Blow Up on Murder

by Linda Townsdin

  I whipped around to face her. “What do you know about drones?” The room was stifling or maybe Little was right and I had a fever. I lifted the hair from my damp hairline.

  She said, “Let me take your jacket.”

  I tossed it on a chair. She hung it on the chair back, then pointed toward a teapot on a center island. “You look like you could use a cup of tea. Your special brew?” She mocked.

  I wanted nothing more than a cup of that tea. “I’d like to use your bathroom.” Spasms nearly doubled me over as I walked down the hall.

  When I returned, unsure if my legs would support me if I continued standing, I sat. “Tell me about drones.”

  She turned up the flame under a black pot of simmering liquid and took in every aspect of me as if sizing me up as a tasty morsel. “That poison has been doing its job. You’re skin and bones, your eyes are glassy and you can’t understand a word I’m saying, can you dear? I guess there’s no harm in telling you, you don’t have long to live.”

  That’s where she was wrong.

  “Derek makes weaponized drones and has been for years. He perfected the weaponized drone kits, and I sell them on the dark web to anyone who wants them for the right price. I’d been peddling my poisons on it for years to people who prefer a subtle murder. But that’s nothing compared to what we make on a weaponized drone kit.” She moved behind me, making me twist to follow her.

  “Our latest client had special needs and was in a hurry. That’s why we moved to Spirit Lake and found that barn for Derek to build them. To the locals I was the fortune teller they were embarrassed to admit they knew, and it was a good cover. That and the herbs made me appear harmless.” She showed a row of tiny teeth. “But as you can see my dear, I’m anything but harmless.”

  She tossed something into the steaming pot that caused it to gurgle. “Unfortunately, Derek’s temper got the best of him. That college explosion drew too much attention, and it was all because he wanted revenge.” As if she was talking about some harmless prank.

  “Your nephew bombed the college?”

  “He was there to figure out timing, the best location to release the drone and determine how much explosive to use. He was supposed to do a test run, not detonate it. We just build and sell them.”

  “Why did he do it then?”

  “He saw Hunter, Jeremy and Chloe at the top of the steps and lost his temper.”

  Aching as if stretched by a medieval torture rack, I sank back, recalling Ben’s enthusiasm about discovering the terrorist plot. Dread transformed my overheated body to ice. Was she providing weaponized drones to terrorists targeting the campuses? I needed to talk to Ben right away. Where was my phone? I fought to refocus. “Do terrorists buy the drones from you?”

  “I told you I sell to anyone if the price is right.”

  “You’re helping ISIS try to destroy our country?”

  She sniffed. “Derek and I are our own country. Nothing matters but our survival. I wish my nephew had gotten rid of you on the Paul Bunyan Trail, but that didn’t work.”

  I blinked. “Does your nephew walk with a limp?”

  “People shouldn’t underestimate him because of it.”

  I began to make sense of Emmaline’s crazy talk. Chloe had pointed out a kid with a limp in Medicine Falls High School that Hunter bullied. “Why did he target Jeremy, Hunter and Chloe?”

  “He hated all three of them. Jeremy was the smart one, but Derek was smarter. Everyone liked sweet Jeremy—they elected him class president. Derek ran but no one voted for him. And Derek had a crush on Chloe. She was nice to him, but she was dating Hunter. He really hated Hunter.”

  Emmaline leaned against the island. “Derek’s obsession with exploding drones seemed like a harmless outlet for his anger when he was younger, but he had a specific agenda. The first time my nephew tried to get Hunter was when Hunter was duck hunting on Agate Lake. Derek wasn’t that accurate with his drones yet and he ended up blowing up a family of ducks, missing Hunter entirely. Hunter ran away and told the kids at school about nearly getting shot by a duck hunter.”

  She poured tea into a dainty porcelain cup sitting on a saucer. “I took Derek out of high school after that. He’d brought us unwelcome attention from his violent acts in a number of towns. That’s why we moved so often. Then, when he went after Hunter at Summer Fest and missed again, we left Medicine Falls, came down to Minneapolis, I bought this place and we got our weaponized drone business up and running.” Her lips parted in a predatory smile. “Did you get all that dear? Sure you don’t want to lie down?”

