Premeditated Mortar Page 6

  When she wrapped up her speech there was lots of applause and cheers. She stepped away from the lectern but remained on the stage as she greeted the many people who rushed over to say hello.

  Glancing around, I recognized some local folks in the crowd who must have come to check out the exciting new project up the hill. There were a surprising number of reporters and camera crews here, too, looking for a story. But the rest of the people were dressed in outfits similar to mine and I decided they had to be the other tenants here with their work crews, ready to get down to business.

  Before Mac and I could move through the crowd and meet Rachel, I heard loud shouts coming from behind us. Turning, I saw a group of people stalking up the road, holding signs and posters and chanting something unintelligible. One guy marched right out in front with a sign that was so big, it completely hid his face. Whenever he yelled something, the crowd behind him answered. As they got closer, I could make out their words.

  “Burn down the Gables!” the lead guy shouted.

  “Gables must die!” his followers chanted in answer.

  That was hostile, I thought uneasily, then winced. If these folks or their relatives had been forced to live at the Gables, maybe they had a right to feel that way.

  The guy in front lowered his poster in order to talk to someone behind him and I finally got a good look at him. His baseball cap was orange and he wore a dark blue hoodie.

  I sucked in a deep breath. This was surely the same guy who’d been sneaking around up here last week. So he wasn’t a curious tenant anxious to get to work. He wanted to burn the place down! Instantly I wondered if the Gables interior was safe now for my crew. What if Orange Cap had set up traps or something?

  He looked younger than I had expected, and he was thin, with a short, scruffy brown beard. I couldn’t see his hair color under the cap but figured it was brown, too. He was shouting and waving his sign and looked really angry.

  Whipping around to Mac, I whispered loudly. “Do you see what I’m seeing?”

  “Yeah,” he said flatly. “Call the cops.”

  Before I could answer, Mac took off, effortlessly maneuvering his way through the crowd of people standing nearby. When he reached the Gables billboard, he ducked behind it and disappeared from sight. What was his plan? Some kind of secret ninja attack?

  The chanting and shouting from the protesters grew louder and more threatening as they got closer. I pulled my phone from my pocket and quickly called 911 to report the unrest.

  “911, what’s your emergency?”

  “There’s a protest going on up here at the Gables and I think it could turn violent. Can you send the police here right away?”

  The dispatcher paused and I heard the sound of her fingers hitting the keyboard. Then she said, “I’ve dispatched a squad car and I’ve also alerted the chief.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, Shannon,” the woman said. “Are you okay?”

  I sighed. “Hi, Ginny.” The dispatcher and I had gone through twelve years of school together, but I had talked to her more in the past two years than in all those school years combined. It was all because of my alarming tendency to call and report a dead body on a regular basis. “Please ask the chief to come up if he can. It’s getting scary around here.”

  “Cops are on their way, kiddo. Hang tight.”

  “I will. Thanks.” I ended the call and shouted to the whole crowd, “The police are on their way!”

  The guy in the orange baseball cap moved inexorably toward us, waving his sign and shouting, “Burn it down!” He and his gang of close to two dozen rabble-rousers were now less than thirty yards away and were still shouting and waving their signs in protest. I could see a few of them shaking their fists, but they didn’t appear to be carrying anything that could be used as a weapon. Like rocks or baseball bats. Thank goodness for that, anyway.

  I scanned the protesters’ faces and wondered who they were. None of them looked familiar, but then some of them had their faces partially hidden with bandanas or scarves. So what were they doing here and why were they so opposed to the Gables project?

  And where had Mac disappeared to?

  Watching Orange Cap warily, I had to wonder what he was up to. He was clearly the same man I’d seen skulking around the Gables last week, but who was he? And what had he been doing here? Had he simply been looking around, checking things out? It had to be more sinister than that. Otherwise, why was he here with a bunch of protesters, making trouble? Was I right about the traps? Or was it worse than that?

  Burn it down!

