Disco Bomb

Chapter 3

May 11th, 2017. 11:00 AM

Despite the absence of a six-year-old making loud noises, I hadn't gotten any sleep. In fact, it was Ross' absence that caused a night of fitful tossing and turning. It was during that time that I remembered Daniel and Danielle would be coming to my house to pick him up in two days. What would I say when they arrived and didn't see him? "Oh, I'm sorry, you'll have to pick him up at the hospital. He almost blew himself up." "Oh my God. Where the hell were you?" "Sleeping."

I shook my head and gazed at my backyard through the screen doors. There was a crater almost smack in the middle, a hole of blackened dirt and burnt grass. Dirt had flown everywhere and on everything. The brick fence was scorched where the bag had blown up. A makeshift tent lay in shambles. The scene reminded me of an apocalypse movie.

Being a money-conscious real-estate agent, I'd often hired a group of men to do simple repairs on houses ready to go on the market. They did everything from painting to plumbing for a relatively low price -- lower than most at any rate.

I picked up the phone and called Baxter, the head of their group. He seemed surprised that I was asking for repairs on my own house, but said he'd come by in an hour. He'd even do it for free.

Cleaning up the backyard wouldn't save me from Danielle's wrath. She'd be pissed at me for not making sure Ross was in the house, and even more pissed if she was the last to find out. So I decided to call and try to warn her in advance.

She didn't answer. Maybe she had the phone off. She was on an anniversary vacation. Danielle liked relaxing. And ignoring other people. But mostly relaxing. Wouldn't she be checking up on her son? Danielle was a good mother, better than I could be. And if I would call, so would she.

So I called again. This time, someone picked up. But nobody said hello.

I shrugged. "Danielle, it's me, your sister. I'm calling about Ross. I need to tell you something."

The voice that responded wasn't hers. It was low and hoarse, a faint whisper. "I need to tell you something too."

I froze. "Who is this?"

Someone laughed. I could tell the voice was female. "This is me."

"Where is my sister? What did you do with her?!"

"She's not here." More laughing. "Would you like to leave a message?"

"Oh I've got a message for you, bitch. Let my sister go right now or I swear to God, I will rip your head off myself."

"Tsk, tsk, tsk." The line went dead.

I frantically dialed again. The phone gave an error message saying that the number could not be reached. I growled and dialed Daniel, getting the same error.

Someone had deliberately thrown a bomb over the fence for my nephew to find and blow himself up with. Someone had both my sister and her husband. I was willing to bet anything that they were the same person. There was no way these were coincidental.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm down before I broke something. My hands were shaking. My knees were shaking. I had my phone in a death grip in front of me. My heart was racing. Stop it, I told myself.

That lasted about ten seconds.

I found myself staring at my purse sitting on the table. Inside was a silver pistol Jack had given to me ages ago. I'd meant to give it back, but time and opportunity had escaped me. Eventually I just decided to keep it.

I hadn't seen him in months. The last time I saw him was the day he'd been reinstated as Chief of Police. That night, he'd helped me move into my new house. We'd unloaded a few boxes of necessary stuff, talked a little, then he hugged goodbye and I hadn't seen him since.

Jack had been a Chief Investigator for fourteen years before promotion. If anybody could help find my sister and catch whoever almost killed Ross, it'd be him. So, I called him. And got his answering machine.

I growled and threw my phone across the room.