Hazardous Duty (14 page)

“Is there a return address on that
package?”

Barbara looked it over. “No, there’s
not.”

That block handwriting on the front, the
size of box. It kicked my memory into overdrive.

“Put the package down, Barbara.”

She raised her eyebrows, as if
considering the possibility I was crazy. “Why?”

“It’s a bomb.”

Her face went white, but she did as I
said.

“Is anyone inside your house?”

She shook her head. “It’s just me. The
kids are at school.”

“I need you to come toward me. We’re
going to walk down the driveway, away from the package. Understand?”

She nodded and tiptoed down the brick
steps. Arm in arm, we hurried to the end of the drive. Then we turned and
stared back at the deadly delivery.

“I’m going to call the detective.” I
pulled the phone from my waist. “He’ll send the bomb squad out.”

“How do you know all of this?”

“Because someone sent me a package just
like that.”

***

Detective Parker walked up the drive,
his tie flipping behind him in the wind. His scowl deepened when he saw me. Had
the stunt double job fallen through? Did he figure out there were actual
killers in jail?

“You can tell me what you were doing
here later,” he mumbled as he brushed past.

“It’s good thing I was here,” I called
to his back. “Or we might have another dead body on our hands.”

He stopped and glared. “There is no ‘our
hands,’ Nancy Drew. You’re not a part of this investigation.”

“I’m free to talk to who I want.”

He stepped closer, his brows furrowed.
“You need to stay away from Michael Cunningham.”

“I just went over to offer condolences.”

“Your innocent little façade might work
with some people, Gabby, but not with me. You were snooping and sticking your
nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“You afraid I’m going to find out what
really happened and make you look bad?”

His jaw muscle flexed and he leaned
closer, lowering his voice. Only it didn’t sound alluring, like I imagined it
might. Instead it sounded harsh and arrogant. “You’re going to get hurt if you
don’t back down.”

I licked my lips. “That sounds like a
threat, detective.”

“It’s a warning. There are people in
this world who wouldn’t think twice about hurting a lady like you. Some might
even enjoy it.”

“If you recall, someone has tried to
hurt me twice this week. Kill me, actually.”

“The third time might be a charm.” He
turned on his Kenneth Cole heel and walked toward the house, leaving me with an
ice cold chill. What exactly did he mean by that?

My gaze followed the detective as he
sauntered up the porch, acting immune to the bomb threat. The bomb squad, all
dressed in black, huddled over the package on the porch. To my left, Barbara
talked to two officers, giving a report of how everything happened. The woman’s
arms flailed and her voice cracked. She had to use a lot of body language to
make up for her total lack of facial expression.

Why would someone send Barbara a package
bomb? Unless they were sending one to everyone they suspected knew too much.
But what did Barbara know that someone would want to kill her for? That
Cunningham had returned to his house on the night of the arson?

My head ached. How would I ever make
sense of everything? Maybe Riley had found out something helpful, something
that would offer insight and give my racing thoughts a rest.

I climbed back into my van and pulled
out my cell phone. Riley answered on the third ring, right after Lucky squawked
in the background.

“It’s me. Did you find out anything
good?”

“Gabby?”

Heat filled my cheeks. Why did I assume
I was the only female who’d be calling him? He was an attractive guy. Certainly
lots of women would find him interesting.

“Yeah, it’s me. What did you find out?”

“I’d prefer not to talk about things
over the phone. When will you be home?”

I glanced at the bomb squad working on
the porch. How long had it taken at my house? Three hours? I had at least two
hours to go, maybe more. “Probably not soon.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Cunningham’s neighbor got a package
bomb just like the one I got,” I blurted.

Did I imagine it, or did Riley sigh?
“How do you know this, Gabby?”

“I was at her house when it came in the
mail.”

After a pause, a chuckle filled the
line. “You never fail to amaze me, Gabby. You’re pretty remarkable, you know
that?”

I’d expected another lecture, similar to
the one I’d received from Parker. Riley’s words soothed my heart instead.
“Thanks, Riley.”

“Find me tonight when you get home,
okay? Lucky and I will be here hanging out.”