  Who was this guy? Why did he want to destroy the Gables?

  “The police will be here shortly,” Rachel shouted into the microphone. She must’ve heard me yelling. “Our cameras are filming this disturbance and all of your faces will be on record. You are trespassing on private property and if you don’t immediately disperse, you will be arrested and prosecuted.”

  Rachel sounded professional, tough, and concise. It made me wonder if she’d had to deal with this sort of thing before. Or maybe she just had a knack for calming down angry mobs.

  Not that her approach was working in this case. Orange Cap and his followers continued their march across the long stretch of grass, obviously aiming to torment our well-behaved group of investors, new tenants, construction workers, and cleanup crews.

  What would happen if they got close enough to actually hurt someone? And why hadn’t the development company hired a private security firm to guard this place?

  Maybe they’d hired security but they were only assigned to patrol at night. I decided to cut her some slack. Still, it was annoying and frightening to have this loud, angry group heading straight for us.

  Rachel grabbed the microphone again. “Stay back! This is not an idle threat. You will be arrested if you don’t leave immediately.”

  Again, her words had no visible effect on the agitators, who continued to shout and threaten and relentlessly move forward.

  “We see you!” one of the women protesters shouted at Rachel, and the others cheered and howled in support.

  The shouting woman had to lower her bandana to be heard and I almost choked when I saw her face. It was Jane’s odd new hotel guest. Ms. Prudence Baxter. The complainer. What in the world was she doing here?

  All of a sudden Orange Cap dropped his sign and took off running right toward our group. He was followed closely behind by a good-looking, slightly older man with hair the color of carrots. It was probably rude of me, but since I didn’t know his name I instantly named him Carrot Head. Hey, I have red hair, too, so I figured that gave me some leeway.

  The rest of the crowd ran behind them, keeping up their shouting and fist waving. Carrot Head clutched a big brown shopping bag to his chest and the two men were running straight for my group.

  And suddenly I felt myself cringe inwardly. I was honestly scared to death. What was in that brown bag? I wondered. Was he carrying a bomb?

  There was nowhere to hide.

  Others must’ve had the same thought because the people around me began to scream in panic and run off in every direction.

  “Oh my God, no,” I whispered. The thought of a bomb was so disturbing that I had to shake it off. No way would someone try to blow up a group of innocent people. Not in Lighthouse Cove of all places. Not in my town.

  And where was Mac? I wondered.

  With our people dashing every which way, the two main protesters had a clear path. They were headed straight up to the stage where Rachel Powers was still standing. But before they could get there, I took a step forward and stuck out my leg.

  Carrot Head stumbled but he didn’t fall down and he didn’t drop his big brown bag. He turned and glared at me with disgust.

  What was in that bag?

  “Get out of here!” another woman yelled at him. She was a b
ig woman and she shook her fist at him.

  He scrambled to get away from us and continued toward the stage.

  Rachel valiantly grabbed the microphone and held it out like a sword, but it was useless for warding off the threat of the two men headed right for her.

  Without warning, Mac appeared from behind the billboard and plowed headfirst into Orange Cap’s stomach, knocking him to the ground.

  My hero, I thought with a sigh. I figured he had to have been waiting, biding his time, watching those two. Mac had Orange Cap pinned on the ground. The protester tried to flip over to get on top of Mac, but he wasn’t strong enough.

  Still, I was panicked at the possibility that Mac could get hurt and I prayed that the police would show up soon.

  While everyone’s attention was on Mac, Carrot Head inched closer to the stage, followed by Prudence Baxter, who kept turning around to ward off anyone else who got close.

  When Carrot Head pulled something heavy from the brown bag, my heart almost stopped. Was it a bomb? It actually looked like a paint can. I wasn’t sure what his plan was, but I knew it couldn’t be good.

