Hazardous Duty (10 page)

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.”