Stone Cold Crazy (Lil & Boris #4) (Lil and Boris Mysteries) by Shannon Hill

don’t.”
    He muttered, “Fascists!”
    I looked in his wallet. He was from one county over, Senator Weed’s home turf. Alan Quinn. “Okay, Mr. Quinn, lie easy, I can hear the sirens.”
    He squirmed, thought better of it. I lounged on the trunk of my car. I didn’t bother keeping Quinn in my sights. He had glass slivers sticking up from his back like quills out of a porcupine in a temper. He was going nowhere.
    He grumbled. I ignored him, waving as Tom pulled to one side, and the VFD came right behind him. One of my new-planted azaleas was smoldering a little. They doused it with eighty more gallons of water than it needed, then power-washed the front of my house for good measure. Bye-bye trace evidence.
    The paramedics loaded Quinn into the ambulance. Like the paramedics, it was shiny-new, and I could see them grimace at the mere thought of a scratch on the bumper. Tom held them up long enough to put Quinn under official arrest, and I left him to chase the ambulance up to Charlottesville and whichever hospital Quinn wound up at. I had other problems.
    First problem to arrive was Punk. Man never sleeps. He forgot our audience of volunteer firemen to hurry up, embrace me and then kiss me. I gave it six hours before everyone in five counties heard about it.
    Then came Cousin Jack, and with him, Steve. Both of whom also hugged me, though I’d have gladly tossed Steve over the car for it if I hadn’t been surrounded by witnesses.
    Finally the state police showed up, right as Aunt Marge and Roger did.
    Dawn was streaking the sky pale gold and lavender when Agent Howard pulled into the driveway. “Newsome’s with the prisoner,” he greeted me. “Two pipe bombs in two weeks, Sheriff. Someone around here’s got issues.”
    Exhausted as I was‌—‌and irritated, and a few dozen other emotions Aunt Marge would chide me for‌—‌I still managed to think like a cop. “I don’t think it’s going to be the same guy who did the Weed house.”
    Credit to Howard, he took me seriously. “Why do you say that?”
    I pointed at the obvious. “My house is still here. Then look at what he did. He set it by the front door. You want lethal, there’s ten better places than the front door to put a pipe bomb if you’re looking to make my house disappear.”
    “But you do think it’s another pipe bomb,” Howard argued.
    “Sure. But this wasn’t a job where he set it off and got out clean. He got blown on his face. Not very careful or smart.” I walked with Howard around the rear of my house. “At night, best bet is I’m in bed. Why not break the window with something and throw it in the room? Or take out my car?” I shook my head. “Blowing in my front door doesn’t do much but piss me off, and he barely got the thing off its hinges. If it’s the same guy, he’s acquired some serious stupidity.”
    Howard finished noting down my opinions. “I have to say I’d agree. I’d add that I doubt this guy bothered with much reconnaissance. If he had, he might’ve realized that door was steel.” He slanted me a curious look. “Why steel?”
    I almost smiled. “Dumb luck. Contractor over in Richmond got stuck with a bunch of leftovers from a job that fell through. Sold it to my builder on the cheap. I figured, why not?” I let my smile fade. “I was asleep on the couch. If I had a wood door…”
    Howard nodded grimly. “You lead a charmed life, Sheriff. You got somewhere to sleep? You look pretty worn out.”
    “Sure.” I jerked a thumb at my house. “Just give me a boost so I can get back in the window. Roger boarded the doorway shut.”
    ***^***
    What does it say about me that the biggest item of gossip in town that day was Bobbi’s baby girl?
    “Do people around here just expect attempts on my life?” I groused to Aunt Marge. She was pushing one of her cure-all juice mixes on me. Pineapple, mango, goji berries, I don’t know what-all. Tasted like cough syrup. We were sitting in camp chairs watching Roger