Dead End Road

by Lori Whitwam

  “Like I said, I had a feeling, but I had to be sure. Once I was here, all I had to do was watch him. He never took his eyes off you, and I could see it was driving him crazy he couldn’t somehow fix this.” Her mother reached over and gripped Abby’s hand. “And you, you leaned on him for support, which is not something you do. You’re too independent and hardheaded and much too cautious, which is why I might have gone slightly overboard.” A small wince hinted maybe she did understand she’d crossed a very definite line. “This was so out of character for you, rushing into something with somebody you just met. But there you were, letting this man take care of you.” She tipped her index finger under Abby’s chin, angling her face so she couldn’t avoid meeting her eyes. “If you’re too stubborn or frightened to trust your own instincts, you’re a fool, Abigail.”

  “You couldn’t know all that from talking to a few people and watching him hold my hand.” Abby said the words, but she suspected it was altogether possible.

  “I could, and I do.” Marilyn rose and began pacing, eerily mimicking her daughter’s earlier movements. “Then, of course, there’s Dilbert.”

  “Dilbert?” Abby thought her brain might have skipped a track or two.

  “Yes. Haven’t you noticed how Dilbert is with him? He follows Seth around, goes to him for reassurance, and he just met him too. I always say trust your dog. Bingo never liked David, you know.”

  Abby couldn’t believe her potential future could be decided based on a cantankerous old cocker spaniel’s instant dislike of her ex-husband. “He’s not mine.”

  “Dilbert or Seth?”

  “Both. Neither. I don’t know, and stop confusing me! Besides, it’s one day, Mom. How can I trust anything I feel this strongly, so quickly?” Her anger was fading, but unfortunately the tears threatened to return. Holy mood swings, Batman. She swallowed and took a few calming breaths.

  “Just because I’m your mother, and a widow, doesn’t mean I was never young and in love. When I met your father forty years ago, he told me before he took me home the first evening I’d be his wife. Of course, I lived with your grandparents, so he didn’t end up in my bed, but still…”

  “I didn’t know that,” Abby said quietly. “But how did you know he was right?”

  “I didn’t at first. I was like you. I didn’t think it could happen that way, and it scared the daylights out of me. But he didn’t give up, I got over being afraid, and it was the best thing I ever did.” Marilyn’s eyes misted with cherished memories.

  “People say things like that all the time, and they still end up going from one disaster to another. I don’t want any more disasters.” Abby felt so broken up after everything that happened, so damaged. She feared she was one last disaster away from shattering altogether.

  “What people, sweetie? The ones going from disaster to disaster aren’t thinking about anything, aren’t feeling anything. They’re just reacting. They’re so desperate for somebody, anybody, and that’s all that matters. But when is the last time you even thought about letting somebody share your life?” Marilyn plowed ahead, not waiting for an answer. “I’ll tell you when. Never. Not since David left. But Seth found you, and if you stop protesting everything you think you’d lose and think about what you’d gain, you’ll see I’m right.”

  Abby was stunned. “It’s a lot to think about.”

  “I know it is.”

  “Just yesterday, my life was rolling along, and I wasn’t unhappy with it. Now everything’s changed.” How was she supposed to make room for all this in her head?

  “You weren’t unhappy, sweetie, but were you happy?”

  Abby’s mind flashed back over the last few years. They were kind of…empty. “Probably not.”

  “Well, you think about it, but don’t let something special pass you by because you’re afraid. It’s the best advice I can give you.” Having said her piece, Marilyn rose, patted her daughter’s shoulder, and walked toward the road, tapping away on her cell phone. She never was one to linger and deal with the aftermath.

  For a moment, Abby sat, dazed, wondering what storm had just blown through. She went inside and found Seth on the couch. He took one look at her and was instantly at her side, holding her, and she breathed in his now-familiar scent. “You’ve been crying,” he said, stroking her hair.

  “Yeah, a little bit, but I’ll try not to booger up your shirt if you promise not to let go.” His arms tightened, and she stood there for a few minutes, absorbing his strength.

