Miz Scarlet and the Bewildered Bridegroom by Sara M. Barton Page B

examine that,” I told my brother. “You might have a
concussion.”
    “I’m fine,” he groaned.
I disagreed vehemently. Lacey gave him the once-over
too.
    “You are
not.”
    “Am too,” he
moaned.
    “Scarlet’s right. You
should let the doctor take a look at you, Bur.”
    “He’ll have to do it
outside,” Valboa told us. “We’ll have to evacuate the premises
immediately. We’re not allowed to dismantle something that entails
this much risk; it’s a matter of department
policy.”
    “Great,” I groaned.
“When the neighbors hear that we had a bomb planted on our front
step, we’ll get closed down! Son of a....”
    “At the moment, that’s
the least of our concerns,” the detective replied firmly. “Have we
accounted for all the residents of the inn?”
    “No, Jenny isn’t with
us. And we’ve got to get the pets,” my mother pointed out. “We
can’t leave them behind.”
    “I’ve got Scrub Oak,”
Lacey called out a moment later, returning from the living room
with the feline dangling from her arms. She plunked the cat on my
mother’s lap for the ride outside.
    “Let’s head to the
carriage house to wait this out. We can set up some patio chairs,”
Bur suggested. He was still unsteady on his feet, leaning on Lacey
and Dr. Van Zandt.
    “Jenny’s still
upstairs, and so are the dogs.” I crossed the hallway and hurried
up the stairs to fetch them, Kenny on my heels. “We’ll meet you
outside.”
    “Mozzie, Jen!” I called
out as we climbed to the top of the second floor landing. I pulled
open the door to the third floor staircase. “Get up! It’s an
emergency!”
    “What? What time is it?
Am I late for work?” she answered groggily, dressed in an oversized
tee shirt. “I’m so-so-sorry!”
    “No. There was a little
incident downstairs. Come on. Grab your robe. We’ve got to step
outside for a little while. And bring Mozzie with
you.”
    By the time we exited
the building, there were police barricades at the entrance to the
driveway of the Four Acorns Inn, where a small army of first
responders milled around and a couple of neighbors peppered a pair
of uniformed officers with questions. On the street, a fire engine
and six volunteer firefighters were at the ready, on the off-chance
things went south. When the volunteer ambulance crew showed up,
running their emergency lights, it was the icing on the cake for
me. How were we supposed to handle the bad mojo on this, especially
after the trouble up the road at Wallace’s house with Karin
Frenlind? We might have to have a “pretty please, forgive us” party
for the neighbors. Maybe we could generate some goodwill by
grilling up burgers and doling out hot dogs.
    At quarter past three,
after it was thoroughly examined, photographed, and documented, the
container of quarter-sticks was deposited into the explosion-proof
barrel by the bomb squad, minus the dangerous wick, and
detonated.
    “It could have been
worse,” one of the cops informed me a few minutes later. “If this
was daylight, you’d have every reporter within a thirty-mile range
camped on your door. Detective Valboa says we’re calling this
incident a prank at the moment, while Diana and David Wilkie are
investigated.”
    “But you don’t think it
is one, do you?” I pressed him.
    “I’m not able to say
one way or another,” he said, giving me a shake of his head. “We’ll
know more tomorrow after we’ve had time to investigate the
suspects.”
    “Swell,” I muttered,
feeling frazzled. Why would the Wilkies do something like this,
especially since it could ruin us? Had someone hired them to harass
us? Or was their intent to actually cause us bodily
harm?
    Detective Valboa did a
cursory check of the White Oak Room, searching for more evidence,
but he came up empty. “Can you lock this room for the time being?
We’ll be back sometime tomorrow, once we figure out how we’re going
to proceed with the case. Depending on what we develop and whether
or not we