  “Stop him!” I shouted, and tried to get close enough to knock him down, but Prudence elbowed me. I pushed her away and she tripped, but caught herself. She turned to run away and bumped into Carrot Head, who flung the can and its contents toward Rachel and the stage. The can itself flew by without hitting her, but the stuff inside splashed all over Rachel and the cheerful billboard behind her.

  The poor woman was now drenched in a viscous, dark red liquid that looked very much like blood. The billboard was also covered with the gooey crimson fluid.

  I looked at Prudence and noticed her smirk. As she melted into the crowd of protesters, I turned back around to make sure Rachel was all right.

  Clearly in shock, Rachel blinked, saw the red liquid dripping from her hair and down her face, and gasped.

  Was it blood?

  Shoulders shuddering visibly, Rachel squeezed her eyes shut. Her hands began to shake uncontrollably and that was when the true screaming began.

  Chapter Five

  The sound of Rachel’s high-pitched shrieks was almost as frightening as anything I’d ever heard. It conjured up images of screaming banshees—not that I’d ever heard a banshee screaming, since they were mythical creatures, after all. Or were they?

  I didn’t blame Rachel one bit. After being taunted by those protesters and then getting personally attacked and saturated with some icky sticky red liquid that definitely looked like blood? It would make anyone scream. But at least she was alive, thank goodness. And it wasn’t her blood. That had to count for something.

  She had to be terrified, and I didn’t blame her. I ran up to the stage. “Are you all right?”

  She was trying to catch her breath. “I’m . . . yes, I’ll be fine. I was just frightened for a moment.” She touched the red slime dripping down her arm. “It’s not real blood.” She took a few more breaths. “Thank you.”

  I nodded. I still didn’t know the woman and I wasn’t sure I would like her if I did. But nobody deserved this.

  Someone in the crowd yelled, “He’s getting away!”

  I whipped around and saw Carrot Head trying to make his escape. Without another thought, I took off running and with a flying leap, I grabbed him from behind. I figured I was just as surprised as he was and we went down, landing with a hard thud.

  Now this was why I didn’t wear fancy suits to construction sites, I thought.

  Carrot Head immediately tried to push me off and get away, but the big woman who’d yelled at him a minute ago trotted over and plopped right down on his butt.

  “You’re not going anywhere, sonny,” said the woman, and grinned at me.

  He continued to squirm and wiggle under her, but she was a formidable opponent who had retained her sense of humor. She wasn’t really hurting him, just making sure he didn’t go anywhere.

  “Are you good here?” I asked her. “I need to go check on my crew.”

  “You bet,” the woman said, still cheerful.

  I got up and limped over to join the crowd. Most of the protesters had scurried off, unwilling to get caught and arrested with Carrot Head and Orange Cap. I scanned the area to find Prudence Baxter. I wanted to talk to her. What the heck was she doing here? Whatever it was, I didn’t want her staying at Jane’s place another day.

  Several of the men approached Mac and offered to keep an eye on Carrot Head. Mac nodded curtly and stood. He came over and wrapped his arm around my shoulders.

  “Nice tackle.”

  “Thanks.” I chuckled, but it was halfhearted. I was already worried and exhausted, and the workday hadn’t even begun.

  “So when do we get to stop having fun?” he wondered aloud.

  The sound of approaching sirens announced the arrival of several police cars and I couldn’t have been happier.

  “About damn time,” I muttered.

  * * *

  * * *

  Ten minutes later, Orange Cap and Carrot Head were in handcuffs. I would need to find out their real names eventually, I thought, as police officers led them over to one of the squad cars. The two of them were clearly the main agitators while the rest of their group had been protesting more peacefully.

  I watched the action from the edge of the lawn a few dozen feet away. Mac walked over to check on Rachel and I watched him sit down on the stage with her to commiserate. As developer and investor, they probably had a lot to discuss. Such as hiring private security immediately.

  Four uniformed officers rounded up the stragglers that had failed to disappear as quickly as the other protesters. They secured the scene and began taking each of the protesters’ statements before either holding them for more questioning or letting them go.