  My slow brain was still catching up. Derek was Ethan Johnson in Chloe’s yearbook and Martin Birch on the trail with his bow, and later he attempted to kill me with a drone.

  Emmaline brought her cup to the table, sat across from me and lifted it to her lips. She blew on the liquid, sending its fragrant aroma my direction, further scattering my thoughts. Did the woman use similar smelling herbs as in the concoction that addicted me? She noticed me watching her sip the tea and sent me a knowing look. “Want some?”

  Her hand darted to the table and she held up a tarot card with a tower at the center. She said, “It’s in the cards. Ruin, affliction, disaster and so on.”

  The illustration was of people falling from the tower, the top of it blown off, flames at the windows, dark smoke billowing.

  Her lips pursed as if she was dealing with a naughty child. “No one bothered us until you had to start poking around.” The tic of her fingertip against the well-worn card made the hairs stand up at the back of my head. “So sad, dear. So much calamity caused by your interference, and I’ve had to weaken the influence of that crazy old sorcerer, Edgar.”

  “Next you’re going to say you put a spell on him, right?”

  “He’d be in worse shape than you if I hadn’t been distracted by Derek’s antics.”

  My hands clenched into fists and the familiar hotspot between my brows throbbed. “You’d better not hurt anyone I love or I’ll fillet you and throw you in that pot.”

  She laughed in my face. “Soon that dark-eyed BCA beauty will have your forest ranger all to herself.”

  I swiped the cards off the table and leaned in, inches from her face. “Shut up, you hag.” Dying in this crazy woman’s house while her nephew killed Hunter, and she provided more drones to suggestible college students to explode bombs in the name of jihad wasn’t in the cards. I had to call Ben, but needed to find out what she’d poisoned me with. I tried to get up, doubled over and gasped, “What was in the tea? I haven’t had any in two days.”

  She flicked her wrist in an offhand gesture. “I’m a traditionalist, no need to use the trendy poisons. I grew the deadly Nicotiana plant in the woods behind the Pearsons’ place. Pretty blood red flowers and it’s more lethal than strychnine or arsenic.”

  I wanted to knock her to the ground but faked appearing impressed to keep her going. Murderers were predictable. Every one I’d known couldn’t wait to brag about their expertise. The downside was that they intended to kill me to keep me from alerting law enforcement.

  She gestured toward a cluster of tins on the counter. “Then high doses of melatonin to sleep and a pinch of morphine to addict you to the tea so you’d take it long enough to kill you. That made getting the tea your highest priority or you might have figured out everything sooner.”

  A hiss of steam from the pot caught her attention. She checked her watch. “Derek won’t stop until Hunter is dead, and I need him to focus on our pending drone order.” She snarled. “Because of you, I have to find a new location. My reputation is at stake. Who knows what those people will do if I don’t make their deadline?”

  “Where is he?”

  “I told you, he’s gone after Hunter. He wasn’t supposed to leave without me, but he took the Porsche just before you arrived.”

  That explained the tire tracks in the Pearson barn. Was the Porsche hidden in it the entire time, the ratty VW only used for cover? I asked, “How did Dere
k know where to find Hunter?”

  Her miniature frame drew up. “If Derek used your phone to attack you with a drone, he was certainly smart enough to check Hunter’s social media to find his location. Hunter used it to let his friends know he’d taken the rest of the quarter off.”

  Alternately freezing and steaming like an overheated engine, I wiped a trickle of sweat from my face. “Your nephew will never get a drone in the mall.” The largest mall in the world was equipped to deal with terrorist attacks; stopping a lone kid with a vendetta was a simple task.

  “Drones aren’t the only weapons in his arsenal.” She clapped her hands together. “I’m so glad you showed up. I was ready to call Uber. He left that stupid motorcycle knowing I’d never get on it.”

  I brought myself upright, my legs in a wide stance for balance. “Give me the antidote to the poison.”

  She showed me the familiar sly upward curve of her mouth. “There isn’t one. I wouldn’t have told you everything if there was the slightest chance you’d live.”

