“How are you doing today? You could’ve died yesterday.”
“Well aware,” Roz said, speaking softly so Sheryl couldn’t hear. “I’m fine, though I threw out those clothes. Thanks for the ride. Any more word on Vandershell?”
“If you mean the autopsy, nothing more than I already told you.” He sounded strangely excited. “I’m surprised I didn’t hear from you this morning.”
Oh, crap. The scanner. “What happened?”
“I really shouldn’t tell you this, but the sheriff is putting out a press release at noon. I’m letting you get a head start, but please wait till then to publish it.”
“What?” Roz stuck the phone between her ear and shoulder and opened up her laptop again, ready to type.
“The department sent a tow truck to roll Wayne Vandershell’s BMW off Main Street today—we didn’t even realize it was there until it got a couple of parking tickets—and the driver found something funny under the seat.”
“What, Duke? Drugs? An eight-track player? What?”
He laughed. “There were some odd wires and—long story short, the driver called us before he tried to move it. Deputy Byrd took one look and called in the county bomb squad. There was a bomb under the seat rigged to explode with a remote trigger. Plastic explosives.”
Roz said something very unladylike, and Duke sniggered.
“Did it blow up?” she asked, even as she realized it was a dumb question. She probably would’ve heard it if it had.
“Disarmed. It’s being analyzed. No leads yet. But somebody really wanted Wayne Vandershell dead. Oh, and that book you left me? There was blood on it.”
“Thank God you’re here. I’m starving,” Alden said as Roz slipped into his booth at Taco Titan. It was a chronically packed low-class Tex-Mex place with colorful paper garlands and a llama piñata and an inflatable Corona airplane (he didn’t really want that looming over him right now) and a digital wall clock counting down to Cinco de Mayo. Less than a month until the worst amateur drinking holiday of the year, but he loved it anyway.
And he loved Roz.
She was glowing, full of news. “I’m hungry, too. I almost forgot to eat.”
“I never forget to eat.” He’d already made a dent in the chips and salsa. He grinned and pushed a menu toward her. “I ordered you a Coke.”
“Works for me,” she said. “I’m getting the Taco Tuesday special.”
They both did, rattling off their orders for the taco platter to the server, who’d brought Roz’s soda in a huge cup.
“I had to type up a quick story for online,” she said after the server left, “embargoed till the sheriff’s press release came out. John was going to push the button.”
Alden sat up straighter. “Are they releasing something on the cause of death?”
“Nope.” She looked at her watch, then at him, mischief in her eyes. “It should be live now.”
“Aw, you’re not going to tell me?” He was already pulling out his phone and went to the Courier-Beacon site. No way! “Someone tried to blow up Wayne Vandershell? You’ve got to be kidding me. Somebody really wanted that guy dead.”
“That’s exactly what Duke said.”
He gave her a flat-lipped expression that made her laugh. “Well, I have news too.”
“And I have more news! You first.”
Alden outlined what Chuck told him about the Cessna’s avgas being contaminated with jet fuel, likely the cause of the plane’s engine croaking.
“So not an accident,” Roz guessed.
“Who knows how the NTSB will see it, but Chuck says there’s no way Sebastian accidentally added jet fuel to the tank. Someone did it deliberately.”
“So somebody might be trying to kill Sebastian, too. That makes my news all the more interesting.”
“What?” Alden said, and then the tacos arrived. They took a moment to get a bite in their bellies before she replied.
