Rosie said, “Sorry, Claire. It’s just a silly way to ask if you’re mentally present here with the rest of us. You’re obviously preoccupied with what Jenna told you about her friend.”
Claire felt a heaviness in her chest. Jenna had sobbed hard on the phone, but she wouldn’t come up to the house. Claire worried about all the men’s wives in Kevin’s unit. And the husbands. How did they cope? The emotional strain on everyone had to be stretched to the limit.
She had been continuously praying for all of them. Fortunately or unfortunately, the added stress gave more credence to her emotional state in front of Skylar. If the girl thought about it much, she would not have believed Claire was undone solely by Max’s absence and the anniversary of the fire.
Rosie said, “We don’t have to talk about this.”
Erik scowled in his dramatic way. “Should you be talking about this anyway?”
“I can share what we’ve already told the reporters.”
“Officer Delgado.” His deep newscaster’s voice resounded. “I do so love it when you talk cop-speak in that tone of authority.”
Rosie turned deep red but tried to look nonchalant with an eye roll.
Erik grinned at Claire. “Isn’t she adorable?”
Claire laughed with the others. Even Rosie smiled. The obvious deepening relationship between her son and this woman was a definite bright spot in the evening.
On the other hand, the obvious deepening relationship between son number two and the mystery woman cast a shadow.
Danny said, “So what do the reporters know?”
“That the bomb was a small, simple one. Any kid halfway familiar with combinations of accessible chemicals could put it together. Pack it all up in cardboard and voilá. The good news is it wasn’t made into a pipe bomb, which would have resulted in much more damage.”
Claire winced.
“Sorry, Claire. I get carried away imagining how a criminal’s mind works. Like, why didn’t he make it bigger? I guess his motive was to disrupt the funeral, to make a sick protest against the war without taking out a city block and killing—sorry. Again. Anyway, they figure the bomb was hidden sometime before the demonstration began. The grounds are fairly private along that side of the church, with a lot of vegetation.”
Danny said, “How was it detonated?”
“A fuse.”
“So someone had to light it during the funeral?”
“Right. Again, with the secluded area we’re talking about, it was easy for him—or her—to do that unseen.”
Danny cocked his head. “This is helpful information?”
Rosie grinned. “Yeah, it is.”
“It sounds like a beginner’s crossword puzzle, the kind anybody can solve.”
“But there’s always a tricky clue that makes or breaks a successful completion. Not just anybody will be able to do it, or at least not easily.”
“You’re saying there are things about this situation that reveal not every kid in Chem 101 could pull it off?”
“Maybe.”
Erik said, “Ah, we stray into restricted territory.”
Rosie winked at him.
Claire tried to smile at them, but all she could think about was Jenna needing more stitches.
“Mom.” In that one word Danny communicated that he picked up on her distress. “You don’t have to keep us company. Go to bed.”
Skylar cleared her throat a few times, as if she had trouble finding her voice. “The kitchen looks disorganized, Claire, but there is a method to my madness. If you touch anything, the lunch for tomorrow’s guests won’t happen until dinnertime.”
Claire wondered how these two bossy, control-freak natures had been able to mesh. “Mind if I get a glass of water?”
“Not at all.”
Claire smiled, bid everyone good night, and left the room quickly, shutting the door with the hope that her stress stayed put on the other side.
R
osie caught up with Claire in the courtyard. “I needed some fresh air.”
“Rosie, I’m really okay now that all of you are here.”
“You’re not morphing into Cleopatra, are you?”
She’d heard that one before. “Queen of Denial? All right, honestly I’m not exactly okay, but I am less upset than I was, now that you’re all here. Do you have your gun?”
“In my purse, behind the couch.”
“That’s handy.”
“I know where Erik gets his smart mouth.”
“That’s my nerves talking.”
“I understand.” She paused. “My vanity is talking for me. The reason my gun is not tucked into my waistband under a big shirt is because I’m trying my best to resemble a svelte model.”
Claire laughed. “Rosie, he’s nuts about you. His svelte model days are so over.”
“You’re sweet to say that.”
“It’s true.” She gave the young woman a one-armed hug as they walked. “The gun is on my mind because Indio and Lexi have Ben’s shotgun loaded. Lexi planned to sleep with it on the hide-a-bed in Nana’s front room.”
