“I don’t know, actually,” I said to Dean. “Do you?”
“Come on, Jack and Sophie,” he answered. “Let’s find it.”
We trudged down the wooded path and stumbled onto an enormous playground. Dean must have known where it was. If only we could stumble into more valuable finds.
The kids played happily for almost an hour while Dean and I asked every mom, dad, and passerby about the case. The police had done the same, but there was no reason not to do it again. Almost everyone had heard about Bruce, but no one had anything to add.
Cold and failure were getting to me when I approached a mom whose little girl was pushing a toy stroller toward the park.
“Hey,” I said, waving to them. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”
“Sure,” the mom replied. “Stop here, honey,” she told her toddler, who struggled to control the stroller.
I explained that I was a PI and asked a few questions, thrilled that she wanted to chat.
“All the parents in my neighborhood are talking about it,” she said. “This is usually such a safe area. We hate knowing something awful like that happened.”
“Do you live nearby?” I asked.
“We do.” She pointed at some townhomes. “That’s our street, through the trees over there. Do you know anything about the case? I hope it wasn’t a random thing.”
I understood, since explicable crimes make life feel in control.
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” I said.
“So you’re really a PI?” she asked.
“I am,” I said, “and a mom.” I nodded toward Jack and Sophie being chased by a “monster,” a.k.a. Dean.
“What a great dad,” she said, catching me off guard. If Dean and I lasted, we’d probably get a lot of that. I smiled in response, feeling like Kenna when someone says, “Your daughter got your beautiful blond hair.” It wasn’t true, since Sky was adopted, but the truth wasn’t really a stranger’s business. “You know, if you’re an investigator I should tell you something, even though they’ve already arrested the guy.”
“What do you mean?” I said.
“This mom I know was driving her son to the ER last Friday night, and she saw a car parked on the bridge around three a.m. She didn’t think anything of it until later when she heard where a body had been found. She told the police, and obviously they’ve already charged someone. But it just freaks us out that she might have passed him. Can you believe that?”
“Wow. What kind of car did she see?”
“An old, four-door sedan. Maybe silver. She wasn’t sure about the color.”
“Did she see anyone in or around it? Or the license plate?”
“No. She wasn’t paying much attention because she was focusing on her son. It turned out he had appendicitis and needed surgery.”
“I hope he’s okay.”
“He’s fine. He came home the next day, and he’s doing great.”
“I’m so glad.”
Once we’d covered everything I could think of, I pulled out a business card and noted her and her friend’s contact info on it.
“Tell her that we met,” she advised. “I know she won’t mind talking to you.”
“Thank you so much.”
I took out another card and handed it over. She flipped it back and forth, reading both sides. “Huh. A PI who’s a mom. I might call you to find out how to get such a cool job.”
“Feel free,” I said. “It’s probably easier than you think.”
Getting the job, that is. Not doing it.
I waved goodbye and motioned Dean over, eager to share the news. I was pretty sure Eli hadn’t been driving an old car, but I needed to check our case notes.
“I know witness accounts aren’t particularly reliable,” I assured him. “But something tells me we should look into this.”
“It’s not our job, Nicki,” Dean said, breathing hard from so much running with the kids.
“I know, but I’ll never be able to stop thinking about it if we—or I—don’t follow up.”
Dean smiled. “There’s no ‘I’ in this. Do you think it’s a good time to catch this mom at home?”
I’d learned she was a stay-at-home parent whose middle schoolers played lacrosse. I glanced at the nearby, empty soccer fields. It was still a little early for sports practices. “I think we’ve got a good shot at it.”
“Let’s do it now. You’ll probably have more success than I will. Do you want me to hang out with the kids?”
“Let’s drive over and see how things look first.” I wanted to minimize Dean-kid alone time. It was bad enough to worry about what Jack and Sophie would say in my presence, never mind my absence.
The kids begged to stay, but I held firm. “There might be another park in the neighborhood we’re visiting. Let’s go see.”
“I’ll chase you to the car,” Dean tempted them.
Dang. He really was irresistible.
The mom wasn’t home, but there was a tot lot nearby, so Dean generously played with the kids while I parked and called her cell.
After a brief, reassuring introduction, she was willing to talk.
“It was the scariest night,” she said. “I was so worried about my son, and I only noticed the car on the bridge because it was the only other one on the road. It was 3:05 in the morning when I left home, and I only live a few minutes from there.”
She restated what I’d heard at the park and confirmed she’d spoken at length with the police.
“Did you see the driver at all?” I asked. “Even in your rearview mirror?”
“A little. He—or she, I guess—was balding or super short-haired. But that’s all I noticed. I remember the car looked like an older model with a flat back end—like it had been hit with a frying pan, you know? Not rounded. And it was light, like silver or champagne. I’m pretty sure it had four doors.”
I took notes as quickly as I could.
“Were its headlights on?”
“I don’t remember. I’m sorry. Its hazards weren’t, though, because it didn’t look broken down or anything.”
