Blow Up on Murder

by Linda Townsdin

  “I understand why you didn’t want to say anything about Jenna, but the best way to help your sister is to tell these people every name you know, and answer their questions to the best of your ability. Hold nothing back and they might be able to find her.”

  “Jenna’s all I care about. I don’t care what they do to me.” He swallowed. “I didn’t bomb the building but they won’t believe me. I was supposed to, but someone else did it.”

  I squeezed his shoulder. “Just tell them the truth. They’ll find out anyway.”

  He grabbed my hand. “Don’t let my mom and dad in here.”

  Barry waited outside the door. Everyone in the headquarters office stopped talking and stared at me. I whispered to Barry. “Farid has his sister. He said they’d kill her if he talked.”

  “Why his sister?”

  “Jenna had already been contacted by them and she wanted to go with Brian. He was horrified by that and tried to cut off contact with Farid. That’s what we witnessed in the parking lot. Farid already had her but Brian didn’t know.”

  Barry’s eyes narrowed to slits. “You knew about the sister.”

  “I didn’t know she’d been taken.”

  “I’ll ask you later when you learned about her and why you didn’t tell us.”

  “Brian doesn’t want his parents in there.”

  Barry signaled the two men who’d been in the room with Brian. The three went back inside.

  I waited in a chair across from Carpenter’s desk, unwilling to sit next to Brian’s parents across the room and listen to his dad ranting about his reputation. Carpenter threw a couple of questioning looks my way and eventually blurted it out. “Do you have the flu?”

  Forcing myself to sit up straight, I said, “You wouldn’t happen to have some water, would you? I can’t seem to get enough lately.”

  He handed a bottle to me from his desk drawer.

  In ten minutes, Barry came out and beckoned to Carpenter. “We’ve got people at the Branson and Minneapolis airports, but Farid’s people could hold her in the area indefinitely. They might not know we have him.”

  She held her phone to her ear and spoke to someone. “Brian said he was supposed to set off that Branson bomb, but someone else did it. He said Farid wasn’t expecting that so there’s a loose cannon element. Find Farid now.”

  Carpenter said, “We need to get Britt home.”

  “Take her, then join the hunt.”

  I said, “You were going to fill me in about something. Was this a lone wolf terror attack or not?”

  She went back into the room with Brian.

  “You’re welcome,” I said to the closed door.

  Carpenter and I passed the Roerdens, still sitting in chairs by the door. Mr. Roerden jumped up to block me. “Something’s happened. What’s going on? I have the right to know.”

  Carpenter edged in front of me. “They’re still talking with your son. You’ll be informed as soon as possible. Please be patient a while longer.”

  He stepped back and we left. Mrs. Roerden hadn’t changed position.

  *

  Carpenter, equally as close-mouthed as Barry, dropped me at home. Ben was out of pocket trying to find Farid, but I left a message for him to call and went to bed. In the morning, I’d go to the doctor.

  I was still in bed when the phone rang the next morning. Squinting in the sunshine leaking through the blinds, I managed to answer it on the third ring. Calm under most circumstances, Ben’s words were rushed as if he’d just run a race. “I can’t talk long but wanted to let you know we got Farid. Brian was only one small part of an ISIS cell recruiting kids to set explosives at several colleges in the northern region.”

  That explained Barry acting like a tightly wound spring. I said, “Brian said someone else sent the drone into the communications building.”

  “True, he hasn’t admitted that, but a single shooter using a weaponized drone to blow up a classroom building is part of their plan. These American kids have not been brainwashed enough to detonate themselves, but they’re more than willing to kill in the name of ISIS as long as they can do so remotely. The remote-controlled drones are right in their wheelhouse. We’ve got to shut this down before more lives are lost. BCA, FBI, Homeland Security and local law enforcement have fanned out all across colleges in the upper part of the state. Once the ISIS recruiters know we have Brian, they might move fast to cause more destruction, or leave.”

  “What are you doing about Jenna?”

  “Still working on locating her. They might have already taken her across the border.”

