Sky High (A Nicki Valentine Mystery Book 2) (20 page)

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.

“No. I’ll explain in a minute. Jack and Sophie, everything is great. Just go inside with Grandma and get ready for bed. I’ll come in soon.”

They reluctantly obeyed, and I stared at the receipt again, speechless.

“Can I see it?” Dean asked, reaching out.

“No.” I yanked it away without thinking.

InstaPole Gift Receipt

Surprise! I’ll help you install this, and I’ll give you pole lessons. It’s gonna be fun! Love, Kenna P.S. This is sure to give Dean an “instapole.” Ha ha!

Oh. My. Goodness.

If I explained this to Dean, what would he think? Even worse, what would he expect? The receipt needed to be destroyed immediately. Why couldn’t the bomb squad have blown everything up, just in case?

“Um,” I stalled. Should I say it was exercise equipment? Home improvement supplies? Part of an unassembled swing set? “This. Is. A…pole.”

“A what?”

“A pole. Like for dancing.”

“Are you serious?” He laughed. “Does this have anything to do with your disco ball?”

“No.”
Not a bad idea, though.
“I had nothing to do with this. It’s from Kenna. She teaches pole dancing at her gym, and she wants to give me private lessons. So she sent this as a joke. I hope.” I covered my face. “It’s so not funny right now. It’s totally embarrassing.”

Dean hugged me while I crinkled the receipt into a tiny ball I hoped could never be opened.

“I think it’s hilarious,” Dean said. “Thank God it wasn’t a bomb.”

Not a literal one, at least.

“The police are laughing at me,” I mumbled.

“You and Kenna probably made their day, and no one got hurt. That’s the most important thing.”

I backed out of the hug and looked at Dean. “What am I going to tell the kids and my mom?”

“That Kenna sent your family a toy firehouse pole?”

I smiled. Too bad it was bright pink and required the opposite of a full-body uniform.

“She’s in so much trouble.” I shook my head.

Unfortunately, I still sensed, so were we.

“It was supposed to be on backorder until spring,” Kenna wailed when we finally talked. “I’m so sorry. Beyond sorry. Andy is ready to kill me for scaring you.”

“It’s okay,” I fibbed. Based on several calls from neighbors, news of the package was spreading quickly, but so far its contents hadn’t been leaked. I planned to avoid gossip central (the bus stop) and drive the kids for a few days.

“You’re still taking lessons, though,” Kenna said. “I got you the outfit and everything. You love dancing, and it’ll be a great way to relax. Just try it. I know you want to.”

I didn’t want to admit it, even to myself, but the idea sounded a teeny-weeny bit fun. Only
without
the teeny-weeny outfit and
with
my favorite kind of music, which was probably played in strip clubs anyway—and occasionally had stripping right in the lyrics. In that case, it was the beat I loved, not the words.

Kenna had been smart to realize the only way I’d consider lessons was in the privacy of my home. I cringed at the idea of Andy watching Sky so Kenna could “give Nicki pole lessons.”

I looked at the carton on the living room sofa, where Dean had set it before he left for the PI Academy. Mom had stayed for dinner, which no one wanted after Kenna’s treats, and then tucked the kids in early before leaving.

“Do you want to come over?” I asked Kenna.

The house felt strangely quiet, and the night’s events had me on edge.

“Absolutely,” she said. “We might as well put that thing together. I might be able to stay if you need to go out, as long as Sky can sleep in your guest room.”

“She’s more than welcome,” I said.

“Let me touch base with Andy and take a shower. Then we’ll head over.”

“Perfect. I need to catch up on desk work.”

That included sending Frank his final invoice.

While searching my email account for his address, old messages popped up, including one with the hotel security camera footage he’d sent early on. I accessed the file through an online storage service and watched it load slowly into a program. Two hours of footage—from an hour before Bruce left to an hour afterward—began to play. I fast-forwarded to Mia’s bachelorette party returning at one fifteen and Bruce’s departure at one twenty-five. He was dressed in black, just as Eli had described, and he’d passed the hotel’s lobby quickly. When I closed the video, however, I noticed other files had been loaded into the service. There was footage from several hours before and after the original lobby video. I wondered if there was any chance Austin was on it.

Before I could hit play, there was a tap at the door, and I ran to let Kenna in, thankful she hadn’t rung the bell and woken anyone. She had skimpy outfits in one hand, a baby monitor in the other, and shoeboxes under both arms.