I smiled, imagining the two of them
playing cards together and eating pizza. He was quickly winning a place in my
heart . . . Riley, too.

Chapter Seventeen

Back at my apartment three and
a half-hours later, I changed into some exercise pants and a red T-shirt before
knocking on Riley’s door, bowl of popcorn in hand.

A lot of redheads rebelled against
wearing red. Not me. I was proud of my fiery curls. How could I not be when it
put me in the same category as other famous redheads, greats like Lucille Ball,
Pippi Longstocking, and Ronald McDonald? Well, maybe not Mr. McDonald, but
still, red hair made a statement.

Riley’s door opened, and he stood there,
shaking his head with an amused expression on his face. I batted my eyelashes
innocently. “What?”

“How do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Find trouble.”

“I’ve always heard I have a nose for
it.”

“You’ll get no arguments from me.” He
stepped back and let me inside.

“Hope you don’t mind. I brought my own
popcorn. Funny how easy it is to forget to eat when you get busy.” I dropped
onto the couch and let the cushions absorb my weary, achy muscles. Even the
smothering heat in his apartment didn’t bother me.

“Have you had anything to eat today
besides popcorn?”

I mentally ran through my day. “I did
have a candy bar at lunchtime.”

Riley stood. “Let me fix you something.
You need to eat.”

“Oh, no. You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.”

“You’re not going to make acorn
brownies, are you?”

Riley laughed. “Do you like stir-fry?”

The thought of real food made my stomach
grumble. “I don’t want you to go through any trouble.”

“I don’t mind. You just relax for a few
minutes.”

Starvation beat out guilt any day. I
stretched my legs over the pine coffee table and wiggled my toes. I definitely
wasn’t used to being in heels all day. Nor was I used to someone looking after
my needs. I could get used to this.

But I wouldn’t.

I wasn’t good at depending on others. In
college, I’d depended on a lab partner in physics 101 and ended up getting the
first and only B of my college career. From there on out, I decided to do all
the work myself. I had to keep up my GPA in order to fulfill my dreams of
getting multiple job offers after college. I wanted to accept the one farthest
away from here. Maybe Alaska or Hawaii. Anywhere but Virginia.

My gaze roamed the apartment. Riley had
done quite a bit of work since I helped him unpack. In fact, there were no
boxes in sight.

He had a casual decorating style, one
that fit him. Simple navy blue curtains covered the windows, the couch was
beige and oversized. The bookcase, dining room table, and TV armoire were all
simple designs, made from pine. A stripped navy blue and beige rug warmed the
wooden floor, and an acoustic guitar rested in a corner. I imagined Riley
sitting around a bonfire on the beach, strumming his guitar. I liked the image.
I could even see good old dad joining in the fun.

Every once in a while, I’d run into
someone who knew my father during his glory days. They’d tell me about the
waves he’d conquered, the women he’d wooed, and the parties he’d thrown. The
end of his surfing career had been like someone taking his T-bird away. There
was no fun, fun, fun after that. Even working at a surf shop didn’t ease his
restlessness. Only visits to Margaritaville made him feel better.

The scent of sizzling vegetables and soy
sauce floated into the room. I abandoned popcorn on the coffee table and closed
my eyes, anticipating my coming meal.

It was amazing how much life could
change in one week. For better or for worse.

Better: a nice new neighbor.

Worse: my one and only employee now
called jail home.

Better: I’d survived two attempts on my
life

Worse: two attempts had been made on my
life.

I sighed. What a week.

“One chicken stir fry and a glass of
water on the side.” Riley’s voice cut into my thoughts.

I opened my eyes and sat up straighter
as Riley placed the steaming food in front of me.

“You do eat meat, don’t you?”

I smiled. “I do. Looks great.”

“I wish I could take the credit, but
it’s from a frozen mix, chicken and all.” Riley sank into an overstuffed chair
across the coffee table from me.

“You won’t hear me complain.” I took a
bite, grateful that Riley offered to do this. I owed him one. I owed him
several, actually. Quiet fell as I enjoyed my meal.

A muffled song broke the silence. It
almost sounded like an old rock song from the 1980s, only it wasn’t coming from
a radio. It was too off-key for that.

