Deadly Forecast

by Victoria Laurie

  I blew out a sigh. “Okay, and you said you needed the bug guy too? Are the scorpions back?” Inwardly I shuddered and thought that if those creepy-crawlies had come back, I was not moving into that house.

  “No scorpions,” Dave said. “But all that rain we got last week brought out a whole bunch of crickets, and a few got into your house. Unless you want to listen to chirping all night, I think you should have the bug man come back out and give it a good spray.”

  “Fine,” I told him, lifting my eyes to Dutch, who was still staring at me with raised, expectant brows. “But you’re sure we can close next Tuesday? That’s only five days away, you know, and if I call the title company to set up the closing, it’s a huge pain in the ass…ter…isk to get it rescheduled.”

  “Tuesday?” Dutch mouthed.

  I nodded as Dave said, “Go ahead and schedule it. We’ll be ready.”

  I hung up with Dave and promptly called the title company. They were happy to fit us in for Tuesday morning. I then called my landscaper, who was not happy to hear that his hard work had been ruined, but he looked at his book and said he could swing by the next day to assess the damage and offer me a quote to fix it.

  In parting he let me know how pleased he was to have been invited to my wedding. I had to force myself to speak in pleasant tones and tell him that we were looking forward to seeing him there.

  When I hung up, I glared at Dutch—like it was his fault.

  “Is there anyone she didn’t invite?” he asked me, ignoring my stony countenance.

  “We’re about to find out,” I muttered as I dialed Russ, the bug guy.

  “Hey, Miss Cooper!” he said jovially.

  “Hey, Russ,” I said. “Listen, I just heard from my builder. Seems like the house has a few loose crickets inside. Can you take care of that?”

  “Does tonight at six work? I’m on that side of town this afternoon.”

  I looked at my watch. “Well, I’m up in College Station working a case right now, so that might be a little tight, but if I can’t make it, then I’ll have Dave, my construction manager, meet you.”

  “Cool,” he said. And then he hesitated and I knew that he was probably dancing around the wedding invite. After clearing his throat a couple of times, he said, “Thanks a lot for inviting me to your wedding, Miss Cooper.”

  He sounded so sweetly grateful that I immediately felt bad for not wanting him to attend. “Are you coming, Russ?”

  “I think so, yeah,” he said. “But is it okay if it’s only me?”

  I sensed that Russ—a rather husky, baby-faced man who killed bugs for a living and preferred Jim Butcher novels to social interaction—might have trouble finding a date on short notice. “Of course it’s okay. Come. You’ll have a great time, and I’m pretty sure there’ll be other single people there too, so not to worry.”

  I could sense that he was both a little embarrassed and maybe happy that I’d told him there would be other people there without a plus one. “Cool,” he said. “Thanks so much, and I’ll see you tonight.”

  After I hung up with Russ, I felt a little better. Dealing with the everyday headaches of my personal life helped to ground me, and remind me that although I was working a horrendously awful case, my life went on. Belatedly I noticed that Dutch and Candice had already finished eating, and my Reuben sandwich with a side of sweet potato fries was mostly untouched.

  I took a few quick bites, knowing we were pressed for time, and motioned for us to get going. “You sure you don’t want a to-go box?” Candice asked. (Somewhat mockingly, I thought. Her lunch had been heavy on produce—light on saturated fats.)

  “I’m sure,” I told her, eyeing my watch and noting the time again. It was nearly one o’clock. “We’ve got people to interview and only a few hours to do it in before I have to get back.”

  With that, Dutch paid the bill and we were on our way.

  T-Minus 00:46:45

  “Down on the ground! Hands behind your heads!” shouted the cop holding the gun on everyone gathered outside the redbrick house where Brody Watson was staying.

  M.J. dropped immediately to her knees, shoving her hands high in the air. “Don’t shoot!” she heard Gilley cry. “I’m innocent! I’m innocent!”

  “I don’t care if you’re Mother Teresa! Get down on the motherfu—”

  “I’m down!” Gilley shrieked, falling face-first to the ground. “I’m down!”