  He was talking about the Canadian border, a conduit for smuggling guns, humans, drugs, pharmaceuticals and more between the U.S. and Canada.

  Ben responded to muffled voices in the background and then said to me, “I have to go. I love you.”

  My heart skittered. The phone was dead by the time I spit out “I love you, too.” Ben’s declaration threw all other thoughts out of my head. It was unexpected for him to say those words when he was focused on a case.

  I slumped back against the pillow. The bad news was that they hadn’t found Jenna. I should have paid more attention to Brian and Jenna instead of running around in circles trying to connect a crazy old man to the campus bombing, and pathetically hounding a woman for her herbal tea because I was terrified the nightmares would end my career. And all the while a terrorist effort was underway in my own backyard.

  Robyn Barry’s professionalism reminded me how out of my league she was and how paltry my own efforts had been, maybe even slowing them down. I’d gotten lost in my own problems. Angered at my weakness, I resolved to deal with my problem. I didn’t need Emmaline. Did it even matter that she left Spirit Lake? When compared with what was happening on our campuses, my problems were not even on the grid. But I felt like shit. I had to get checked out.

  Just then Dr. Fromm’s office called, interrupting my latest bout of self-flagellation. “The doctor wants to see you right away. It’s urgent.”

  I sat up straight. “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t have that information, I’m at the desk. He said no appointment necessary but he wants to see you immediately.”

  With that, my newfound inner strength drained away and left me whimpering like a pup. He must have gotten the blood tests back.

  I jumped out of bed, my legs buckled and I sprawled face down on the hardwood. My phone skittered across the room. Rock nudged my arm, ran back and forth and then took off.

  Horrified that my legs—my strongest physical asset—had failed me and convinced that some deadly disease was decimating my body, I lay there, my mind running through every malady known to humankind. When I’d run out of horrible scenarios, I used the bed to leverage myself up from the floor and made my way to the kitchen.

  Gulping glass after glass of water helped. I needed to get to the doctor, but had to check one thing first. I shuffled the few steps to the laundry room and unlocked my secret office.

  Sebastian had contacted me.

  –Got a hit. Your lady’s name is not Emmaline Moreau. It’s Sarah Tucker. She was brought up on charges a few years ago on suspicion of poisoning, but got off in court. It’s all I’ve had time to check, but I’ll dig more when I can. She owns a home in Minneapolis.

  He listed the address and said he had no info on Ethan or Martin so far. Stuck on the word “poisoning,” I managed to recover and type my thanks.

  He responded as I sat there.

  –I’ll be out of reach for a while. High-profile project.

  –You wouldn’t be working with the FBI and BCA at Branson would you?

  –Not at liberty to talk about my projects.

  I knew that but always asked anyway. I thanked him again and signed off.

  Once again I had to choose between doing the smart thing or follow my gut. Any reasonable person would head to Branson and see the doctor, but they’d likely put me in a hospital bed and I might never find out why Emmaline had poisoned me. It had
crossed my mind, but I’d discarded the idea. Why would she? I had to find out before she completely disappeared.

  I scrawled her Minneapolis address on a notepad and locked the secret office. The drive would take nearly four hours. Rock hadn’t returned, but there was food in his bowl. He’d visit Knute if he was bored. I pulled on jeans, T-shirt, leather jacket and boots, and retrieved my phone from under the night table.

  Loaded down with water bottles and camera equipment, I slid into the SUV. Something soft banged into my forehead. I tugged down a rawhide pouch hanging from my visor. A tag read, Swallow contents now. You will feel nauseated, then you will be strong again. Edgar.

  I shook three strange smelling tablets that resembled compressed sawdust into my palm. A sense of relief flooded over me, although I wasn’t in a hurry to swallow anything that would make me throw up. Edgar must not be angry if he sent something to help me. I draped the cord around my neck and tucked the pouch under my T-shirt. If I got worse, these might help.

  As I veered onto the Spirit Lake Loop, Little’s jeep barreled around the corner and nearly skidded into me. I slammed on the brakes.

