight came and went as the bomb squad worked inside. Everyone quieted, staring with blank looks at the building.
Panties. Let it be panties.
Sierra and Bill went to The Grounds, leaving me to babysit five cats squashed into an undersized cathouse.
After our neighbors meandered across the street, Riley lowered himself on the ground beside me. His eyes lost some of their brightness and creases formed in their corners.
“What do you think?” I asked.
“They’re being cautious. One wrong move could be deadly.”
“Or it could be nothing.” Panties. Humiliating, but better than a bomb.
Riley placed his hand on my knee. His steady gaze reassured me. “It’s going to be okay, Gabby.”
“You always sound so sure of everything. How do you do it?”
“Simple. If something’s out of my hands, I
don’t worry about it.”
“Sounds like a good philosophy.”
“I leave it in God’s hands.”
I chewed on the thought. What would it be like to leave something in a Higher Being’s care? My career. My dad. My poor arrested friend.
I’d never had anyone take care of me. The thought felt foreign. Those who were supposed to look out for me had only been a disappointment. It would be the same case with God.
Wouldn’t it?
The front door of the building flew open and four bomb squad members emerged. Riley and I met them on the porch.
“Well?” I asked. Panties. Embarrassing bills. Anything but . . .
“A bomb.”
A stocky, bald man stepped forward. “Your quick thinking saved lives tonight, Ms. St. Claire. There was a pipe bomb in that package.”
My jaw slacked. My knees wobbled and I fumbled behind me for the car. Riley caught me by the elbow and steadied me.
“It was really a bomb?” I couldn’t believe it.
“Yes, it was really a bomb,” the detective said. “Wouldn’t have taken the whole building out, but it could have cost some lives.”
Especially mine. My gaze fluttered to Riley. “Thank you.”
He offered a tight smile.
“Any idea who might have sent you this, Ms. St. Claire?” the short, bald detective asked. His words were crisp, businesslike.
I drew in a deep breath. Could this be connected with the fire? It had to be.
“You must have some idea. You hesitated,” the detective said. What was his name again? Allen? Alex? Adams?
Adams, that was it.
“There is one situation. I don’t know that there’s a connection, but . . .” I glanced at Riley. He didn’t know any of these details yet, but after everything he’d been through, there wasn’t much use hiding them anymore. “You could talk to Michael Cunningham.”
“As in the lawyer who’s running for senate Michael Cunningham?” Riley raked his hands through his hair, leaving it sticking up in adorable shocks. “You didn’t tell me he was involved in all of this.”
Why did Riley look so flabbergasted? He’d obviously heard of the man before, a surprising fact within itself. What else did Riley Thomas know?
I raised my chin. “I didn’t think it was appropriate to name names.”
“Why would you think Mr. Cunningham has something to do with this?” Adams held his pen and paper, scribbling quick notes.
“I found evidence that points to him as the one who murdered his wife.”
“What?” The same dumbfounded expression stretched across Riley’s face. “That’s a huge accusation.”
I balled my hands into fists and willed myself not to slug the guy who saved my life a couple of hours ago. “Look, if I wanted to be doubted I would talk to Detective Parker.”
“The Virginia Beach police know about the evidence you found?” Adams asked.
“Yes, but they’ve dismissed it.”
“Why would you think he sent this package to you?” Riley’s entire body seemed tense, almost making him a different person from earlier. His laid back persona seemed gone with the wind and someone wound as tight as a Jack-in-the-box replaced him.
“To keep me quiet.” I shrugged, trying not to let Riley get to me. “It’s the best I can come up with. But, as I’ve been reminded many times, I’m not a detective, so I’m only going on a hunch. And evidence, of course.”
“How would he know you’re accusing him? You haven’t confronted him, have you?” Riley asked.
“No, I haven’t confronted him. But when he came back to the house that evening while I was cleaning, he could have seen me. That’s why he burnt the house down with me inside.”
“You’re accusing him of that also?” Riley began pacing. “I don’t think you realize who you’re accusing.”
“I’m accusing a murderer, that’s who.”
“No, Michael Cunningham is expected to be the next big thing. There’s even talk about a presidential nomination one day.”
I pulled my head back. “He hasn’t even been elected senator yet.”
“Exactly. He’s got a lot of people high up who are rooting for him,” Riley said.
If I hadn’t been so tired, I might have suppressed the sigh that escaped. All of my energy was spent at this point, though.
“That’s not my problem. Just because a person is affluent, doesn’t mean they’re not guilty.” I looked back at the detective, who watched our exchange like a tennis tournament, his bald head bobbing back and forth with each verbal serve. “Did you get any prints off of the package?”