  Two other cops came over to corral my group. They took our phone numbers and let us go with a promise to call us later to get our versions of what happened.

  Earlier, while we were waiting for the cops, I had texted Wade to ask him for some of the thin muslin work cloths we used to wipe off our hands and clean up spills. Now he jogged over with a short stack of cloths.

  “Thanks,” I said, and carried them over to Rachel. She was still sitting on the edge of the stage with Mac. She seemed grateful for the cloths, but still traumatized.

  Once she had wiped most of the red liquid off her face, Mac officially introduced me to her. We nodded to each other and Mac explained, “Shannon’s construction company is working on Jane Hennessey’s hotel.”

  Rachel managed a smile. “It’s so nice to meet you. Jane is a delight and her hotel is going to be the crowning glory of this project.”

  “Once we’re done, it’s going to look incredible. And with Jane running things, it will be spectacular.” It was a point in Rachel’s favor that she appreciated Jane’s contribution to the project. I smiled with complete sincerity. “I want to compliment you on your valiant attempt at crowd control.”

  “Didn’t exactly control them,” she muttered, using another cloth to scrape and scrub the red liquid out of her hair.

  “But you didn’t cower or run away, either,” I pointed out. “You stood your ground and that was really brave of you.”

  She stared at me and slowly nodded. “Thanks for that. Maybe we’ll have a chance to talk later.”

  “I’d like that.” But I got the feeling I was being dismissed. Mac must’ve caught the vibe because he stood and took my hand. “I’ll catch up with you in a minute.”

  “Okay. I’ll be inside working.” I casually waved good-bye, but instead of heading for Building Seven, I walked over to the edge of the lawn where the hedges had once stood. The cops were still working the scene and I was just nosy enough to want an unobstructed view of the action. Most importantly I hoped to have a word with Chief Jensen before he left.

  I was glad that M
ac was taking his role of investor seriously, but that didn’t mean I needed to watch him sitting at Rachel’s side, consoling her. I knew I was being ridiculous, so I focused instead on Assistant Police Chief Tommy Gallagher as he talked to Carrot Head, who leaned against the cop car looking sullen and defensive. His attitude didn’t seem to bother Tommy, who chatted cheerfully with the paint-throwing agitator. Didn’t it just figure? Tommy was the most upbeat person I knew, even at a crime scene.

  Tommy had been my high school boyfriend and even though he had broken up with me in the worst way possible—by going out with my sworn enemy and getting her pregnant—we had managed to remain friends. I simply couldn’t stay angry with him and besides, I blamed the girl. Whitney Reid had gone out of her way to make my life miserable in high school, and her greatest achievement had been to steal my adorable boyfriend away from me.

  I was long over it, but she wasn’t. Which made it imperative that I never pass up a chance to annoy her. As if on cue, Tommy saw me, grinned boyishly, and waved. “Hey, Shannon.”

  I smiled and waved back. “Hi, Tommy.” I knew that if anyone up here mentioned our brief exchange to Whitney, it would cause her to throw a fit. And that possibility was enough to cheer me up again.

  After a few minutes, Police Chief Eric Jensen strolled over to join me. “Why am I not shocked to find you at a crime scene, Shannon?”

  “It’s always a thrill for me, Chief.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  He had been finding me at crime scenes ever since he first moved to Lighthouse Cove two years ago. Thankfully he no longer suspected me of the crimes that had been committed. But it was always disconcerting to look up and find the police chief staring at me in complete dismay. There was often a dead body nearby, adding to the misery.

  Eric folded his muscular arms across his wide chest. The move reminded me of the first time we met and I had secretly nicknamed him “Thor.” Not that I would ever reveal it to Eric, but the name suited him. He was ridiculously good-looking, big, blond, tough, and powerful, very much like the Nordic god his appearance called to mind. And he rarely smiled, which added to his mythic quality. Although ever since he met my sister, I had caught him smiling a lot more often.