When the conversation didn’t yield more insights, I thanked her and called the kids and Dean back to the car.
“What do you think about what she said?” I asked Dean as we pulled out of the lot. I had something to tell him, but I wanted his perspective first.
“I don’t think it was Eli on the bridge.”
Jack and Sophie were singing Kidz Bop versions of risqué songs behind us, and I hoped Dean could tune them out.
“I agree,” I said. “Eli’s hair isn’t that short, and I doubt his rental car was old.”
“Do you know what she meant by a flat back end? When was that in style?”
“I had a car like that a long time ago, but it doesn’t matter when, because you know who still has one?” I glanced over and made eye contact.
“Who?” Dean asked.
“Mia’s ex, Austin, and his grandmother, Betty. They share it. Remember? It was in the driveway. It’s an old, light-colored, four-door sedan.”
“I think you’re right,” he said slowly.
“I’m sure of it. And I hate to say this, but they’re both kind of bald looking.”
Dean laughed. “There’s no way Grandma Betty was out at three a.m.”
“You never know. I hope when I’m a grandma, I still have some three a.m. nights left in me.” I peeked at the kids in the rearview mirror to make sure they weren’t listening. “Let’s drive by the bridge, and then we’ll look into this. We both thought Austin was hiding something. What if this was it?”
“I don’t know what you mean by ‘look into it,’” Dean said, “but we’re not just popping in on a potential killer.” I appreciated that he w
hispered that last word. “I have to stop by the PI Academy, so while I’m there, I’ll check with the police and see what they have to say. Then we’ll go from there.”
Sounded reasonable.
I slowed as we approached the bridge—trying not to think of our swim in the canal—and, in language I hoped the kids would ignore, discussed how challenging it would be to throw someone into the chilly river below. It would depend on Bruce’s size, which was average, and the perpetrator’s strength and height. Austin and Eli, not to mention football teams in general, didn’t lack either.
I pulled over to let Dean hop out and take a closer look at the railing, which he determined wasn’t much of a barrier. When he got back into the car, I negotiated a break from Kidz Bop and singing (in exchange for gum) and turned on a 24-hour news station, curious if Bruce’s case would be a headline. What I thought was unrelated surprised me, and when I heard the name PreTechTion, I turned it up so we could hear every word.
A mail bomb exploded at local technology company PreTechTion this afternoon. One employee was present, and he sustained minor injuries. He’s been treated and released from a local hospital. PreTechTion was the employer of Bruce Fallon, the missing groom whose body was found this week. Police don’t know if the cases are connected, and an investigation is ongoing.
“Oh my God,” I said. “I’ve got to call Andy.”
I handed Dean my phone and asked him to dial for me.
Andy picked up immediately.
“Nicki, you heard the news?”
“I did. You’re on speakerphone with me, Dean, and the kids in the car. Do you think this is related to your story?”
“Just in case, we’re putting a rush on it. I called Todd earlier, and I’m interviewing him tonight. It was him who got hurt, but he’s okay—just minor burns to his hands. He opened a package and it exploded on him.”
“That’s unbelievable. Who was it addressed to?”
“PreTechTion. Did you or Dean tell anyone about this?”
I looked at Dean, and we both shook our heads. “No. No for both of us.”
“Okay, because only a few people know. Me, my sources, you, Kenna, and my editor. Todd got a whiff of it, and I’ll tell him more when I see him. If he breathed a word to anyone, he’s obviously paying for it. We’ll break the story online tonight, and it’ll go to print tomorrow. Until then, please be careful.”
“We will,” I said, glancing at the kids.
My phone beeped, indicating a text, so we hung up, and Dean read it aloud, since it had popped up on the screen.
“It’s from your mom,” he said. “It says she’s at your house and she let herself in.”
“She’s coming over for dinner,” I explained. “She’s a little early.”
“She said there’s a huge package on your front porch, and she wants to know whether to bring it in.”
A huge package? In light of what I’d just heard, that made me so nervous I couldn’t even make “huge package” jokes to myself. I ordered all kinds of things online, from toys to office supplies, but I wasn’t expecting anything big.
“Can you tell her not to touch it?” I asked nervously. “Add an exclamation point, please, and tell her we’re on the way.”
Twenty-Six
I could see the long, wide package taunting me from surprisingly far away.
“What the heck is that?” Dean asked. “Did you order anything that size?”
“Uh, no, and I don’t want to go near it, especially with the kids.” I spoke calmly, hoping they wouldn’t sense my fear.
“It’s okay. I’ll check it out.”
“Hang on,” I said. “I’m pulling over for a second, and I’m calling Andy again.”
This time, he didn’t pick up. I left a quick message and eyed the package again.
Common sense told me it was probably something benign. Items often arrived in boxes much bigger than necessary. Still, the panicked mom in me needed to Google “package bombs” and tell Mom to stay away from the porch.