  M.J. lowered herself the rest of the way to the pavement, lacing her fingers behind her head. She then turned her head to the side and saw that Dutch was still standing, but at least he had his hands raised above his head.

  “I said get down!” the cop screamed, pointing his gun directly at Dutch.

  “I’m a federal officer!” Dutch yelled back, refusing to drop.

  “Like I said, I don’t care if you’re Mother Teresa! Get down on the ground! Now!”

  M.J. kept her gaze on Dutch and she trembled. They were wasting precious time here and his resisting the officer’s command was only wasting more time. At last, however, Dutch got down on both knees, but he refused to prostrate himself like the rest of them. That seemed to really frustrate both officers. Ignoring everyone else, they marched over to Dutch and shoved him violently. He dropped easily the rest of the way to the ground, but in a move almost too quick to catch he rolled over, kicked the gun out of the hand of the first officer, grabbed the pistol of the other, and twisted the hand holding it in such a way that he managed to pull it free.

  It all happened so fast that M.J. could hardly believe it. In another lightning-fast move, Dutch was on his feet and pointing the weapon at both the officers. “Down on your knees!” he commanded. The stunned cops immediately complied, throwing their own hands up in the air and kneeling down on the ground. Dutch then moved in to the side of one officer and pulled up on a set of handcuffs from his belt. He tossed these next to Candice. “Cuff him!” he ordered.

  “Shit,” Candice muttered as she climbed to her feet, picked up the gun that’d been kicked to the side along with the handcuffs. “Can we talk about this?” she asked Dutch, who looked so angry that M.J. didn’t want to make a false move.

  “Later,” he growled. “Cuff him, Candice, or I’ll do it myself.” Reluctantly Candice secured the first cop’s hands while Dutch grabbed a set of zip ties off the belt of the other cop and tossed one of these to Candice. “And now the other one.”

  “Dutch—,” she began.

  “Do it!”

  Candice moved behind the second cop and secured his hands too. The minute the two officers were restrained, Dutch undid each of their utility belts and tossed them over his shoulder. Then he grabbed Brody by the collar and motioned with his gun for M.J., Candice, and Gilley to follow him.

  M.J. exchanged a look with Candice and whispered, “Did this just go from really bad to WTF?”

  “Just do as he says,” Candice whispered back. “We’ll get it sorted out later.”

  Dutch shoved Brody into the front seat, and Candice got in next to the poor kid. M.J. pulled Gilley up off the ground and said, “Get in the car, Gil.”

  “I’d rather stay here,” he said meekly.

  M.J. looked over at the cops, who were each wearing murderous looks on their faces. “No, you wouldn’t,” she told him. “And we don’t have time to argue about it. Get in the car right now.”

  With that, they slipped into the backseat and Dutch started the engine, roaring away from the curb with squealing tires.

  All M.J. could think about as the smell of burning rubber filled the air was the many laws they’d just broken—from assaulting an officer to kidnapping…. They were in some serious trouble now. And their only way out lay in finding Abby.

  M.J. didn’t want to go to jail—she’d been there once before and she frankly hadn’t cared for it. So she leaned forward and said, “Brody, I know you’re scared, but you and I need to work together. I’ve still got your mother with me, and she keeps insisting that there was some sort o
f argument involving this Margo woman. Please, if you want Dutch to let you go…if you want to see Abby alive again…please, think.”

  Brody, who’d been sitting stiffly in his seat, eyed her in the rearview mirror and she could see his fear, his anger, but then…something else. Some tiny spark had lit up in his eyes and he said, “You know what? There was something….”

  Chapter Eight

  Our knock was answered by a woman with no spark left in her dull, sad eyes. The mother with the toddler in the video from the mall was named Janice McCaffrey, and she lived in a large stone and brick home in a newer subdivision not far from the Texas A&M campus. She answered the door dressed in flannel pj’s and a big terry cloth robe. I would be lying if I didn’t say that the poor woman looked like hell. “Yes?” she croaked. She’d obviously been crying, and there were bandages on both her arms. A streak of toothpaste at the corner of her mouth told me she hadn’t even bothered to look in the mirror while brushing her teeth. I wondered if she’d actually just rolled out of bed, or hadn’t moved much since doing so earlier in the day.