  “Don’t be so sure.” Emmaline’s nephew was her weak spot and I went for it. “The mall has loads of security. The next time you hear from your nephew it will be his one phone call from jail, or the morgue asking you to identify his body.”

  “I need to go now.” Something like anguish darkened her face. “He’s all I have. It’s always been the two of us against the world.”

  I fought the dizziness. “I won’t let you leave.”

  She tossed her head back and let out a demented cackle. “You are a big girl and there’s an element of unreliability when using poison plants, but make no mistake, you will die soon.” She tapped her watch, frustrated I was taking so long to succumb. “I don’t have time to wait. He doesn’t think before he acts.”

  I attempted to grab her. She twirled away, threw a palm-full of something into the steaming pot and ran from the room. A burst of flame shot from the stove. Sparks, gunshots and black smoke filled the kitchen. I dove under the table. Tarot cards blew everywhere. One drifted past me—a hand holding a wand sticking out from a dark cloud. The word at the bottom of the card was Calamities. I rocked back and forth drifting into the marketplace in Nigeria.

  The young girl walks toward me. My voice echoes. “Run, everyone, run!” Everything fades to darkness. The camera clicks until Jon takes it from me and walks me away from the scene. He tells someone, “She’s in shock.”

  I wanted only to sleep but Rock’s bark snapped me back. How did he get in? A car accelerated on the gravel outside. Acrid smoke burned my eyes and I couldn’t see, but the popping sounds had stopped. My camera still hung from the strap on my neck. I tried to push myself up but was too weak and fell onto my side, defeated, desiring nothing more than to drift away.

  What I did made no difference anyway. What if none of it had been worth it, putting my life on the line? I’d witnessed too much death and destruction, too many innocent lives destroyed. Nothing had changed. So many young kids like Brian and his sister were being caught in a web and they had no idea what they were about to do to themselves. There was nothing I could do. Ben was right, I had PTSD and now I was half-dead and cowering under a table.

  Rock tugged at my camera strap and I pushed his muzzle away. “Get away, you pest. Don’t you get it? I can’t do this anymore.” I swiped at him, he shied away, came back and pulled again. Had he turned on me too? Something snapped. A broken cord with a leather bag on it lay in front of me. Edgar’s pouch. I propped myself up on an elbow. The tag had said it would make me sick and then strong. I pushed it away.

  Hunter was a victim just like the others and he might die unless Derek was stopped. I opened the pouch and the pungent smell brought me fully into the present. I needed my strength back.

  At the sink, I swallowed the three pellets with a glass of water, nearly gagging on the odor, then patted Rock’s head. “You’re a pain in the neck.”

  A volcano started to erupt and I barely made it to the bathroom before finding out what Edgar meant by sick. The room spun, I held my hair away from my face and dropped to my knees in front of the toilet. Rock whined softly.

  When completely purged, I splashed water on my face from the sink faucet and slurped all I could hold. I glared at Rock. “Happy?”

  Not offended, he followed me to the kitchen. The smoke had cleared. I’d expected rubble, but everything was intact including the pot. Whatever she’d tossed into the kettle created flames, smoke and earsplitting noises that sounded and smelled like a real explosion but hadn’t actually destroyed anything. The stove, counter and floor were soaked in a stinky colorless slime.

  I was upset for letting fear get to me, but the important step now was to get help before Derek hurt more people. Time slowed when I was under the table, but I’d only lost fifteen minutes according to the microwave’s digital clock.

  My jacket hung from the back of a chair. I scrambled for my phone. It wasn’t there. I fumbled through all the pockets and came up empty. She’d taken my keys too. The car I heard leaving was my own.

  A check through the house unearthed no landline. I scooped up a white rectangle flapping beneath my boot. A tarot card titled Misfortune was stuck to it—the Three of Swords, illustrated with a knight stabbed in the back. The text said “deceit and mental confusion.” I ripped it into confetti and weaved out the door as it fluttered to the floor. Didn’t Emmaline say there was a motorcycle?

  *

  The cavernous three-car garage was nearly empty. In a far corner a tarp covered a bike-sized object. I pulled it away to reveal a shiny Harley Low Rider S, all black, powerful and badass. Definitely a ride a young male would lust after, but he wouldn’t have been able to carry his drones or bow. Derek needed a car for that.

