Page 24 of The Husband's Secret
Brenda would not have thought of looking there. “Good idea.”
She backed her car into the alley, careful to park to one side so as not to block the passage of others. There was really no traffic, but the three residents whose garages backed up to the alley used it regularly.
Maybe if she were writing the situation into a scene in one of her books she might have a better perspective—that omniscient view. But with this being so real and so personal it wasn’t as easy as creating fiction. She almost laughed; this was certainly a perfect example of the adage “stranger than fiction.”
Back in the garage, she closed the overhead door and began the frustrating process. She turned a plastic container upright and started to repack the scattered items. Thankfully most of her ornaments were plastic so they hadn’t shattered. She carefully smoothed out the crumpled packing paper to ensure nothing had been written on any of it or was tucked into the folds and wrinkles. As she went through the motions, her mind sharpened to the possibilities. She checked beneath the containers. Inside even the smallest box and package. All the little things Janey had made—yarn angels, craft paper pumpkins, so many little things—made Brenda smile. Made her heart lighter.
Once Christmas and Easter as well as Halloween decor was packed away, she started on the treasures she had saved from her parents’ home. Most of the pieces were inside her home. But there were some things she really hadn’t been able to usebut hadn’t wanted to part with. Those she carefully repacked, inspecting each one methodically first.
It took nearly an hour to get the job done, but when she dusted her hands, the garage was back in order, and she felt a new sense of buoyancy.
“That wasn’t so bad,” Ben suggested with a smile.
“Not if you say it quickly enough.” She laughed, the sound weary. “I am a little disappointed that we didn’t find anything.” She took a long look around. “But at least it’s back in order. I’m very grateful for that.”
“Believe it or not,” he pointed out, “investigators spend most of their time doing exactly this—turning over rocks and finding nothing relevant to the case.”
“Good to know it’s not just us.” She smiled, a real one, couldn’t help herself. She had needed a hint of humor after the last twenty-four hours. It was one thing to be surprised by a sudden death or other disturbing life event, but then to have the situation twisted around and turned upside down and then tossed back at her was a whole other level of misery.
He hitched a thumb toward the alley where she’d parked her car. “I can pull it back in now, if you’d like.”
“Sure. Thanks.” She slipped the fob from her back pocket and tossed it to him.
He caught it and headed out to the alley.
The chirp of the fob sounded. A split second later an explosion echoed in the air.
Ben was suddenly rushing toward her…and then they were on the concrete floor of the garage.
Maybe it was the shock of the explosion, or the way Ben wrapped himself around her and rolled, but she hadn’t felt the impact of landing. For a moment some imperceptible sound hummed in her ears, blocking out all else.
Her gaze locked with his. “What the hell was that?” she asked, or maybe she yelled.
She couldn’t be sure…couldn’t breathe…then she realized it was the weight of his body atop her own. As if he’d sensed this, he got up, pulled her with him. He ushered her toward the walk-through door.
“Stay here while I have a look.”
Brenda didn’t argue. Her head was still spinning. She watched him walk away. Blinked once, twice before her gaze rested on her car. The driver’s-side door was missing…
She frowned, then noticed the damaged door lying on the apron leading up from the driveway into the garage at the open overhead door. Part of the driver’s seat was twisted and blackened. What the hell…? She stared again, tried to piece together what she was seeing. Her car door had been torn off…
Ben disappeared from view then returned to her garage.
“The alley is clear. No one was injured and there appears to be no other damage to your or other property. Just the car.”
It was then that she realized what he was saying. Her car had been damaged by an explosion—a bomb. The damage was limited only to her car. No one else was in the alley so no injuries.
Someone had put a bomb in her car.
Her knees buckled.
His hand caught her by the arm before she crumpled. He pulled her close. “Everything is all right. I’ll call Detective Shelton.”
But it wasn’t all right.
That bomb hadn’t been about scaring her or sending a message.
Someone had tried to kill her.