I glanced at Riley, and he shook his
head. “Your friend downstairs sings in the shower. Every morning. Her voice
travels up through the vent and I get serenaded. Even Lucky is learning the
words to ‘We’re Not Going to Take It.’”

I giggled and took another bite of food.

“So, I finally heard Bill’s radio talk
show today, on the way home from talking with Cunningham,” Riley said. “He’s
still talking about the acorn brownies.”

“Yeah, well I’m still thinking about
them, so who can blame him? I didn’t even know you could eat acorns, let alone
ground them into flour.”

Riley leaned forward, hands clenched
between his splayed knees. “Living in an apartment building like this, you
hardly need a TV for entertainment.”

“There’s never a dull moment.”

“Listen, missy, most of these non-dull
moments are your fault. Don’t sound like you’re innocent.”

I paused my fork in the air. “Whatever
are you talking about? I’m as normal as normal can be.”

Riley burst into laughter. “You’ve got
the curiosity of a cat. There’s no stopping you once you get something into
your head.”

“You’re saying I belong here with the
bin of loons? I’m not sure how I feel about that.” A smile twitched the corner
of my mouth.

“I like people who aren’t afraid to be
themselves. It’s refreshing.”

I scraped at the plate, chasing after
every speck of the stir fry I could get, then pushed the empty Fiestaware onto
the table with a contented sigh. “That was great. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I’ve never gotten to know someone and
not thought they were weird, actually. Some people just hide it better than
others.”

“I can’t argue with that.”

I stared at a print of Van Gogh’s “The
Café Terrace on the Place du Forum, Arles, at Night” hanging above the
TV. I only knew that because its title stretched across the bottom. The
painting made me want to jump onto the canvas and sit in one of the cozy café
chairs.

Riley leaned closer, and I knew the
conversation would turn serious. “Tell me about your visit with Cunningham’s
neighbor.”

“Barbara O’Connor is positive she saw
Cunningham at the house on the night of the arson.”

“Did Cunningham see her?”

“She doesn’t think so.” I recounted what
Barbara told me. “Did Cunningham tell you where he went during the two hours he
was missing at the hospital?”

“Said he was walking the halls.”

I held my breath, unsure if I wanted to
hear the answer to my next question. I asked anyway. “Do you believe him?”

Chapter Eighteen

“No, I don’t.”

“You mean, someone’s actually on my
side? Someone believes me?” I tried to sound sarcastic so he wouldn’t be able
to tell how relieved I was.

Riley’s confident gaze held mine. How
was it that the slight bump on his nose, his strong, masculine jaw, and his
need-a-trim hair were etched into my memory like a lifelong friend’s? I’d
already memorized the rolling tones of his voice, his smooth, deep laughter,
the way his blue eyes crinkled when he smiled, and the stern set of his jaw
when I aggravated him.

“Just because I didn’t agree with you,
didn’t mean I wasn’t on your side, Gabby.”

“I know, but it feels good to know I’m
not losing it.” I let out a deep breath. I wasn’t sure that was right. Maybe it
would be better to
imagine
someone was trying to kill me, than for it to
actually be
true.
“What happened to change your mind?”

“Most of what I asked Cunningham, he was
prepared for. He breezed through his answers, not the least bit ruffled. But
when I asked about those two hours, it took him by surprise. He said he
wouldn’t say anything else without a lawyer present.”

I grabbed Riley’s arm, delighting for a
moment at the startled expression on his face. “He pulled the lawyer card?”

“Like a guy with a losing hand.”

“I’m surprised he had a meeting with you
at all without his lawyer.”

“I think I caught him by surprise, then
made him so mad he forgot the first rule of guilty people—lawyer up!”

I tilted my head. “Isn’t the husband
always a suspect when the wife is murdered?”

“Usually. But with Newsome right there
to be a prime suspect and Cunningham’s so-called iron clad alibi, they didn’t
look closer. And all the evidence pointed to Newsome. His shoe print was found
outside their home, he threatened Mrs. Cunningham numerous times, his hair was
found in their bedroom.”