Rosie groaned.
“Ben taught both of them how to use it years ago.”
“And I’m sure they practice diligently.” She shook her head. “I’ll check on them later. Claire, I know we talked already, but I need to go over a few things. Did the guy threaten you in any way?”
“No. He was friendly.” She rehearsed the encounter yet again in her mind. “But afterward, when I was driving away, I felt like I do after I’ve spotted a rattlesnake and made it to safe ground.”
“By then your body was on adrenaline overload. You did an amazing job talking to him.”
“I kept hearing your advice.”
“Good.”
They stopped on the wraparound porch outside the master-suite door. The fountain was not running, but every solar light along the paths and wall lamps by guest room doors were turned on, providing soft glows. The corner spotlights bathed most of the courtyard in a bright light.
“Claire, will you describe him for me again?”
“Tall and—”
“Erik tall?”
“No. He was rangy. I think that made him seem taller than he really was. Does that make sense?”
“Absolutely.”
“Somewhere between Erik and Danny. Otherwise he was just medium. Medium-brown hair—”
“Medium Danny’s hair?”
“No. Darker than Danny’s. Shorter than Danny’s and straight. Narrow face. Pointy chin. Blue jeans, black T-shirt. He seemed at least thirty.”
“You said he wore sunglasses so you didn’t see his eyes. Tell me about his accent again.”
“It was very slight. It made me think Canadian. You know how some of them do that thing with their vowels, sort of round them off?”
Rosie chuckled. “I know what you mean. Anything else?”
She shut her eyes and pictured him again. What was it? When he turned briefly and nodded up the road. “A mole.” She opened her eyes. “Below, almost behind, his right ear.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“Do you think it’s right not to tell Skylar?”
Rosie did not reply, but Claire had been around her enough to recognize when she was measuring her words before speaking.
At last she said, “This is the restricted territory, but I consider you as in the need-to-know column. The physical description you just gave me matches one we got from a witness who saw a guy emerging from the side of the church shortly before the bomb exploded.” She paused. “Enough time to light a long fuse and get out of the way. So, yes, it’s right not to tell Skylar.”
Claire leaned against the door. “Oh, no.”
“Try not to worry, Claire. From Danny’s report, I really don’t think she could have been part of this. I suspect that her path crossed with this guy’s at some point in the past. ‘Annie Wells’ and ‘Skylar Pierson’ are most likely pseudonyms. Nothing shows up under either.”
“Can’t you just ask her about it all?”
“Not yet.”
“I should have listened to Danny. He didn’t trust her from the start. We should have gone the traditional route. Application, background check, so on and so forth.”
“Well, I like Danny but I trust your mother-in-law more. I trust Indio’s insight, her intuition. I think you do too.”
“Yes.”
“Skylar was a direct answer to prayer. And I trust what you see. You’ve seen Skylar’s heart.”
Claire gazed at the young woman, awed as she had been before at Rosie’s own insight. “You have too.”
“Yep. Now get some rest.”
Claire almost laughed in her face.
I
ndio.” Claire whispered into the phone as she snuggled under the covers on her bed. “What do we do?”
“Pray, of course,” her mother-in-law whispered back.
Claire had her own need-to-know column, and Indio was most definitely in it. She had told her everything she’d learned from Rosie without the policewoman’s permission.
“Dear,” Indio said, “you knew that, didn’t you?”
“This one is a stretch for me. I mean this is all about domestic terrorism, Indio. The police are involved. Jenna was hurt, her friend hurt worse, half a dozen others injured, part of a church demolished. And I talked face-to-face with the guy who was probably responsible!”
“You feel afraid.”
“Yeah!”
Indio began to pray softly. She thanked God for His goodness. She asked Him to camp angels around the property. She prayed for the healing of Skylar’s soul. She prayed that the creepy guy would come to accept the Lord’s love for him. She asked for God’s peace to rest on them all.
“Amen.” Claire breathed out the anxiety. Hearing the breadth of Indio’s faith in her prayers always produced a calm. Would she ever get to that point of complete expectation that God would respond?
