Chapter Two
The sun seeped over the White Tank Mountains, turning the morning sky a beautiful apricot pink.
“I love this time of day. It’s so peaceful, birdsong fills the air, and the smell of fresh cut grass makes you think of picnics at the park,” Julie sighed.
“You do know, you just jinxed us, right?” I handed Julie a candy bar. “Eat that before you start spouting lame poetry.”
“My poetry isn’t lame!”
I snickered. “Roses are red, violets are blue and if you steal my car, I’ll smash your face.”
“Hey, it rhythms. Sorta,” Julie protested.
Mom chimed in, “You’re much better at writing murder mysteries, Julie.”
“Thanks. I actually made money on The Nun Did it? ”
I grinned. “Using the stuff that happens on our calls was a streak of genius.”
“What I like about writing is I can kill as many people as I want and not go to jail.”
A pack of yipping coyotes darted into the roadway in hot pursuit of something small and white.
Julie flipped on the sirens.
The noise frightened the coyotes off.
She slammed on the brakes, missing the white critter by inches. “Whew! That was close. I bet one of Betty White’s rabbits got lose again.”
“You know what that means, don’t you? Yucky lemonade and stale, rock-hard cookies,” I moaned.
“Go catch the little guy and after we visit Chuck, we’ll take the bunny home,” Mom said.
“Yes, ma’am,” Julie and I said in unison.
A flock of loudly honking geese flew over us.
Splat! Splat! Splat! Splat! Splat! Splat! Splat! Bird poop covered the patrol car.
“I told you, you jinxed us,” I cried.
Julie hit the windshield wipers. “Did not.” The blades just smeared the crap around. “Damn, we’re out of wiper fluid.”
Mom started laughing as the stench of cow manure suddenly permeated the car.
“What did you say?” I tapped my chin. “Oh, yeah, peace, birdsong and the smell of fresh cut grass.”
Julie released the hood latch. “Go ahead, yuck it up.”
“Pop the trunk and I’ll get the wiper fluid. With our luck we’ll get in a pursuit and if we wreck another patrol car, the sarge will put us on a walking beat.”
“Or have us guarding prisoners on trash pickup detail,” Julie groaned.
“Ugh.” I got out of the car and almost stepped on a kitten. “Hey, little guy. were those mean ole’ coyotes chasing you?”
The kitten mewed pathetically.
I picked the shivering kitty up and cuddled it against my chest. “It’s okay. You’re safe now.”
“Girl or a boy?” Mom wanted to know.
I took a quick look. “A little girl.”
“Give her to me. I have some jerky in my purse.”
Mom always had food in her purse, along with an assortment of weapons.
Julie rolled the back window down and I handed Mom the kitten.
“Oh, you poor thing, you’re nothing but skin and bones. Don’t you worry. We’ll fix you right up.” Mom tore off a piece of jerky and gave it to the hungry kitten.
I couldn’t wait to see the expression on Dad’s face when Mom brought the kitten home. He wasn’t a cat person. Nope, he liked his K-9’s big and well-trained. After he lost Bruno in the line of duty, he had never gotten another dog. I grabbed the bottle of wiper fluid out of the trunk.
“We need to take Miss Kitty to the vet too,” Mom called.
I grinned. She had already named her. “Okay, Mom.” I filled the reservoir. “Try it now, Jullie.”
Julie turned the wiper blades on, but all they did was smear the bird crap around.
I poured the washer fluid directly on the windshield and the wipers finally cleared the mess. “That’s as good as it’s gonna get.”
Julie gave me a thumbs-up.
I shut the hood and grimaced. The patrol car was a goopy mess. “We’ll have to hit a car wash before the heat hardens the bird crap.”
“I’ll add that to our to-do list.”
Dumping the empty bottle in the trunk, I glanced at Miss Kitty and smiled. She was a cute little thing.
“Move it, Gemma. Daylight is burning.”
I saluted Julie and got in the car. Zoom! Off we went. Before I could fasten my seatbelt, the car hit a pothole, and I bounced off the roof. “Hey! Slow it down!”