  He jumped out with Rock behind him. “Your pooch sneaked into the restaurant and tried to pull me to the door by my apron strings. I finally got it that something was wrong, called your phone and got no answer. I worried that you were hurt.”

  He stopped. “I see you’re okay, although you look terrible.”

  Rock’s forepaws rested on my window. I rubbed his head. “I’m fine, buddy. Stay with Little.”

  I thought fast. “Here’s what must have upset Rock. I got tangled in the sheets and fell out of bed and he was gone when I got up. I went to the laundry room. You know how loud that washer is. That must be when you called.” Little didn’t know about the secret office.

  His forehead furrowed, but he didn’t challenge my story. “Where are you going?”

  Now I had a problem. I didn’t want Little to worry, but if I lied and he found out about it, there would go the trust. I compromised. “Emmaline has a place near Minneapolis. I’m going to find out why she left in such a hurry.”

  He stuck his head through the open SUV window. “That’s a long drive. Your face is flushed. Do you have a fever?” He reached out to touch my forehead but I ducked.

  “At least come to the restaurant and let me make you a smoothie.”

  “Thanks, but no time.” I pulled away with a wave.

  That could have gone better, but at least now he wouldn’t worry too much. I rounded a corner heading for the highway when barking caught my attention. I checked the rear view mirror. Rock was running behind the SUV. I pulled over and let him in, shooting him a bad dog stare.

  I called Little. “Rock’s with me. The little bugger chased me down.” I told him Emmaline’s address just in case something happened and I couldn’t get Rock home again. Then brushed that thought away.

  Little said, “You shouldn’t be driving.”

  “I’ll be home by dinnertime. Make something special.” The food challenge might distract him.

  He yelled into the phone. “What are you trying to prove? We all know you’re a badass, but sometimes even superwoman gets the flu.” He made a grumpy sound like a cross between throat clearing and the word idiot and hung up.

  He didn’t get it. I’d missed something and if Emmaline slipped away, I’d never know for sure if she poisoned me or why. I barreled south, wiping perspiration from my face and sipping water. Earsplitting electronic rave music kept me irritated enough not to nod off. Rock moved to the back and covered his ears. Waves of pain gripped my gut at intervals. That and my suspicious thoughts kept me awake as well. The BCA had all but eliminated Weldon as a suspect, and I didn’t believe Brian bombed the college. How closely had the BCA looked at Hunter Anderson? He was on the spot when both blasts occurred but didn’t get hurt in either one due to lucky timing. He’d left college right after the blast. And he was a bully in high school.

  *

  It was nearing noon when I rolled down a tree-lined road that ended in a landscaped circular drive. I double-checked the address on my note. Unless I’d written it down wrong, this was Emmaline’s, aka Sarah’s, address, but that didn’t make sense. I was staring at a mini-mansion. Why had she been living in a run-down rental on an unused county road near Spirit Lake? The only thing the two places had in common was that both were isolated.

  No car in the driveway. My head fell back against the headrest. I’d driven all this way for nothing.

  Craning to see where the driveway led, I saw a detached three-car garage behind the home. I still couldn’t imagine Emmaline lived here, but if someone was home they might know where she was.

  I stepped down from the car. My legs wobbled but kept me upright. Rock hopped from the SUV. I had a bad feeling. To be sure Rock would be okay if something happened to me, I took a photo of him and the address on the mailbox and sent it to Ben. I hooked my camera strap around my neck—sometimes I wore it like a shield—and walked to the house.

  The door opened before my knuckle made contact. The woman in front of me bore little resemblance to the fortune teller. No long black skirt, this woman wore a cashmere sweater and designer jeans. Pulled back into a sleek clip, her bushy mane looked like a fox’s tail. Even her lack of eyebrows was more chic than crazy in this environment.

  Emmaline’s lips parted in a mean twitch. “Come in, my dear. I’ve been waiting for you.”

  A knife-edge of fear slipped between my ribs but, sick or not, I was a foot taller and twenty years younger than the so-called psychic. I stepped across the threshold.

