Blow Up on Murder

by Linda Townsdin

  Barry would ask what I’d done to bring on that kind of retaliation. Had Weldon found out I’d been talking to the neighbors he’d been harassing? Had he seen me following him the night he used the drone at the Lundbergs? Why come after me now? Unless he was the college bomber and wanted to keep me away for good. Had he crashed the drone into my back at the Fargo race as a first warning? I hobbled into the kitchen and heated water for Emmaline’s tea.

  In bed with Rock next to me, my hand gripped his fur. “I don’t know how you found me, but thank you, buddy.”

  He stared at me with an expression that reminded me of Gert. It happened a lot.

  *

  Ben, Carpenter, Barry and a forensic tech pulled up early in the morning. I’d called as soon as I’d awakened, half-listening to Ben berating me for not contacting him last night.

  A throbbing pain shot up my arm when I reached for the door.

  Ben crouched on the step, touching a stain. “That’s dried blood. Are you hurt?”

  “A scratch but I’m okay. Let’s go. I want to see if there’s any evidence.”

  Barry was in the passenger side, Ben and I sat in back with the forensic tech, Hanson. Barry spoke to Carpenter behind the wheel. “Hold up, Micah.” Then she faced me. “Who would attack you? What have you been doing? I want to know everything.”

  Those were hard questions and I wasn’t in the mood for an interrogation. The BCA didn’t tell me everything they were doing, why should I? Ben sat beside me staring ahead. He wouldn’t be any help.

  I said, “Weldon might have seen me at his place a few days ago.”

  “You were told to stay away.” Barry’s comment stung like a slap.

  “It was before our meeting. I haven’t been back since.” I’d been to the neighbors but not his house. I wasn’t sure if that was before she told me to stay away so technically it wasn’t a lie.

  Her voice was steel. “Think, Britt. Your life could depend on it.”

  “There were lots of people at that drone race in Fargo. Maybe someone didn’t want a photographer there. I mean other than Weldon, who wasn’t happy to see me. And a kid said the drone that smacked into me was hacked by someone. I assumed he was making it up so his parents wouldn’t take his drone away.”

  Ben asked, “Did anyone there seem unusually interested in you other than Weldon?”

  I recalled the sensation of someone watching me. “Not that I noticed. Lots of people hurried away when I was hit. Drone owners get bad press when an accident happens, like when they interfere with aircraft or crash in populated areas. They probably all mistrust the media.”

  Barry tapped Carpenter and he started the car. “We’ll get back on Weldon.” She talked over her shoulder. “It’s possible Brian saw you at the college before we stopped you.”

  Ben said, “Brian’s been talking with dangerous people. They might have seen you videotaping from that tree. If they were behind the bomb, they could be worried about something you’ve taped or will tape.”

  So much for my belief that I’d been undiscovered. If Barry’s team knew about me, Farid likely saw me as well.

  Barry said, “They might want you out of the way. We’ll need to see all of your photos and videos after we check out the scene.”

  It hadn’t occurred to me that Brian’s ISIS recruiter might have seen me. Not at all happy with that thought, I asked, “What’s happening with the investigation?”

  Barry’s answer was curt. “We’re close. Homeland Security and the FBI have stepped up and we’ll have this wrapped up in twenty-four hours.”

  “Is Brian in custody?”

  “We’re keeping him out there to draw the terrorists. They’ll take off if we lock him up.”

  I concentrated on directing Carpenter to the site. We drove south on the Spirit Lake Loop until I told him where to pull off the road close to where I’d left the Paul Bunyan Trail.

  We walked to it through one of the access points near where I’d spied the grazing deer. I pointed. “That’s where I went into the woods. The drone followed every zigzag I made, keeping up gunfire. It took me a while to figure out he was using my phone to locate me.”

  Attempting to calm the quivering mass of panic in my stomach as we retraced my steps, I watched for broken branches, parted bushes and leaves that scattered under my running feet. In the back of my mind, I was also thankful I’d raced home instead of trying to find my phone last night. The person behind the drone would soon have realized he hadn’t gotten me and tried to come after me again. Hyper-aware, I stopped often to listen and scan the sky, realizing he must know where I live. What was to stop him if he was determined to harm me? Last night was more than a scare.