Julie brought the patrol car to a sudden stop. “Holy cow! Would you look at that. It’s like he went to the dump and brought it all home.”
Pushing myself off the dash, I looked around in disbelief. Chuck’s doublewide trailer had seen better days. The porch leaned to the left and badly needed a new coat of paint. Car doors, old tires, boxes of God knows what, huge clown heads, and piles of trash bags were strewn around the front yard.
I eyed the stack of stained mattresses in the bed of Chuck’s old Ford truck. “He’s turned this place into a hoarder’s wet dream.”
“I checked on Chuck about six weeks ago and it wasn’t this bad,” Mom exclaimed.
Julie shuddered. “What kind of nasty critters are lurking in that mess?”
“Don’t know. Don’t wanna know and I ain’t lookin.”
Chuck charged out of the trailer with a shotgun in his hands. “Git!” He fired a round in the dirt. “Or I’ll start shooting.”
“Damn, he’s not wearing his glasses,” Mom sighed.
A laugh broke from me. “Or his pants.”
“Ugh. His ratty tee-shirt doesn’t cover much either.” Julie flipped on the sirens.
Chuck stopped and peered at us.
Shutting the sirens off, Julie turned on the loudspeaker. “Chuck, put the gun down. It’s Gemma, Tess and Julie.”
“Tess?”
“Yes, Tess. Now put the shotgun down,” Julie ordered.
Chuck placed it on the ground.
I quickly hopped out. “Why are you shooting at us Chuck?”
“Dang porch pirates keep taking my stuff.”
Trying to ignore his dangly bits, I picked up the shotgun and unloaded it. “We have your porch pirates in custody.”
“Huh?” He rubbed his chin. “They’re still alive?”
“Yes.” Julie narrowed her eyes. “Why are you putting bombs in packages, Chuck?”
His yellowed teeth bared in a snarl, Chuck hollered, “I’ve lost twenty packages to those low-life thieves. Dagnabbit! It should have gone off.”
Julie and I exchanged horrified glances. He had just admitted to attempted murder.
“The boys disarmed it. You can’t kill people who steal from you,” Mom lectured, petting the loudly purring kitten.
Chuck blinked at her. “Sure, I can.”
“Go inside and get dressed.” When Mom got that certain look in her eyes and used her mean mother voice, she was ten seconds away from kicking your ass.
Chuck stomped his foot like a toddler having a temper tantrum. “Don’t wanna. Too hot for clothes.”
“Not even for some cookies?” Mom’s voice had a steely edge to it.
Julie whispered, “Your Mom’s right eye is twitching.
“I know.” We both backed up a step.
Chuck’s face lit up. “Chocolate chip?”
“Yes. Now scoot. You’re embarrassing my girls.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Chuck hurried off.
Mom cursed loudly in Farsi.
My Farsi wasn’t that good, but she had said something gross about a camel’s dick. I turned my attention back to Chuck and made a face. God did he have a hairy ass and what was the brown stuff stuck to his left butt cheek. Oh, yuck. It looked like dried chocolate pudding. He wasn’t riding in our patrol car without pants on.
Julie frowned. “Do you think Chuck makes his bombs in the trailer or in the barn?”
“With our luck, probably both.” Using my official sheriff’s cellphone, I started taking pictures of the hoarder’s mess.
“Watch out for the rattlesnake,” Julie called.
I jumped about a foot. A bull snake crawled away. “Not funny.”
Julie just grinned.
Mom held out her purse. “Find my cellphone, Gemma. I don’t want to put Miss Kitty down.”
“Okay.” I dug around in her purse. Huh? Mom had a flashbang, a smoke grenade and a tomahawk. What the heck was she planning on doing with them? Did I really want to know? Nope. I held out her cellphone. “Here ya go.”
“Thanks. While you’re checking the barn, I’ll call your father and let him know Chuck is the mad bomber. Be sure to watch for booby traps, now.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Julie and I said in unison and started down the crude path that wound through the chest-high weeds.