  Chapter 22

  I gaped at the elegant foyer—the space empty but for a giant flower arrangement on a footed antique table—trying to reconcile this luxury with the sale of herbs and oils to a few townspeople. “I’m supposed to believe you knew I was coming?”

  Emmaline waved away my skepticism. “You assume I’m a fake like they all do at first. A charlatan out to get their money.”

  It was my turn for the lip twitch. “You’re not in it for the money?”

  “Of course I am, but I do have the gift. Once clients understand I can see their weaknesses and deepest secrets, I can get them to give me anything I want.” Her lips formed a self-satisfied smirk. “Fear is what I sell first, and then I sell the cure.”

  Desire for the tea made me want to grab her scrawny neck and shake. “Then they get addicted to your remedies.”

  She peered up at me, cunning, sure. “They shun me but they need me. Like you.” She moved toward the home’s interior. “Won’t you join me in the kitchen? We’ll have tea.”

  I spoke to her back. “Clear something up for me. What’s with the eyebrows, or lack of them?”

  Her claw-like hand swept up to her brow. “Not all my experiments with herb pairings succeed on the first attempt.”

  I followed her across gleaming marble tiles into a dim living room. Heavy silk drapes hung from the windows, pooling in rich folds onto the polished wood floor. The room belonged in a museum. I expected to see a tasseled purple cord to keep visitors from getting too near the furniture. The rebel in me wanted to plunk down on a spindly Victorian chair and prop my boots on the coffee table.

  In the kitchen, I took in the designer countertops, appliances and tiled floor, French Country inspired I’d guess. “You must have made a killing selling those herbs in Spirit Lake.”

  She pulled a chair away from a round table nestled into a breakfast nook. “A little wobbly dear? Why don’t you sit?”

  Tired of the game, I said, “Why did you try to poison me and what was in that tea? Narcotics?”

  Her index finger pointed at the Four of Swords in a deck of tarot cards fanned out on the table. A knight lay on top of a coffin, four swords pointed at his prone body. “That’s your card.” The caption read, Bad News.

  I brushed the deck aside. “What did I do to you?”

  “You were a meddler. I knew you’d be trouble as soon a
s you got so curious about the barn. Nothing I couldn’t handle with the poisoned tea. But when you saw my nephew in the upstairs window and nosed around the barn that night, we decided to take immediate action.”

  “You have a nephew?”

  Her lips tightened. “I took Derek on after his mother—my sister—and her husband died in a car crash. Derek was hurt.”

  Waves of stomach pain slowed my ability to respond. I spoke through a dull throbbing at the back of my head, attempting to connect the threads—the shape at Emmaline’s window, her activities in the barn, and Emmaline’s relationship with Violet. I waved my arm to take in her opulent home. “You’ve clearly got something else going on. Why did you care so much about selling herbs to Violet?”

  “Spirit Lake was good cover and Violet was a soft touch. She fell all over herself to promote me, help me fit in.”

  “Cover for what? What were you doing in the barn?”

  “Initially, I needed money to pay for Derek’s surgeries so I started selling poisons on the dark web.”

  “You made poisons in the barn?”

  “I’m giving you background, dear. No, I wasn’t making poisons in the barn. I’ve almost completely stopped doing that.” She studied the bubbling pot on the stove. “Derek is a mechanical prodigy. He’d always had behavior issues, but after the crash and surgeries he couldn’t control his anger. I needed to keep him busy and isolated.”

  My muddled mind remembered the barn noises, the bright lighting. “A big wolf told me you were up to no good in that barn.”

  She moved to the stove. “We saw a dark figure on the surveillance cameras and figured it had to be you. Derek ran back when he saw the wolf.”

  So that was her nephew with his wavy hair flying behind him. In the dark, I’d assumed it was Emmaline. “I’ll ask you again. What were you two doing out there—to keep him busy?”

  She threw a furious look at me. “You scared me that day in the salon when Violet said you were investigating someone using drones.”