I turned up the van’s rear speakers and told the kids I needed to “do something on my phone for a minute.” They were used to that.
I didn’t like what I learned, but Dean was relaxed. “Let me go look at it,” he said. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“Maybe. But you should read the characteristics of package bombs first.”
I handed over a list of red flags, many of which would require closer inspection, although approaching the package wasn’t recommended.
“Have your mom meet you over at Kenna’s, and I’ll get you after I check it out,” Dean said.
He smiled reassuringly, and I felt like a wimp. It’s going to be really embarrassing if this isn’t a bomb, I thought nonsensically.
“Just take a quick look,” I said. “And don’t touch it or open it. And don’t use your cell phone near it. Oh, and don’t sniff it.”
“Sniff it?”
“Sorry. That’s what the guide says.”
“Okay,” he said with a grin. “You’re cute when you’re overprotective.” Apparently he was seeing through some sort of lovey-dovey haze that made annoying qualities attractive. I guess that was good news? “Have your mom go out the back,” he said. “I’ll see you in a few.”
“Why are we going to Sky’s house?” Sophie asked after I parked at the curb and instructed the kids to walk with me.
“Dean is going to see who sent us that big package, and Grandma’s meeting us at Sky’s. It’s kind of complicated.”
“I hope it’s a surprise,” Jack said.
I didn’t.
Mom met us at Kenna’s, and I rang the bell while she peeked in the windows, admiring Kenna’s cleanliness and décor while determining no one was home. I told her I’d answer her questions—about the package and Kenna’s superior housekeeping skills—once the kids were settled in.
Working to keep my hands steady, I unlocked the door and followed the kids to the kitchen and junk food bliss. I asked Mom to monitor consumption while I peeked out the door at Dean, who was already crossing Kenna’s lawn.
“Everything okay?” I called, bracing for humiliation.
He didn’t answer until he closed the door behind him.
“I called 911,” he said, “just as a precaution.”
“What?” Mom said from the kitchen. That was some impressive eavesdropping. She peeked her head into the foyer. “You called 911?”
Jack and Sophie exchanged confused looks behind her. They knew how and why to dial 911, although “mail bomb” wasn’t on their list of reasons. I told them everything was fine and walked over to put my arms around their shoulders.
“Do we need to talk privately?” I asked Dean.
“I don’t think so. There are just a few things that concern me. Number one, no return address, although it was addressed to you, Nicki. And nothing indicates what’s in it. There was a ‘confidential’ sticker on it, and a lot of duct tape around the ends. If you have no idea what it is, it’s just too risky. I hope you’re not upset that I called.”
Upset? I was thrilled. And absolved of overprotectiveness. And far enough away from the package to feel relatively safe. I wanted to bear hug Dean, but I settled for a heartfelt, “Thank you,” which Mom echoed.
After telling the kids we wanted to make sure the package was safe and delivered to the right house, I called Kenna and Andy and left them messages, disappointed no one was answering, but knowing Kenna might be teaching a class with Sky in the gym’s nursery. And Andy was almost always occupied.
When the first police car arrived, Dean and I spoke with the officer, who agreed it was right to call. Instead of mentioning Andy’s story, I explained that I was a private investigator, and one of my confidential cases made me feel at risk.
“What do you
usually do in this kind of situation?” I asked.
“A lot,” the deputy said. “We’ll call out the bomb squad and seal off the area. Then we’ll check things out. I’m sorry to say this, but it’s going to take a while.”
Oh, dear. I hoped Kenna was ready for company…and that she wouldn’t embarrass me in front of Dean—if she could even get home, that is.
I don’t watch sci-fi movies, but it felt like Dean, Mom, and I were in one while we watched the bomb squad use a robot to approach my house, climb its steps, and examine the package. Meanwhile, the kids watched something “exciting” after choosing from Sky’s wide array of DVDs.
After what seemed like forever, my cell phone rang with seemingly good news from a squad technician.
“Okay, so the package has been rendered safe,” he said. “It doesn’t contain any explosives.” I could have sworn I heard muffled laughter in the background. Maybe the squad was just as relieved as I was.
“What’s in it then?” I asked.
There was a pause—almost like I was on mute—before the technician spoke again.
“Ma’am, I think you should investigate for yourself.” Investigate? Was he making fun of me? “You can return home anytime. The package is perfectly fine.”
Ooohkay.
“Well, thank you very much. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate what you did, especially given today’s news.”
Mom and I held the kids’ hands as we returned to the house with Dean, waving at the authorities, who were cleaning up the aftermath of a huge time-waster.
With all of us on the porch, I gingerly peeled back a flap at one end of the box. A receipt fluttered out, and it took a moment to absorb what it said.
“Oh my God,” I said. “I’m sorry. Mom, can you take the kids inside?”
“What is it?” she asked.
“Do you want me to call the cops over here?” Dean asked.
Sky High (A Nicki Valentine Mystery Book 2) Page 23