  “What can I do, darlin’?”

  Abby took a breath and looked up at him. “This is good.” She was surprised to find she could muster a small smile. “How’d it go in there?”

  “They’re bagging a bunch of stuff, but I have my boots, and we found some jewelry blown clear. Gotta love cheap, heavy sterling, I guess.”

  “Were they able to tell anything about what happened?”

  “Not a lot. It’ll take a few days in the lab. But they said it was some kind of pipe bomb with a timer, like Chief LeFevre suspected. We can talk more about this stuff in a while, okay? I’m still processing it all.” He kept his arm around her and guided them both back to the couch. “Ready to make a run for it yet? We could lock ourselves in your room.”

  “It wouldn’t stop Mom. Wouldn’t even slow her down.”

  “She is kind of a force of nature.”

  “So’s an avalanche.”

  The avalanche in question returned, still talking into her cell phone. “Don’t mind me. I want to see if Grace can bring ice. She’s down at the Readi-Mart getting some things.” She turned her attention back to the phone pressed to her ear. “No, Grace, no ice. You’ll need to bring some. See you soon.” She looked at the men who had edged from the kitchen to the dining area when faced with her purposeful approach. “You boys scoot. Grace will be here shortly, and she’ll need help bringing things in.”

  Knowing better than to argue, they scooted.

  Abby wished her mother would go back outside too, and leave her alone with Seth, but Marilyn had her own agenda. She sat on the other side of the sectional sofa and beamed at them. She beamed. Abby didn’t think that boded well.

  “So, Seth, how long do you plan to stay in Minnesota?”

  Gee, Mom, totally subtle.

  “We haven’t really had a chance to talk about it yet,” he said. Abby pinched the bridge of her nose. She wanted to warn him to look out for traps, but she had a sinking feeling her mother’s snares were laid for her, not the man sitting beside her.

  Seth continued. “I have to be back in Austin in a week, week and a half. Assuming nobody manages to blow me up before then.”

  Marilyn’s smile faltered, but only for an instant. “I’m sure they’ll figure out what this was all about. Awful. Just awful business.”

  “It’s a mess, that’s for sure. I keep thinking there’ll turn out to be some sort of mistake. But I guess it’s not likely.” Abby heard the pain lurking beneath the surface of his words. It was tearing him apart to consider the possibility one of his closest friends felt they had a reason to want him dead.

  “We’ll simply have to have faith things will work out. What I’m wondering, though, is what your plans are regarding Abby.”

  “Mother!” For the love of all sacred things, what was her insane parent doing? Did she think it was 1845, when a suitor was required to state his intentions to the family? She realized she’d lurched to her feet, and sat down again, rolling her eyes in Seth’s direction. “You do not have to answer.”

  “Actually, darlin’, I don’t mind.” He took her hand and addressed Marilyn. “My plan is to convince her we belong together.”

  Abby squeezed his hand. Hard. By the way the corner of his eye twitched, she thought she might have squeezed it almost hard enough. She hadn’t heard any crunching. How had Seth and her mother figured each other out and joined forces so quickly?

  Marilyn put one hand to her bird-bedecked chest and said, “Oh, sweetie, that’s wonderful.”r />
  Sweetie? Seth was “sweetie” already? This was worse than she thought. Not that she was opposed to the whole Abby-plus-Seth scenario, but she still had some thinking to do and felt as if she were being railroaded.

  “How does Abby feel?” Marilyn asked, continuing her clever tactics.

  “Well, Marilyn, it appears she has some reservations about it.”

  It must have been the cue her mother was waiting for, because she launched into a speech sounding as if she’d prepared it well in advance. “Don’t you dare let her get away with that. She’s had some setbacks in her life, and she’s afraid of doing anything to upset the balance she’s found. But if you don’t push her too hard, she’ll realize some things are worth the risk.” She folded her arms and smiled at him, before shifting her gaze to her daughter.