  I looked for a helmet, remembered this was Minnesota and wheeled the Harley into the drive. Rock tried to jump on the seat.

  “Wait. I’ll come back for you.” He paced, throwing baleful looks at me.

  The mall was twenty minutes away. I’d likely be too late but I had to try. I threw a leg over the Harley and roared toward Minneapolis. Keeping the motorcycle upright required all my strength and concentration. Edgar’s pellets hadn’t helped and making it to the mall was a long shot. I’d pull into the first available place to call mall security.

  Chapter 23

  Thankful for my experience with scooters and motorcycles—a quick way to maneuver through crowded streets on assignment in foreign countries—I headed toward the mall. At one point, a car honked and I swerved, almost tipping over, regained control and merged into the stream of traffic.

  Five minutes later, a wave of weakness hit me and the volcano bubbled up. I eased to the shoulder to throw up.

  The second time it happened, a car pulled in behind me and a man in a suit hurried over. “Do you need help?”

  I thanked the kind stranger for stopping. “May I please use your phone?” I flashed my StarTrib ID. “It’s an emergency.”

  He tugged at the tie snug at his throat, likely unsure if he wanted to be involved after all. I tried for a reassuring smile. He handed his phone to me and stepped back.

  Siri kindly provided the Sports World number. It took a couple of tries to get my stiff fingers to work—fifty-five degrees wasn’t cold unless you were on a motorcycle.

  A squeaky voice said, “Sports World.”

  I asked to speak to Hunter.

  “He’s with a customer. Can I help you?”

  “It’s a personal call.”

  “We don’t allow personal calls.”

  “It’s an emergency!”

  He hung up. I held up a hand to the man waiting for his phone and tried again. The same person answered.

  “I’d like to speak to the store manager.”

  “I’m Aaron Willits, store manager. How can I help you?”

  “Tell Hunter he’s in danger and to get out of the store now!”

  “Who is this?”

  “My name is Britt Johansson. I work for the StarTribune.
”

  “This sounds like a prank call to me.” He hung up again.

  I growled at the phone. The stranger backed away. I tried to calm down. “Please, just one more call.”

  He peeked at his watch, no doubt sorry he’d stopped to help.

  I called mall security but instead of listening, the dispatcher said, “We take threats very seriously here at the Mall of America, but you must understand we also get a lot of false calls.” She asked questions and said she’d need confirmation and phone numbers, but there wasn’t time. I broke in. “Get your people to Sports World and protect an employee named Hunter Anderson. Someone wants to kill him with a weaponized drone.”

  The dispatcher assured me drones weren’t allowed in the mall. I ranted at the phone again.

  Wary, and no longer patient, the man held out his hand. “I’m going to be late for my conference. May I have my phone?”

  “I’m not having much luck. Just one second.”

  He protested but I was already leaving a message for Ben. Mall security would take notice if it came from law enforcement. I should have called him first, but wasn’t thinking clearly. I told Ben where I was headed and asked him to alert mall security and police. An attempt on Hunter Anderson’s life was about to happen at Sports World. I added that Emmaline and her nephew, the kid with the limp, were involved with the terrorists the BCA was after. Then I told him to get Jeanie at the post office to tell him where Emmaline had been sending packages.

  I thanked the man and handed him his phone. He escaped to his car without a backward glance. I’d wasted precious time, probably for nothing. I threw a leg over the motorcycle and a jolt like lightning blasted through me, the Harley leapt forward spitting gravel in an arc behind it. Hair streaming behind, I thundered toward the mall like a Hells Angel on steroids. Edgar’s note said the pellets would make me sick then strong. The second phase was better.

  In ten minutes, the massive multi-colored logo spread across the building announced I’d arrived. With nearly one hundred acres of stores and entertainment, finding Sports World could take a while. I sped through the parking lot craning to find an entrance and cut off a car making a turn. The woman bumped into the curb and retaliated with an obscene gesture. The Harley jumped the sidewalk and I skidded to a stop at an entrance to the mall.