Claire said, “Should we tell Danny?”
“Rosie didn’t?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Technically it’s her place.”
“I think he’s in love with Skylar.”
“Yes, he most certainly is.”
“Certainly is? Indio, how do you know that?”
She chuckled in her enigmatic way. “Just let it go, Claire. Let it all go and get some rest.”
Maybe she could now.
As long as she didn’t ponder the question of how she would ever make it through life’s journey without holding Indio’s hand.
T
he kitchen clock chimed eleven. Skylar let it resonate through her, hoping to find solace in the somber repetitive tone.
It didn’t happen.
She poured chocolate batter into a baking pan. The brownies weren’t needed until noon the next day, but if she stopped working she would go insane.
Rosie’s report had burst over her like fireworks. Mesmerized, Skylar sat rooted to the chair, watching each flare light up and illuminate her guilt, shame, and fear. As the flames died out, hot ash rained down on her. It singed every exposed emotion, cauterizing them until she felt nothing. She spoke and moved by rote, eventually leaving Danny and the others in the sala.
Now, alone in the kitchen, she felt a burning sensation. Frantic for a salve to ease the pain of her wounds, she scurried about doing unnecessary chores. There was absolutely no way she could hoof it to civilization this time of night. Not because of mountain lions, snakes, and coyotes but because, at the moment, she really wasn’t sure she could find her way out of a paper bag. The thought of maneuvering the Hideaway’s three hundred acres with its neighboring ranches of thousand-plus acres and the dark highway void of traffic made her want to puke.
Danny would say pray. Indio would say God was good. Claire would beam and say God was listening to the prayers of her heart.
What did they know? God might answer
their
prayers but they were all
good
people. They didn’t know what she knew.
She knew what Rosie had explained. She knew way more than what Rosie had explained.
Fin Harrod made the bomb. He knew the chemicals, how to combine them, how to pack them. He’d chosen a cardboard tube this time, deciding by some sick logic that he’d forgo the pipe bomb. Major destruction was not his purpose.
He hid the bomb in such a way as to protect it from the elements. He may have dismantled the church’s sprinkler system. The bomb’s fuse was long enough so that after lighting it, he had time to walk—not run—away.
Skylar picked up the baking pan and headed across the kitchen toward the wall oven.
That tricky clue Rosie had mentioned?
Wishful thinking on the cops’ part. Fin didn’t leave a signature or a calling card. He was one of the truly evil ones. He did not want to get caught. He bragged to no one but his closest friend, Duke, who would have been, without a doubt, in the crowd at the protest.
Duke, who could tail an FBI agent and not get caught.
Duke, who could have easily tailed Skylar to the parking garage and Claire’s car, noted the license plate, traced the number—“Skylar.”
She nearly jumped out of her skin. The pan slid from her hands and crashed onto the floor. Batter flew everywhere. “Danny!”
“Sorry. We should get a bell on that door.”
“You could just knock!” She knelt and turned over the pan. What chocolate hadn’t splattered across the floor and cabinets lay in a puddle beneath it. “Look at this mess.”
“At least it wasn’t a glass pan.” He hunched down beside her, a dishcloth in his hands.
“Would you just get out of my kitchen?”
“Why don’t you get out of it?” He sopped up a glob of batter. “You don’t need these brownies tonight.”
“Thanks for the news flash.”
“I thought you were coming back in the sala to play cards with us.”
Play games? Yeah, right. She ignored his comment. “Bring over the paper towels. The whole roll. And the mop.”
They worked side by side on the floor, wiping it and the cabinets, not speaking.
At last he said, “I am sorry, Skylar. I’ll finish. I’ll even whip up another batch of brownies and bake them. I’m not totally lame in following a recipe off a box mix.”
The sound of his too-familiar voice talking about inane subjects began to soothe her nerves. Wally Cleaver was just such a
nice
guy. Had they really held hands and talked like friends that afternoon? It seemed like a lifetime ago. Somebody else’s life.
“It’s not from a box,” she muttered.
“Hmm. That’s explains the nuts and chocolate chips and melted caramel.” He sniffed a paper towel. “And German chocolate cake? Just leave the recipe out.”
“It’s out and you’re hovering.”