I nodded. “It’s worth a shot. If there are any more memory clues, the strong scent of the lilies might trigger them.”
Jeanna stepped in front of me. “I can’t let you approach the van. Not until we’ve done a sweep and cleared it of any IEDs. Detective Holden would have my badge if I put you in danger, and I like my job.”
IED stood for improvised explosive devices, and there had been too much of that in the news over the past decade. Still, I never thought it was something I’d have to worry about in Garden Cove.
I acquiesced to her decision with a nod. Gilly then piped up, “Hey, if Nora can’t go to the flowers, maybe you could bring the flowers to Nora?”
More police cars arrived, along with an unmarked blue sedan. Reese McKay was in the driver’s seat, and Ezra got out on the passenger side.
My heart dipped. Knowing he was safe and seeing him safe were two different beasts. I skirted around Jeanna and went outside to meet him.
“Well?” I asked expectantly.
He shook his head. “No bomb.”
I gave him a quick embrace, thankful that he hadn’t been in danger. “What now? We don’t have much time to stop whatever this guy has planned.”
“If he has anything planned,” I heard someone say.
I pivoted my gaze to scan the officers and saw Broyles. Ugh.
Before the jerk could say more, Ezra pinned him with a go-ahead-punk, make-my-day stare.
“Just what I need,” I muttered.
Ezra’s lips thinned. “He’s my explosives expert.”
“Great,” I said flatly. “I wish I knew why the guy hates me so much.”
“He doesn’t hate you,” Ezra said, but not in any way that convinced me. “It doesn’t matter. He’s good at his job, and he’ll do it.”
Broyles was ex-military, but Ezra hadn’t told me any details of his service record, and I hadn’t asked.
“Let’s go over the memory again,” Ezra said. “Maybe something in it will give us a place to start.”
“If you can make heads or tails out of it.” It was hot outside for late May, but a shiver skittered along my skin. I crossed my arms over my chest. “He was humming the EZ Reader theme song. The one from Electric Company.”
Ezra arched a brow.
Moments like these reminded me of the cultural age gap between us. Electric Company had been the edgier cousin of Sesame Street and my favorite show when I was in elementary school. It had gone off the air in 1977, a decade before Ezra had even been born.
“Morgan Freeman was EZ Reader on the show,” I explained. “He had this theme song they would play at the beginning of all his skits.”
“Go on,” Ezra said.
“The bomber used Freeman’s voice and sang, ‘EZ Holden, that’s his name. EZ Holden will play my game.’”
Ezra’s eyes darkened. “Anything else?”
“‘Time’s not your friend, Nora. It’s ticking away. Will you find the bomb before it finds its prey? For someone with your gifts, it should be easy.’” I rubbed my arms. “He emphasized ‘easy,’ which made me think he was talking about you.” I met Ezra’s gaze. “He finished with, ‘I hope you can speed read, Hero. Tick tock. You have three hours before the clock runs out.’”
“EZ Reader,” Gilly, who’d come up behind me, commented. “Maybe he was talking about places where you read, like the library or a bookstore.”
“Maybe,” I mused. I turned my gaze to the van. “I think we need more information. If I can surround myself with the flowers, like the person in my vision, maybe, just maybe...” If the bomb went off before we could find it and people were injured or worse, I wasn’t sure I could forgive myself. If it hadn’t been for my clairolfaction, or as Gilly sometimes called it, my scratch-n-sniff psychic ability, this wouldn’t be happening.
Ezra placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. “Whatever happens, Nora, this isn’t your fault. Remember that. You’re not responsible for the behavior of a psychopath.”
“I know that logically,” I said quietly. “It doesn’t make me feel less responsible, though.”