  I showed the group where I stood to toss my phone and we fanned out. Shortly, Ben called out from a few yards away. Torn-up ground and a few scattered shards when the drone blasted it were all that was left. A shudder rocked my body. Those would be my body parts if I hadn’t ditched the phone. I lifted my camera. I’d deal with the nausea later.

  Carpenter said, “You mentioned the drone was about three feet in diameter. Can you describe the shooting mechanism?”

  “It was like semi-automatic gunfire.”

  He said, “Likely a weapon attached to each arm of the quadcopter.”

  Hanson walked toward us with a bag full of spent shell casings. “He didn’t bother to collect them.”

  Ben frowned. “We found long strands of your hair torn out by branches, your footprints, Rock’s paw prints and blood from your arm.”

  Carpenter’s eyebrows drew together. “Sure you’re okay?”

  Ben stepped in front of me. “You’d better show me.”

  I struggled out of my leather jacket and pulled up my shirt sleeve. Ben peeled back the bandage. His mouth set in a grim line, he said, “Promise you’ll get to the doctor today.”

  “I will.” My arm was on fire. If Barry hadn’t been there, I would have whined like a baby. Stoic, I’m not. I always want to cry when I’m sick or hurt. Ben helped me into my jacket.

  Barry asked, “Can you remember any other details from last night?”

  I lifted my good arm. “The drone disappeared behind those trees.” My Internet research claimed that five hundred feet was the average range of a drone the diameter of the one that chased me.

  Ben pointed toward the lake. “I’m going to check for footprints over there.”

  Barry tipped her head. “Hanson, you go with him.”

  The two men cut through the woods. Carpenter, Barry and I followed more slowly. When we caught up, Ben was squatting in a marsh a few yards from the lake. He raised an arm. “Stay back, please.”

  We watched him move up and down the shoreline for a few minutes, then he beckoned to Hanson to photograph and measure prints. An expert tracker, Ben knew every creature’s print. He had spent most of his childhood in the woods before deciding to become a forest ranger. Sometimes he regretted having to spend so much time hunting the two-legged species these days.

  He pointed to grooves in the damp earth. “A boat was pulled up there. He missed getting rid of a couple of footprints where he likely stood to get the drone airborne and bring it back in. He didn’t bother with the shells because he could quickly dismantle the drone and toss it and the weapons in the lake.”

  Barry asked, “Should we search the lake?”

  “This lake has depths of two hundred feet and nearly thirty miles of shoreline, lots of coves, islands, peninsulas. Pretty convenient place for our guy and his weapons to disappear. Most likely he’s not even near the lake anymore.”

  Hanson said, “We got a few good footprints he missed.”

  Ben said, “This guy has a limp. We’ll know more when we see the shoe casts, but I’m guessing a size nine sneaker, a light tread, so he’s small, maybe a teenager.”

  Barry twirled her index finger. “Let’s wrap this up.”

  *

  The four circled my round oak table covered with photos, picking up one after anothe
r to compare and discuss. I set up my laptop for Barry and Carpenter to check my video footage.

  I scrolled through more recent images on my camera, trying to remember something at the edge of my mind. Then it came to me. I cleared my throat. “There’s this one other thing.”

  Everyone faced me.

  “I passed a guy with a limp on the Paul Bunyan Trail a few days ago. He was bow hunting.”

  They closed in on me, demanding every detail. I described the limp and camo outfit, the hair pulled back, possibly five-foot-six. It took me a minute to recall the name he’d given. “He said he was Martin Birch, from the Cities.”

  I said, “There’s more.” I tapped the corner of a photo where a kid stood almost out of the frame. I only caught a blurry side view. “I took this during my first moments on the scene at Branson. The bow hunter had the same bushy hair pulled back in a bun.”

  Ben said, “Lots of kids do that hair thing now. But if Martin Birch was up here for bow hunting season, what was he also doing at the college the day of the explosion?”