  Dutch introduced us, holding up his badge for her to study. Her eyes moved slowly from him, to the badge, to the bulletproof vest he wore, to Candice, back to the vest, over to me, and back to his badge again. I had a feeling she hadn’t really registered any of it. “Did you find out why?” she asked him once he’d finished speaking. “Why that girl tried to blow us up?”

  That caught Dutch off guard. He opened his mouth, but sort of turned to me, like, “What the hell should I say to that?” (Swearing doesn’t count when you’re simply interpreting your fiancé’s expression.)

  “Mrs. McCaffrey,” I said, stepping forward. “Can we come in for a few minutes?”

  She ran her tongue over her lips nervously and tugged at the collar of her bathrobe. “I wasn’t expecting visitors,” she said.

  I suspected that the inside of her house was probably much like her—unkempt and in need of a good scrub.

  “We won’t stay long,” I assured her. When she still hesitated, I added, “Please? It’s really important.”

  She gave a curt nod and opened the door just enough for us to enter. The minute we were through the entry, I could see that my suspicions were correct; the place looked like a small tornado had been through it.

  There were clothes, dirty dishes, toys, and even some garbage littering the place. A small scruffy dog came ambling out of the kitchen area to sniff moodily at our feet. I waited until he stopped inspecting my shoes to move over to a cane chair in the corner of the living room.

  Dutch and Candice looked around for a place to sit, but there was very little available unless they wanted to brush aside the dirty clothes or garbage. After a quick exchange of looks, they each took up an at-ease stance on either side of me.

  Meanwhile, Janice shuffled over to the one spot on the couch that was clear of clutter and plopped down with a heavy sigh. “You’re here about the mall, right?”

  “Yes,” I said, motioning to Dutch and Candice that I wanted to take the lead with Janice. “I know it’s painful, but can you tell me exactly what you remember about that day?”

  Janice squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her fists. Her energy also reacted to the memory of that day, shrinking against her physical body, as if it was acting protectively. I knew then that this poor woman was suffering terribly.

  With her eyes still closed, Janice said, “I was taking Jack to the mall to buy some new sneakers. He’s been growing so fast and his shoes were getting too tight. It was a really pretty day, and I thought we’d get him some sneakers, then have lunch in the food court. Jack loves that food court….” Her voice trailed off for a moment before she finally opened her eyes and continued. “We were heading there from the shoe store when I saw this girl push her way through the doors into the mall. It was weird, I mean, I don’t know what made me look in her direction, but I saw the doors open, and I saw her come into the mall, and the way she moved…it was just…off, you know?”

  I nodded, because I’d noticed the same thing from the security footage.

  “So, I had my eyes on her,” Janice continued. “And all of a sudden I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up on end, and I had goose pimples on my arms. It was really weird. I knew in my gut that something was really wrong.” At this point Janice looked directly at me. “You ever have one of those feelings?”

  “All the time.”

  She nodded. “Maybe it was a mother’s instinct, or woman’s intuition, but I knew there was something really dangerous about that girl. And I had Jack by the hand, and he was sort of pulling on me, but I was still focused on that girl, and then she said something….” Again her voice trailed off.

  “What?” I prompted. “What’d she say, Janice?”

  The young mother shook her head. “I wish I could remember. Isn’t that funny? I can remember everything else about that moment—how that girl looked, so frightened and pale, and I can remember the song playing on the mall’s sound system, and I can remember the smells of the food court not far away and the color of the tile floor under my feet—but the exact words that girl said to me, I just can’t remember.”

  She was staring at me with the most haunted eyes, and they began to fill with tears, which slid down her cheeks. “Isn’t it terrible?” Janice asked me. “This girl knows she’s about to speak her last words to someone, and she chooses me, and I can’t even remember what she said.”