I examined the ground in front of us. “I’m not seeing any trip wires, are you?”
“Nope, and if there were any, Chuck would have blown himself up by now.”
“Good point.”
Julie glanced over her shoulder. “Sometimes your mom is downright scary.”
“It’s the only way she keeps the boys in line,” I stated.
“They can get a little rowdy.”
I snorted. “Ya think?” The back of the trailer was worse than the front. There had to be at least fifty rotted tires, a slew of old bicycles, and a dozen mannequins. I quickly documented the mess and forwarded the pictures to Sergeant Bergman. “What is he planning on doing with all of this crap?”
“That is the million-dollar question.” Julie put out her arm to stop me. “Looky there.”
I let out a whistle and snapped some shots of the trip wire. “Gotta say, I’m a bit surprised. With his dementia, I didn’t think Chuck could rig up a laser beam trip wire.”
“He couldn’t. Someone must be helping him, but what is the endgame?”
“Dunno, this case keeps getting worse and worse. I peered into the dim interior of the barn. On a cluttered workbench were several packages of C4, gunpowder and lead pipes. I took more pictures. “I think we’d better wait for Nate and his squad to check this place out.”
“I agree.” Julie pointed her flashlight at the corner of the barn and gasped. “Oh hell! Those are Claymore mines!”
I focused on six gray-green plastic cases with scissor-like legs and took more photos. A pile of sweating dynamite sticks sat next to them. “Shit! It won’t take much to set off that crystallized nitroglycerin. If they blow, so will the Claymore mines and the C4 too.” I sent the photos to Sergeant Bergman, Dad and Nate.
My cellphone rang.
“Deputy Stone.”
Sergeant Bergman growled. “Get out of there.”
“Yes, sir. Nate is going to have his hands full with this mess.”
“The bomb squad ETA is fifteen minutes. Evacuate to the roadway,” Sergeant Bergman instructed.
“Yes, sir.”
Two chickens strutted into the barn, breaking the laser beam.
“Oh, shit!”
“Run,” Julie yelled.
I ran for my life.
“What’s going on?” Sergeant Bergman shouted.
Kablooey! A huge fireball rose high into the sky.
The force of the blast sent us flying, head over heels. I landed on a stained mattress in the bed of Chuck’s truck. Julie fell on top of me. Pain radiated through my face, and I could feel blood running down my chin. God, I hoped I hadn’t broken my nose.
Julie gagged. “These mattresses smell like urine.”
Boom!
Boom!
Boom!
Boom!
Julie and I dove under Chuck’s truck as flaming debris rained down. The ground shook beneath us as the dynamite and Claymores continued to explode.
The dispatcher called, “Charlie-24 state the nature of your emergency.”
“I must have hit the emergency button on my radio,” Julie gasped and keyed her mic, “We have multiple explosions involving hazardous materials. We need all the fire trucks you can send us and the bomb squad.”
“Copy Charlie-24,” the dispatcher replied. “Are you or Charlie-23 in need of the paramedics?”
A flaming tire rolled past us.
“Not yet,” Julie answered, totally ignoring the large cut on her forehead.
“OMG! Mom!”
Our patrol car skidded to a stop and Mom yelled, “Get in.”
We crawled out from under the truck and scrambled into the back seat. Mom put it in reverse and gunned it.
Pieces of the barn crashed down around us.
I glanced out the window and gasped. The trailer and all the crazy old coot’s treasures were on fire too. Thick black smoke filled the air. “Where’s Chuck?”
“He barricaded himself in the trailer,” Mom replied, slamming on the brakes. “How badly are you hurt?”
I wiped at the blood running down my chin. “Just a bloody nose and some minor cuts.”
“Dammit! I ruined another uniform,” Julie groused.
“Are you hurt, Julie,” Mom demanded.
“Same as Gemma. Minor cuts and bruises. No need for the paramedics.”
Mom glanced at us in the rearview mirror. “Really? You both look like you were in a brawl and lost. Your uniforms are a mess, and I’m not even going to discuss your hair. You need to get checked out.”