“Can you grab the monitor?” she said as soon as I opened the door. “Sky fell asleep, and Andy came home to interview someone, so I have to listen in case she wakes up.”

“Why is he interviewing someone at home?” I asked, thinking it must be Todd.

“The guy didn’t want to drive to the
Gazette
offices in D.C., and he didn’t want anyone at his place, either. Meeting in public wasn’t an option. Andy said you’d understand.”

I did. What I didn’t understand were the booty shorts and sparkly athletic tops Kenna was holding.

“I’m not wearing any of that,” I informed her.

“Oh, yes you are,” she said. “I am, too. Come on. Live a little.”

I’d already lived a lot. In fact, that was the problem. Living had worn me out—and widened me in the process.

“Let’s start by putting the pole together, fully clothed,” I compromised. “We have a lot to catch up on.”

Kenna rolled her eyes, strolled into the living room, and set the clothes on the coffee table. Then she opened a shoe box and extracted a beer. “Thirsty?” she asked.

“I’m pretty sure that’s not the best way to hydrate before exercise,” I joked.

“This isn’t exercise. It’s dancing.” She raised her arms and rotated her hips for emphasis.

“If it’s movement, it’s exercise,” I said. That included laundry and vacuuming. “And remember, I might have to work later.”

We bantered back and forth while reading installation instructions and touring my house for a proper pole dancing spot. I doubted one existed…maybe anywhere on Earth.

While Kenna took a bathroom break, I called Dean.

“I’m almost finished here,” he said. “And I talked to a couple police sources. They’re not interested in us. They have their guy. But I ran Austin’s tag, and it fits that mom’s general description. It’s registered to Grandma Betty.”

I rubbed my temples, nervous about annoying him. “I know they’ve got a boatload of evidence against Eli,” I said. “But I don’t see how they can ignore this. You know what I want to do, right?”

“Go see Austin.”

“He’s hiding something, Dean.”

“Do you want to go tonight or tomorrow? You’re not going alone.” I thought for a moment, wondering when we’d be most likely to catch him. “I’ll drive by and see if his car is there,” Dean offered, reading my mind. “I’m closer than you are. If things look good, you can meet me there, okay?”

“Okay,” I said. “That’s really nice of you.” We talked strategy before hanging up and decided Frank’s final report could wait a few more hours. I hated to send it with loose ends—and Sky Investigations on the letterhead.

“Can you come in here?” Kenna called from the living room. “This thing is really awkward.”

She was holding the InstaPole box but lowering it back to its resting spot. Metal clinked against metal, so maybe the robot had disturbed some packing material.

Voices erupted from the baby monitor, startling both of us.

“Andy’s interview must be there,” Kenna said, lowering her hand from her heart. “I hope they don’t wake up Sky.”

I listened for Todd’s voice and recognized it immediately.

“Should we turn down the monitor?” I said.

“I would, but then I won’t hear Sky, and Andy will freak if she interrupts his interview. They’ll go into his office soon, and we won’t be able to hear them.”

She was right. Andy and Todd’s conversation faded as they moved farther from Sky’s room, and we didn’t pick it up again until they retrieved the PreTechTion helmet, which Todd must have set in the foyer.

“You and Bruce designed it together?” Andy asked.

“We conceived of it, but I’m the tech guy, so the design and prototype were all me.”

Maybe that explained why he was still a target.

Kenna and I kept working on the pole, laughing when the instructions called for a “stud finder” for optional, permanent installation.

Finally, Kenna urged me to change clothes while she completed the finishing touches.

To make her laugh and help myself relax about interrogating Austin, I squeezed into the outfit, fluffed my hair, and threw on a bathrobe so I wouldn’t horrify Jack or Sophie if they woke up.

I called down to the basement before descending in grand fashion (without the shoes; I was willing to risk my pride, not serious injury), but before the big reveal, my cell phone rang in my bathrobe pocket.

“Dean?” I said.

“Come over as soon as you can. Grandma and Bruce are up. Maybe we can catch them before they go to bed.”

“I’ll meet you a few houses down,” I said. “Look for me.”

I apologized to Kenna, who said she’d sneak home to get Sky before I left.

Then I ran upstairs and threw on a sweater and pants over what was the equivalent of underwear—the sexy kind I’d stopped buying long ago.