  “You were terrified,” I told her, struggling against the urge to get up and comfort her. If I did that, I knew we’d have to stop the interview, and I needed to help her get through the rest of it. “It’s completely understandable, Janice. No one could possibly fault you in that moment for not remembering. You had your son to protect.”

  Janice wiped her eyes and nodded grudgingly. “Yeah. Some protective mother I am. Jack’s going to have scars for the rest of his life.”

  “And he’ll have a life because of you,” I told her.

  She shrugged, unable to let herself off the hook. “If only we hadn’t gone to the mall that day,” she said. “I had this feeling that morning that I should order his shoes online, but I really needed a break from hanging out here at the house. I lost my job last month, so I’ve been home alone with Jack and the walls felt like they were closing in.”

  “Where’s your son now?” I asked, realizing I hadn’t heard any noise that might sound like a toddler in the house.

  “He’s with my mother-in-law,” she said, her mouth turning down slightly. “My husband said it was for the best. He and Jack moved back to his mom’s house last week. He said it’ll give me time to sort this all out.”

  I bit my lip. I saw my symbol for divorce hovering in the ether. I looked around the house again. In my mind’s eye I could see it filled with moving boxes. And poor Janice was a long way away from being able to support herself again. She’d been horribly traumatized, and I doubted she’d be able to get through an interview much less show up for work and be productive.

  I really wanted to help her, but I had to focus on that day at the mall first. “Janice, what happened right after the girl in the mall spoke to you?”

  She blinked at me with blank eyes for a moment before she said, “Oh, well…I guess I ran out of there.”

  Dutch caught my eye. He wanted me to push her a little.

  “You ran out of the mall,” I repeated. Janice nodded. “So she said something to you that made you run out of the mall?”

  Janice’s brow furrowed. “Maybe…or I saw the bomb.”

  “You saw the bomb?”

  Janice didn’t answer. She was staring at the floor.

  “Could you describe it?” I asked.

  Again, Janice didn’t answer. She seemed lost in thought.

  I waited a bit and then tried again. “Janice, you said you saw the bomb. What did it look like?”

  She shook her head and snapped her eyes up to me. “I remember!” she exclaimed. “The girl, she said, ‘I
t’s not me!’”

  I cocked my head. “It’s not me?”

  “Yes! That’s what she said! And then she moved her arms to the side and I saw that bomb and I grabbed Jack’s hand, lifted him onto my hip, and ran like hell. ‘It’s not me.’ God, I’ve been trying to remember that for weeks.”

  Janice appeared so relieved, but then her expression clouded over again. “I wonder what the hell she meant by that,” she said.

  “Maybe that the bomb wasn’t her doing,” I said.

  Janice’s expression turned stricken. “Oh, my God,” she whispered. “You think?”

  Dutch caught my eye again. Be careful, he mouthed.

  “We can’t be sure,” I told her. “But that is a curious thing to say before the bomb you’re wearing goes off.”

  Janice went back to staring at the floor again.

  “Janice,” I said, hoping I hadn’t lost her attention for good this time. “Do you know where the girl might have been heading?”

  “The mall,” she said listlessly.

  “Yes,” I agreed, “but I remember seeing the footage from the mall security camera, and it didn’t look like she was headed to the center of the mall, which is where I would’ve gone if my intention was to kill a great many people. She appeared to be heading toward one of the stores, and I was wondering since you were there that day and saw her enter the mall if maybe you got the same feeling?”

  Janice’s gaze snapped to me again. “You know,” she said, “that’s really been bugging me. I had that exact same feeling too, but I just didn’t know what it meant or who to tell.”

  “What store do you think she was aiming for?”

  “That bridal store,” Janice told me. “Carly’s Bridal Boutique. I got my bridesmaids’ dresses there when I got married.”

  “Do you know why the girl with the bomb would have aimed for that store?”

  Janice grunted derisively. “Maybe because Carly was a real bitch?”

  Dutch shifted his stance slightly. I could tell he didn’t think this line of questioning was important, but my radar had pinged on Janice’s last statement. “Can you elaborate on that?” I asked her.