“No, we do not,” Julie protested.
Even if I were missing an arm, they weren’t taking me to the emergency room again. “How many times has someone assaulted us or tried to kill us in the hospital, Mom?”
Mom exhaled a long breath. “Several times. You can discuss it with your father or Sergeant Bergman.”
“We can make a run for it,” Julie whispered.
I shook my head. “Dad’s too good a tracker and Sergeant Bergman would put us on dead animal pickup for a year.”
“Yeah, he has a mean streak.” Julie slumped against the seat.
Two patrol cars pulled up. Dad, Sergeant Bergman, Frank and Nate climbed out carrying bomb gear.
“Any serious injuries?” Dad’s gaze roamed over us.
We all shook our heads.
Miss Kitty meowed loudly.
Dad’s eyes narrowed.
“Chuck is still refusing to come out of his trailer,” Mom warned, putting the kitten on her lap. “And he has several sticks of dynamite on his kitchen table.”
“If it’s like the stuff in the barn, it’s crystallized,” I interjected.
The muscles bunched in Dad’s jaw. “Fuck!” He ran up the rickety steps and kicked in the trailer door.
Sergeant Bergman, Nate and Frank followed Dad inside.
A minute later, Sergeant Bergman and Frank dragged a loudly protesting Chuck out of the burning trailer. “You have no right to arrest me.”
“How about attempted murder, three sticks of crystallized dynamite and a landmine,” Sergeant Bergman bellowed.
“I want a lawyer.”
Frank snapped, “You have the right to remain silent. So, shut the fuck up.” He stuffed Chuck in the back of his patrol car.”
Mom shot a worried look at the trailer. “Where’s Alex and Nate?”
“They’re checking for more explosive devices,” Sergeant Bergman answered. “I need you to move the patrol car down to the mailbox. The fire department will be here shortly.”
“I’m not leaving until Alex and Nate are safe,” Mom protested.
Dad and Nate charged out of the thick smoke. “Run!”
Sergeant Bergman jumped into his patrol car.
Dad dived into the front seat of our patrol car, while Nate stuffed himself into the back with us. “Get us out of here!” They yelled in unison.
Stomping on the gas pedal, Mom backed the patrol car down the rutted driveway and brought it to a sudden stop next to Chuck’s mailbox.
Sergeant Bergman and Frank parked their cars next to us.
“The fool had Claymore mines next to his bed,” Dad growled.
The trailer exploded in a gout of dirty orange flames. Black funnels of smoke filled the sky and burning debris plunked down around us.
Sirens blaring, two fire trucks skidded to a stop behind us.
Dad, Nate and Sergeant Bergman went to talk with them.
Boom!
Boom!
Boom!
The double-wide disintegrated into a pile of burning rubble.
A chicken with charred feathers smacked onto the windshield.
“I think we need to buy some lotto tickets and book a trip to Las Vegas. Your luck is phenomenal,” Mom said.
A slightly hysterical laugh broke from Julie. “Lucky? Us?”
“You’re still alive,” Mom replied.
The car door opened. “Out,” Dad ordered. “The paramedics are here.”
“So? We’re fine,” I replied, not budging an inch.
Sergeant Bergman barked, “Stone. Garza. Get your asses out of the car. Now!”
“Yes, sir.” I reluctantly obeyed and caught a glimpse of myself in the side mirror. Yikes! My face and the front of my uniform were a bloody mess. All from a stupid nosebleed.
An unmarked car slid to a stop and Dante bailed out. He rushed over to me.
I held up a hand. “I’m okay. It’s only a nosebleed.”
“The paramedics are checking you over,” Dante stated.
“But…”
Dante put a finger against my lips. “No arguments.” He snagged Julie’s arm. “You too, Tiny.”
“Tiny? That’s just mean,” Julie protested, trying to pull her arm free. “I might not be as tall as Gemma, but I can kick like a mule. Wanna find out?”
Mom wrapped an arm around Julie. “C’mon, let’s get your owies fixed.”
“Yes, ma’am.”