  Abby tried to make her eyes as laser-like as Seth’s had been when she ran over his guitar. Since her mother didn’t burst into flames, she guessed she’d fallen short. She had to marvel at the woman’s talent. She’d found a way to clue him in on Abby’s personality and fears, make sure he knew he had the Marilyn Delaney Seal of Approval, and to deliver another lecture to Abby at the same time. Manipulative, well-meaning, and efficient. The Maternal Trifecta.

  “Don’t worry. We’ll work it out,” Seth said.

  “I’m sure you will. But if she gets stubborn, you let me know.”

  “Mother! I am sitting right here,” Abby sputtered.

  “Yes, sweetie, I know. Oh, and you might want to do something with this.” She reached between the sofa cushions and plucked a scrap of pink fabric from its depths. Abby immediately recognized the skimpy top she’d been wearing the night before, and stuck in the couch this morning. Her mother had probably spotted it right away, and saved it for her grand finale. Beside her, Seth burst out laughing, which she was certain had been her mother’s intention.

  Abby lunged across the couch and snatched the shirt from her mother’s hand. Her face burning, she stomped off to her room and stuffed it in the hamper with an exasperated grunt. Once again on the couch—beside Seth, though she sort of wanted to kick him in the knee—she squinted and glared. Was she being childish? She considered it, and decided she didn’t care.

  “Abby, honestly,” said her mother. “Don’t be so sensitive. I’m sure Seth and I are going to get along fine.”

  “Darlin’, really, it’s okay. I grew up with a mom, a grandma, a whole passel of aunts, and an older sister. I know how it works.” Damn if he wasn’t still smiling.

  “Fine, fine, fine. But I must point out we have other things to worry about today. So can the two of you stop negotiating my dowry? Please?”

  “Of course, sweetie. Far be it from me to tell you what to do.”

  Abby knew this was as much of a concession as she would receive and prepared to change the subject. Weather. Weather was always an acceptable topic of conversation in Minnesota.

  Abby was spared a discussion of relative humidity when the door opened and Sammy entered, lugging an oversize cooler. More coolers followed, toted by Karl and Frank. Finally, Grace and Marnie, two of her mother’s friends, came in with some bags. Everything was soon arranged on the kitchen counters, and the three men began piling plates with sandwiches and cookies. Chief LeFevre came in a moment later, but went directly to the spare bedroom, mumbling about checking on the progress being made.

  She and Seth nabbed sandwiches and sat on the deck steps. She could only nibble, and fed the majority of her sandwich to the very persuasive Dilbert. He’d learned how to do the “sad puppy dog eyes” trick with only one eye, so she felt he deserved the treats.

  The fire chief and local police officers departed, leaving only the ATF agents behind. Butch arrived with some plywood and other supplies, which he unloaded before heading into the kitchen for lunch.

  Abby made introductions and small talk as people came and went, but her mind was busy mulling over the bizarre nature of the day. Parts of it had been, quite literally, a dream come true. The rest had been a nightmare, with bits of darkly comic relief. She couldn’t write a day this strange if she tried.

  After Grace whisked away their plates, Seth dug his phone from his pocket and turned it on.

  “Probably no point in that,” Abby said.

  “Probably not. But a couple of years ago, when Dash took us fishing, every once in a while our phones would pick up a signal.” He waited for it to power up.

  “Caroline mentioned the fishing trip. Sounds like a memorable day.”

  “It was so memorable I’ve spent two years trying to forget it.” His smirk implied while it might not have been an especially enjoyable excursion, it had become an often-told story.

  Seth’s phone chirped, announcing new messages. “Great. It’s probably twenty messages from the guys wanting to talk about what happened, but there’s a text message too.” He began tapping at the phone.

  She decided to give him some privacy, and sat on the deck steps and scratched Dilbert under the chin. When she hit the right spot, his tail thumped on the ground, and his eye rolled back in his head.

  “What the fuck?” Seth exclaimed.

  Abby stood too quickly, tried to turn, and rapped her shin on the top step. She hobbled to Seth’s side, rubbing at her injured limb. All the color had drained from his face, and he stared at the screen on his phone.