  We all scrambled to check my camera, laptop and those spread out on the table, this time knowing who we were looking for.

  Ben pointed at one from the Fargo race. “Is this him?”

  He stood in the background, his face in profile, and wore a backward ball cap, bushy hair hanging on his shoulders. I peered closer. “Hard to tell without the man bun.”

  Another search came up with nothing.

  Barry gathered her team and left me instructions to send her my photos from today and any that might be the guy with the limp.

  Ben stayed back a minute to remind me to get my arm taken care of. “I’m going to get my truck and come back. You shouldn’t be alone.”

  Everything ached, including my head. “Not necessary. I’m going to Little’s in a while.”

  He touched my good arm. “Then stay with me in Branson tonight.”

  “Won’t you be working late?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  I watched from the doorway as Carpenter navigated the oversized SUV out of the driveway. Barry’s head was angled toward Ben in the back seat. Rock came up to stand by me.

  “Hungry, buddy?”

  I fed him and considered driving to Little’s for my own lunch before getting my arm checked. Instead, I sank down onto the sofa and pulled a comforter around me. Who was this kid and why was he out to get me? Brian or Farid I understood, or Weldon. But this was someone else.

  My stomach doing flips woke me two hours later. I washed my face and called to Rock. “Let’s go to Little’s.”

  His tail thumped on the hardwood.

  “Hold on.” He waited at the door while I went back to my bedroom.

  My P-238 SIG Sauer was in its case at the top of my closet—the clip in a separate slot in the cushioning. I disliked handling guns and couldn’t imagine pointing one at a human, but wouldn’t hesitate to defend myself against an armed drone hell-bent on obliterating me.

  With the weapon close by in my glove compartment and one eye on the sky, I drove to Little’s, conscious of how easy it would be to trace me through my car’s GPS.

  The aroma of fresh coffee greeted me. It was quiet but for a few business people taking their afternoon break. Little came out of the kitchen drying his hands on the towel at his waist. “I almost called you but hoped you might be napping. You’ve looked tired lately.”

  “So I hear.”

  “Have you eaten?”

  My appetite was off, probably from last night’s attack. “Not recently. Nothing heavy if you don’t mind.”

  He did his owl scowl. “I don’t make heavy food.” Arms crossed, he peered at me, made his assessment and headed to the kitchen. “You need a green smoothie. Almond milk, raspberries, banana, spinach, the works.”

  At first I’d balked at drinking his creations, sure they’d taste like medicine, but they were delicious and he made endless variations. My brother the food magician.

  I poured myself a cup of coffee and sat at the counter aware of a difference in the atmosphere with no Lars chatting with the customers. I intended to tell Little about the drone but he had enough to worry about right now with Lars and Chloe. I’d tell him later.

  He brought the smoothie and sat with me while I drank it. My stomach uttered happy gurgles for sending it the creamy liquid loaded with healthy nutrients. If stomachs purred, that’s what was happening. His head tilted toward my abdomen as if it was sending him a coded message.

  I asked, “Have you heard anything from Chloe?”

  Appearing tired himself, Little leaned on his elbows. “She won’t tell me what it is, but something’s on her mind.”

  “I’ll see if she’ll talk to me.” I slurped up the last of the smoothie, shoved my sore arm into my jacket, flinching at the tug of pain. “Got to run, I need to replace my phone.” Oops, that slipped out.

  “What happened to your old one?”

  The image of my pulverized phone sent a jolt up my spine. “I always like to have an extra just in case. Then I’ll check on Bella.”

  From past experience of having had my phones shot, stomped on or thrown in the lake by adversaries, I always kept a backup loaded with my data. Now I needed a new backup. Although, I wasn’t that comfortable carrying a phone now.

  Little filled a bag with ginger cookies from the bakery display. “For Bella.”

  *

  In Branson, I waited for half an hour to be seen. Of course, it had to be Nurse Cranky. She brought her face close to inspect the wound. “How did this happen?”

  “I was running and got scratched by a branch.”

  “I’d say a bullet took a bite out of your arm.”