“A couple, but they could be yours. We’re going to process everything down at the station, but we’ll be in touch. Again, smart thinking both of you. Everyone in this apartment building owes you a debt of gratitude.” The detective nodded toward Riley and me in a moment of affirmation. “Who’s the detective handling this at the beach?”
The warm fuzzy feeling I had at the compliment disappeared. I spouted off Parker’s name.
“We’ll get the rest of the story from him,” Adams said.
“I don’t trust him.”
With narrowed eyes that looked like he was closing ranks with his brother in blue, Adams said, “We’ll keep that in mind, miss. Goodnight.”
“Can we go back inside?” Bill yelled across the street.
At least there was one grateful neighbor right now.
“It’s clear,” Adams said, motioning for everyone to go in.
After they cleared the lot, Riley and I stood staring at each other. I could tell by the tight line of Riley’s lips that he had something on his mind.
“Look, you haven’t known me that long, and I’m not trying to tell you what do,” Riley said. “But if I were you, I’d take the detective’s advice and back off of this one.”
“And let my friend take the blame for the arson?” I took two steps forward and jutted out my chin. “I don’t think so.”
“Gabby, they found stolen items from the house in his car.”
“Someone smart enough to stage a murder, vicious enough to murder his wife, desperate enough to shoot himself, tough enough to leave the hospital with a bullet wound in his leg, and cold-blooded enough to burn down a house with an innocent woman inside might dare to plant evidence.”
“Yeah.” He bent down until his nose almost touched mine. “Or maybe no one’s that smart, vicious, desperate, and cold-blooded. Maybe you’re just reaching because you can’t stand that you hired a petty thief who was stupid enough to torch the crime scene without checking that you’d left yet. Just because a person is nice, doesn’t mean they’re not guilty.”
“Are you sure about that? Criminals aren’t usually all that nice.” His bossiness irritated me, and as I looked at him, standing there defending Cunningham, sneering at my theories and condemning Harold, I couldn’t remember why I’d ever liked the big jerk.
“Gabby, be reasonable.”
“I have no intention of being reasonable,” I said, tilting my nose in the air. Then I furrowed my brow trying to remember what I’d just said. With a shrug, I decided it didn’t make any difference.
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” I turned away. Then my pesky conscience reminded me that Riley had saved my life. I just didn’t have it in me to be gracious right now. “Thanks for all of your help today, but I need to go to bed now. Goodnight.”
Storming away, I took the stairs by two and hurried to my apartment. I stripped out of my jeans and T-shirt as I walked to the bathroom. Pushing my mop of strawberry blond curls out of my face with a headband, I washed my face, and patted it dry with a towel.
Someone tried to kill you. Again.
I pulled on some running shorts and an old T-shirt and crawled into bed, determined to get some rest. As soon as I turned the light on my nightstand off, cold fear crept into my bones.
Someone tried to kill you. Again.
I shivered. The dark room cl
osed in around me.
It was still better than the place where Harold was spending the night.
I pictured him sitting in a jail cell. Poor Harold. Poor Mildred. They were too kind to go through this.
Of course, Riley thought my assistant was guilty. But he didn’t know Harold the way I did. Harold was a good man.
He did jail time for arson before.
Yeah, but a person could change. Harold had changed.
I pulled the covers up to my chin and drew in a deep breath, trying to slow my heartbeat. I knew what I had to do.
I would prove that Harold was innocent, if it was the last thing I did.
Chapter Twelve
The stench in the apartment turned my stomach. How had someone lived in this mess? Cat feces smeared across almost every surface, and the carpet reeked with urine.
My gag reflexes kicked into gear, and I pressed my mask tighter.
Staring at the mess would do nothing to get it cleaned. I might as well get to work. It would probably be an all day task, even though it was just a one bedroom apartment.
Mindful of my injured hand, I sprayed down the walls with a heavy duty cleaner. I left the liquid to absorb for a few minutes, as I pulled up the carpet. No amount of cleaning would remove its odor. I rolled it and tugged it, inch by inch, out the door. I turned back to the walls and wiped the white plaster down.
I sure did miss Harold. Working alone wasn’t nearly as fun or productive. If I wasn’t miffed with Riley, I might have asked him to come along and earn a few extra dollars.
Just the thought of Riley caused a weight to rest on my shoulders. His reaction had been so strong, I’d let my temper get the best of me.
In the light of day, I knew I’d overreacted. I scrubbed away, wallowing in equal parts cat dander and guilt. Riley had been a sweetheart up until that fatal conversation. He’d taken me to the police station, played with Harold’s grandkids, warned me about the package before I opened it. Good grief, give the man some chain mail and he’d have brought chivalry back to life single-handedly.
Then he told me to let the detectives do the job and I’d turned on him. Thanks for saving my life, buddy, but what have you done for me lately?
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