by J A Whiting
The three young women left the baby store and strolled to their friend, Francine’s, stained glass shop where they were greeted warmly.
“What a nice surprise.” Francine’s green eyes were like emeralds. Slim and petite with blond hair, the woman had a warm, friendly, and vivacious personality.
Francine had a workshop and a small store attached to her house in Silver Cove, but decided to expand to the center of Sweet Cove for the foot traffic and tourist business. She’d hired Mel Abel to assist in the stores and was teaching him how to create the stained-glass designs so he could help with production.
“How is the museum bake shop working out?” Francine asked.
“It’s even better than expected,” Angie told her. “Business is booming. I’ve had to hire more help.”
“Congratulations. You could open a shop on a deserted island and it would be a hit,” Francine kidded.
The sisters admired a gorgeous stained-glass lamp made in the Tiffany-style and they praised Francine for her design and skill at creating such functional and beautiful objects.
“Have you heard about the trouble down in Solana? It’s the talk of the town, the whole area, really. Pipe bombs being left at people’s homes? It’s so terrible. I’m acquainted with one of the victims, Agnes Shield.”
“You know her?” Jenna asked.
“Her daughter lives in Silver Cove on my street. She’s only a few houses away from me. I see Agnes outside with her grandchild. She’s a nice woman, seems smart. She’s still working as a nurse practitioner. I sent her some flowers. I hope she’ll be able to keep active.”
“We met her at the hospital.” Angie explained they’d gone with Chief Martin to take notes as he interviewed the injured woman. Francine knew that the sisters did some research for the police when they needed help.
“How was she? Will she be okay?”
“The doctor told us Agnes would make a full recovery and would receive therapy to accommodate the loss of her fingers.”
“That’s wonderful,” Francine smiled. “Is she able to receive visitors? I’d love to drop in to see her.”
“I think so,” Jenna said. “Why not call the hospital to be sure.”
“Do the police have any suspects?”
The sisters weren’t free to discuss such things so Angie told their friend that they didn’t have that sort of information.
Francine nodded in understanding. “That guy in Solana who received the bomb in his mailbox was lucky he didn’t touch the thing and called the police instead. I don’t know if I’d have the presence of mind to do that. I think I’d just grab the package along with the mail without thinking.”
“I guess the perpetrator is hoping that’s what people will do.” Courtney frowned at the thought.
“Are the police thinking its random or targeted?” Francine questioned as she dusted some of the lamps and jewelry boxes on the shelves.
“They don’t know yet.” Angie looked at some stained-glass suncatchers hanging in the window.
Francine offered her opinion. “I think its random. Why would someone target Agnes Shield? She’s a pleasant, caring person, easy to talk with, has a calm personality. I can’t picture her arguing with anyone. She’d go out of her way to be accommodating. The man who received the pipe bomb doesn’t live close to Agnes. They’re different ages, different genders, they don’t work in the same field or at the same place. Maybe the news reports left out some things that might connect the two people.”
Angie had seen some of the police reports and there didn’t seem to be a link of any kind between Agnes Shield and Dennis Leeds except for the fact they lived in the same town.
“They both live in Solana,” Courtney pointed out. “Maybe some nut has a grudge against the town.”
“So you think it’s someone who lives in Solana, or did live there once?” Francine asked.
“It’s a possibility, but everything is a possibility at this point.”
“The police are going to need a big break in this case,” Jenna said. “The guy is going to have to make a mistake or someone is going to have to see something.”
“Do you know Agnes Shield’s husband?” Angie asked her friend.
“I don’t. Why do you ask?”
“I wondered what sort of person he was and if they have a strong marriage.”
Francine’s eyes widened. “You don’t think her husband is behind these package bombs?”
“I’m suspicious of most people.” Angie was only half-kidding. She’d seen quite a bit while helping the police and realized that truth could be stranger than fiction. “The husband might want to get rid of Agnes so he put the bomb on their porch and then placed a bomb in the other man’s mailbox to throw the investigators off.”
“Gosh.” Francine looked horrified.
“I didn’t consider that the bombs might have been placed by a family member,” Jenna said.
“I should have thought of that,” Courtney said. “Mr. Finch and I watch so many crime shows where the criminal is someone the victim knows. It would be clever to leave bombs at other homes to hide the fact that Agnes was the real victim. Does Agnes get along with her daughter?”
“She seems to,” Francine said. “Oh, no. You don’t think the daughter could be the bomber?”
“Does Agnes have any other kids?” Jenna questioned.
“I don’t know. I think she only has the one daughter.”
“What’s her name?” Angie asked.
“Jen Bishop. She’s always been friendly whenever I see her. She doesn’t seem angry or resentful. She seems grateful to have her mother’s help.”
“Do you know where the daughter works?”
“She’s a chemical engineer. She works in Peabody at a research facility.”
“Chemical engineer, huh?” Courtney’s face took on an expression of suspicion. “Would someone like that know how to make a bomb?”
“You could probably learn how to make one from the internet,” Angie suggested.
“But a chemical engineer might have an advantage in understanding devices like the ones left in Solana,” Jenna said.