  He turned it so she could see the display. When she finished, it took her a few minutes to puzzle out what it meant. She remembered a conversation, which previously seemed insignificant, and her stomach lurched. “Seth, you have to get that to Kincaid. Now.”

  She didn’t think the day could get worse, but it just had.

  Chapter Eight

  Seth

  Seth stalked into the house, rage and fear battling for position as his most prevalent emotion. He found Special Agent Kincaid in the hallway. “I have something you need to see.”

  Kincaid directed him through the laundry room and onto the side porch. Abby followed, one hand clutching the back of his shirt like a lifeline.

  “My cell phone hasn’t had a signal up here most of the day, but it came in a few minutes ago. I have a bunch of voice mails, but the first thing I saw was this.” He handed the phone to Kincaid and waited as he read it.

  The agent’s eyebrows drew together, and he took a deep breath, which he held for a moment before speaking. “It’s clear this isn’t good, but I’m going to need you to explain the details.”

  Seth disentangled Abby’s fingers from his shirt and reached for her hand, only then noticing his own hand was shaking. He didn’t have to ask to see the message again. Every word was burned in his mind, he suspected, forever.

  Hear u got lucky in more ways than 1. But I know how 2 hurt u now b4 u pay. 3rd time’s a charm.

  Seth closed his eyes and swallowed, getting his heart out of his throat so he could speak. “They know I was with Abby and not on the bus, obviously.” He rather resented the “got lucky” remark, though he certainly felt lucky.

  “So we need to think again about who knew you were coming here.” Kincaid studied the message again and shook his head.

  “Pretty soon after I left, they’d all have known. And I’d guess some of the people who work at Dash’s, and maybe even some fans who hung around last night, saw me leave. I mean, we made the plans at the last minute, but didn’t exactly keep it a secret. We walked right across the parking lot with all my stuff.”

  “What about the rest of the message?”

  “That’s the part I really don’t like. If they didn’t know how to hurt me before, the only thing that’s changed is I met Abby. And if it’s a threat against her, I swear I’ll find this asshole and feed him his own fucking heart.” His right hand clenched as he momentarily envisioned the very satisfying, very bloody removal of said heart.

  Kincaid raised his eyebrows. “I understand how you feel, Mr. Caldwell, but it’s probably not something you want to go around saying, especially to a federal agent. You know, just
in case.” Kincaid looked back at the phone. “What about this other part, about the third time being a charm?”

  “It took me a few seconds to figure out, but it’s important. You have to tell the agents at the bus there’s a bottle of Jack Daniel’s under my bunk. They need to get it and have it tested.”

  “Tested? Why?”

  “Because three nights ago in Cincinnati, he had two drinks from the bottle and was really sick. Right, Seth?” she asked, clutching his upper arm. “That’s what you guys were talking about on the bus last night, when they were teasing you.”

  Seth nodded. “I bought the bottle straight from the club’s bar, and I’m the only one who drank from it. I drink bourbon, or at least I did, but the rest of the guys drink beer and tequila, except Mouse. He likes vodka.” He explained the bartender had cracked the seal when he served it, but they’d all milled around, finishing a late dinner, before any of them started into the liquor. “Anybody could’ve put something in it, and been sure I’d be the only one who drank it.”

  “But you only had two drinks?” Kincaid appeared to be finished with the phone for now, but didn’t offer to return it.

  “Yeah. I had to go down to the office for an interview with a guy from the radio station. Took about twenty minutes. By the time I was done there, I was sicker’n a dog. Normally, though, I would’ve stayed in the bar and had at least a few more before we called it a night.”

  “Which means this bomb was actually somebody’s second attempt to kill you.”

  That was the part bothering him now. “The bastard’s not getting another shot. No fucking way. I’ll figure out who it is.” He raked his fingers through the crown of his hair in frustration. “I’ve been telling you it can’t be one of my band or crew, but I guess I have to consider it. If this started in Cincinnati, it seems like it has to be somebody on the road with us, but I still want you to look into the people I told you about. They could be trailing us, or maybe hired somebody. I just don’t know why. Make me pay for what?”