  Her cleaning process was much more painful than my own ministrations last night. She asked me to wait while she called the doctor.

  “Really, Connie, he doesn’t need to see it.”

  “It’s the law. We have to report gunshot and knife wounds. There will be paperwork.” A slight purse of her lips betrayed her annoyance at the inconvenience my injury was causing.

  Dr. Fromm walked in a minute later and the two of them loomed over me, identical round glasses perched low on their noses. This time I told the truth. “A weaponized drone attacked me.”

  Their eyes met above the glasses as if to say there goes Britt with her tall tales again. Dr. Fromm marked the chart, wrote a prescription and said, “Schedule a physical at the desk. And blood work.”

  “Why? I’m healthy.”

  “You don’t look healthy and I don’t know why, that’s why I want to do a physical.” He scribbled something on his pad, handed it to me and walked out, talking over his shoulder. “Connie, talk to her.”

  “It’s unnecessary, I’m fit and strong.”

  “Do what doctor says.” She bandaged my wound and zapped me with an antibiotic, probably out of spite.

  She stopped at the door, her face softer. “How are your hands?”

  I’d once been vain about my long, tapering fingers but now they were mottled in patches and a thin scar ran from my right pinky to my wrist. Instead of hiding them now, I respected my hands as if they were battle-scarred soldiers who’d returned from war. Grateful they could still take photos, hold a fork, pull on a jacket, I held them out. “Not as smooth as they used to be, but functional, thanks to you.” I owed her that.

  She reminded me to pick up the medicine and check back to make sure there was no infection. “Don’t forget to schedule that physical and the blood tests.” She was a throwback, an old-school nurse. She didn’t wear the cap or traditional uniform, but her scrubs were blindingly white and crisp.

  *

  After a quick stop for another phone, I headed to The Pines.

  Bella snored gently, the television above her head set to CNN as usual. I lowered the volume with the remote on her stand and set the bag of cookies next to it. It felt like an invasion of privacy to stare at a sleeping person, but Bella seemed fragile lying there. All of us would be dim
inished without Bella, the information hub of Spirit Lake. I hoped she’d be back in her rocker by the window soon, fully recovered and feisty as ever. Even more upsetting, her helmet of sprayed curls had not withstood the recent events. One side stood straight up. I started to fix it, but her eyes blinked open. I snatched my hand back and pointed to the bag of cookies. “From Little.”

  She perked up. “I smell ginger. Tell Little thank you.” She groped for her water. I handed it to her and waited while she sipped.

  “Bella, you said stumbling on a rock on the back porch between the duplexes caused you to fall and break your hip. Do you think it wasn’t an accident?”

  “Two falls caused by a rock. You tell me.” She put a cookie in her mouth and snapped off a corner.

  Chapter 18

  Dr. Fromm’s comment that I wasn’t healthy rankled. I stood in the doorway to my workout room. When had my daily fitness routine stopped? Religious about my workouts, I couldn’t remember there ever being a gap. I brushed away the dust on my kettlebell and did a set of one-armed swings. Next, I tested the pull-up bar in the door frame but it hurt my arm. The jump rope hanging next to it wasn’t an option either, my insides were already bouncing up and down. I dropped to the mat to do sit-ups—also not working—then flopped on my back and lay there perplexed. I was sleeping through the night, but never woke refreshed. Maybe a physical wasn’t such a bad idea.

  Rock’s bark took me to the window. Henry’s truck idled outside; Edgar rode shotgun. Rock beat me to the truck, his tail wagging. I leaned in. “Hi guys. Would you like to come in for coffee?” I wanted to ask what brought them to my home for the first time since I’d known them, but stuck to protocol: offer coffee, chat about this and that and then the old guy would say something that made no sense until later, after I needed it. It was good to see them.

  Henry said, “Thank you. Grandfather wanted to take a drive today and visit you.”

  He helped Edgar from the truck and we all gathered in my living room. Henry took up a good portion of the sofa, I seated Edgar in my swivel chair in the corner, the best vantage point to see the lake, then remembered he only saw things up close. He sensed everything else.