“I can’t see it,” Francine said firmly. “Jen Bishop would be the last person I would suspect of such a thing. Trying to kill her own mother? Never.”
“What about her husband?” Courtney asked. “What does he do?”
“I’m not sure. It has something to do with engineering, but I don’t know what sort.”
“Does Mr. Bishop get along with his mother-in-law?” Courtney wondered if there might be bad blood between them.
“I don’t know,” Francine said. “I assume so. Agnes never speaks ill of him. I don’t recall her ever saying anything negative about him.”
“Did Agnes ever mention a falling out with anyone?” Angie asked.
Francine shook her head. “No. Not to me. I don’t see her that often, just when we cross paths outside.”
“Does she seem to enjoy her job?”
“Yes, definitely. She reduced her workload to three days a week so she would have time to help with her grandchild. Agnes told me it was the perfect schedule for her.”
Something about the conversation pulled at Angie. There was something discussed that made her feel anxious, but the reason for it was unclear. She made a mental note to ask Chief Martin about Agnes’s husband, her daughter, and son-in-law.
“Maybe the bomber has stopped,” Francine offered. “Maybe he got scared off by the media attention. He’s probably frightened to try it again.”
“He may be lying low for a while,” Courtney said, “but I bet he won’t stop.”
“If he was trying to kill Agnes or Dennis Leeds and was using the other person to throw off the police, will he try again to kill his intended target?” Angie asked. “Could Agnes or Mr. Leeds still be in danger?”
9
Angie, Jenna, and Courtney walked along Main Street after leaving Francine’s shop when a police cruiser pulled over to the curb and jol
ted to a stop. The passenger side window went down and Chief Martin leaned over from the driver’s seat.
“There’s been another incident. Can you come along?”
The sisters got into the car and the chief sped down the street with his light flashing.
“What’s happened?” Angie sat in the front seat.
“Another bomb. A mother and her teenaged daughter decided to spend the afternoon watching a movie. Since the air is cooler today, they thought it would be pleasant to have a fire in the fireplace.”
Courtney said, “I’m going out on a limb here and will guess the fire in the fireplace wasn’t so pleasant after all?”
“It blew up. Not the fireplace itself, but one of the logs had been hollowed out and a bomb was put inside. When the fire started, it went off.”
Jenna groaned. “Are the mother and daughter…?”
“Alive, but badly injured. They were rushed to the hospital.” The chief took a quick glance at Angie. “Do you think it would be possible for Mr. Finch to meet us at the house in Solana?”
“I can ask him.” Angie took out her phone and texted Mr. Finch the address. In a few minutes, a reply came in. “He’ll meet us there. Ellie will drive him.”
“Good.” The chief gave a nod. “I think Mr. Finch’s skills might be useful.”
When they arrived at the Solana house, Chief Martin parked in front and they all emerged to see three police cars, an ambulance, and Solana’s Chief Peterson and five officers standing outside speaking intently with one another.
The home was a good-sized white Colonial with black shutters and an attached two-car garage set back from the road on a slight incline. The grass was neatly mown and colorful flowers had been planted in the beds on either side of the front door.
A group of neighbors and onlookers stood across the street watching the commotion.
Peterson lifted his hand in a quick wave when he saw Chief Martin coming up the driveway. He gave a nod to the sisters. His face was pale and pinched. “The piece of firewood was taken from the stack out back in the yard. The young woman put the logs into the fireplace and lit them. As soon as she went back to the sofa, it exploded. Someone hollowed out the darned log and slipped a bomb inside of it. This guy is a monster.”
Ellie’s van pulled up and Courtney hurried to help Mr. Finch step out.
“I’m not going to stay. You don’t need me,” Ellie said.
Courtney smiled kindly. “It’s fine, sis. Go on home. Thanks for bringing Mr. Finch. He’ll go home with us.” She slipped her arm through Finch’s and the two moved slowly up the driveway to join the others.
“Another terrible explosion,” Finch said clutching his cane in one hand. “Did the victims survive?”
“Chief Martin said they were alive when the police arrived,” Courtney told him. “The mother and daughter have been rushed to the hospital. I don’t know what injuries they sustained.”
Chief Martin thanked Mr. Finch for arriving so quickly and then said, “Why don’t we all head to the rear of the house and take a look at the wood pile. A bomb squad is coming down from Gloucester to inspect the other logs. We won’t touch anything. We’ll just have a look. When Chief Peterson gives us the all clear, we can go inside and look around in there. He’ll speak with us as soon as he can.”
The small group went around the left side of the house to the backyard. The grass was lush, flowers bloomed in beds and in containers. There was a plunge pool, a patio, and a deck off the house extending out from four sliding glass doors.
The wood pile was off to the side behind a shed and two officers stood nearby to keep anyone from getting too close.
“We need to keep a ten-foot perimeter, Chief Martin,” one of the officers warned. “No one is allowed any closer than that.”
“Thanks. We’ll respect the distance. We’re just getting a look around.”
“Whoever left the bomb in the log mustn’t have counted on someone in the house using the wood any time soon,” Angie said as she walked from side to side. “It’s been hot. Not many people would be using a fireplace in the heat. It’s a little cooler today, but not cool enough for most people to start a fire.”
“The guy must be patient,” Courtney said. “He probably didn’t care if the wood was used now or three months from now. The result would be the same.”
Jenna turned to the chief. “Could the bomb be outside for weeks in the heat and the rain without degrading?”
“If it was tucked well into the log, I don’t think it would degrade. This area of the yard must be shady most of the time.” The chief looked from person to person never really knowing how best to phrase his question. “Would you like to have some quiet time so each of you can try to pick up on anything out here?”
“That would be helpful,” Mr. Finch said. “I’d like to get closer to the wood pile, but I suppose I’d be shooed away.”
“You would,” Chief Martin told him. “No one wants any more bombs going off. Keep a safe distance.”
Finch moved to the patio and took a seat, closing his eyes and opening his mind to anything that floated on the air.
Angie leaned closer to her sisters. “The guy could have planted this bomb weeks ago. It might have been the first one he left at a home. He’s probably been waiting for a while for this one to go off. I doubt we’ll sense anything from when he was back here.”
Courtney said, “It’s pretty bold to come into someone’s backyard to hide a bomb. He must have done it at night when everyone was asleep. That would be the safest way.”
“I wonder if there was only one bomb in that pile.” Jenna took an involuntary step back.
“Let’s hope so.” Angie didn’t intend to get any closer. “Shall we go off in separate directions to see if we sense anything?”
Jenna and Courtney nodded and moved off across the yard.
Angie stayed where she was, but turned in a small circle to get a feel for the place.
After ten minutes passed, Finch pushed himself out of the chair and went to speak with Angie.
“I don’t feel anything. I wish I could put my hand on some of the logs in the pile. Maybe then I’d pick up something the bomber left behind.”
“Maybe we can come back after the bomb squad inspects the wood,” Angie said hopefully.
Finch frowned. “Unfortunately, the inspectors will handle all of the wood. They’ll leave behind their own thoughts and intentions. That will contaminate the logs and will erase or disguise whatever the bomber left behind.”
“When we go inside, maybe we’ll be able to pick up on something,” Angie said.
Jenna and Courtney came over to Finch and Angie.
“We didn’t feel anything,” Jenna informed the other two people.
Courtney narrowed her eyes. “This bomber must not be out to get anyone in particular. He must just be getting his kicks from random placements. Wherever it seems quiet with no peering eyes to see him as he goes about his wicked deeds is where he’ll leave a bomb.”
“The more bombs he delivers, the more unlikely it is that he’s targeting certain people.” Jenna let her eyes wander over the back of the house. “He can’t have that many enemies.”
Finch leaned on his cane. “The bomber must be obsessed with the adrenaline rush he gets from placing the bombs, and then he experiences another jolt of excitement when he hears one of his creations has gone off.”
“Is he out to kill?” Courtney pondered. “Or is injury enough for him?”
“My guess is he would prefer a fatality,” Finch surmised.
“I hope he doesn’t keep trying for a death,” Jenna said.
The chief came out from the sliding glass doors and waved his friends over. “We can all go in now. Please don’t touch anything. The family room is covered in debris. Some of the ceiling came down, some furniture was destroyed, a window partially blew out. There’s some blood here and there.”
Jenna gripped Angie’s arm.
“If you can’t or
don’t want to go into the family room, do not feel forced to do so. Stay out in the hall or go into a different room,” the chief told them. “Ready?”
The foursome followed the chief in a single file through the kitchen with its expensive cabinetry, countertops covered in granite, and polished, gleaming hardwood flooring. They moved past a huge living room, down a hallway into the expansive cathedral ceilinged family room. A large stone fireplace stood on one wall, and some of the stones had ripped out and fallen to the floor from the bomb. One window’s glass hung from its casing. Shards of the glass sparkled on the floor in the afternoon sunlight.
Blood stains could be seen on the rug where one of the women must have fallen. The bright red blood on the white sofa stood out like a warning sign and the sight of it made Angie’s stomach clench.
Jenna had to excuse herself to leave the house for some fresh air. The destruction was too much for her to bear.
Courtney whispered to Angie and Finch. “Someone sits in their basement building things that can cause damage and death? This is what’s on the sick person’s mind? To kill or maim or ruin?”
“Destroying things must be the man’s obsession,” Finch observed.
Courtney sucked in a long breath trying to calm her anger. “And now my obsession is finding this monster.”
10
Angie stood at the kitchen counter mixing ingredients by hand in a big bowl, Mr. Finch sat at the island drawing in a sketchbook, Jenna was working on some jewelry designs in her notebook, and Ellie was reading at the kitchen table.
The cats sat on top of the refrigerator watching everyone and occasionally dozing.
When Courtney came in from the hall, she went to see what Angie was making. “What’s cookin,’ sis?”
Without looking up, Angie replied, “It’s a Black Forest cake.”
“Oh, yum.” Courtney took a seat at the kitchen island to watch her sister. “I’m glad baking is a stress-reliever for you. It’s win-win for all of us.”
“The water in the tea kettle is still hot, Miss Courtney,” Finch told the young woman as he lifted his cup to his lips.
