Blown To Pieces (PTO Murder Club Mystery Book 2) (2 page)

“Yep, but I just got me a twelve-point buck,” he grinned with pride, “and thought I’d make me some chili.”

Tommy owned Big Tommy’s Chili Parlor and Oddities Emporium or as most people call it, The Chili Parlor. It was rumored to make the best chili in the state of Texas. According to everyone who’d eaten there, he had the trophies to prove it.

Did I mention that Big Tommy made his chili out of whatever wandered into his front yard or ended up under the front wheel of his car? He claimed that roadkill was meat tenderized by Jesus. I didn’t have the heart to point out that Jesus hadn’t been driving Big Tommy’s truck.

“Let me get you a to-go cup and a lid.” He walked over to a rusted, possibly-wrought-iron-at-one-time table and riffled through a giant black trash bag that I hoped contained unused to-go cups. He came up with a white Styrofoam cup and a plastic lid. Big Tommy was a passionate recycler—as evidenced by the giant greenhouse made out of plastic Coke bottles next to Chewing Gum Willie. Sometimes that meant he reused things that shouldn’t ever be reused—like sandwich bags and toilet paper. “I haven’t seen you in the restaurant in a while.”

Or ever.

I opened my mouth to say that eating out wasn’t in my budget, but playing the poverty card while driving a Porsche Cayenne was hard to pull off. “I’ve been in the hospital.”

Well, I had been for like two whole days.

“Oh yeah, I heard about that. Old Doc Turley killed the kindergarten teacher. He deserved to die. Y’all did the world a favor.” Big Tommy walked over to the pot of chili and threaded a large stick through the handle of the lid and pulled the lid off. He looked down into the pot. “The fire went out. It ain’t ready yet.” He looked up at me. “Sorry.”

“No worries. Next time.” Thank God. “I’ll see you later. Have a good one.” I rolled up the window and pulled away from the curb.

An explosion shook my windows and rattled through Portia. I looked back at Big Tommy.

Nothing but flames. The house was a fireball, the greenhouse was a pile of burning plastic, and Chewing Gum Willie was melting like strawberry ice cream in the summer heat.

I slammed on the brakes, pulled out my phone, and dialed 9-1-1.

“9-1-1, what is your emergency?” It was more of an accusation than a question. Was I bothering her with my emergency?

“There was an explosion at,” I looked at the addresses on the mailboxes and counted back, “at 8751 Lakeside La—”

“Lane. Yeah it’s already been reported. Fire and police are en route.” The woman sighed like I was keeping her from
Game of Thrones
. Maybe I should change careers. Rarely did I get to sigh bitchily just for doing my job. “Are you injured?”

“No, I’m in my car, but Big Tommy—um, the man who lives there—is. I can’t see him. All I see is fire.” This was bad. Big Tommy had to be badly burned or worse. Was there any way for me to help him?

“Stay in your car. Do not render aid.” The woman sounded like she really wanted me to render aid and die in the process.

I had a hard time believing that the operator had my best interests at heart. “Okay.”

The line went dead. Clearly she had other things to do.

I called Monica, who answered on the first ring.

“Did you hear that explosion?” Monica sounded out of breath.

“Yes, it was in Big Tommy’s front yard. I was talking to him and then I drove off and his house exploded.” My voice was high and squeaky.

“Where are you?” A door opened on Monica’s end. “Okay, I see you. Stay there. Haley and I are on our way.”

The whining roar of sirens got louder and louder.

I looked up to find Monica, in a black leather jacket and motorcycle boots, jogging down the road toward me. Haley, in heels and a cream suit that was probably Chanel, also ran down the street toward me. I admired a woman who could run in heels. That was a lost art.

I opened the car door and met them around the front of my car. Monica was doubled over in full-on hyperventilation mode while Haley wasn’t even breathing hard. I’d known that Haley ran on a treadmill daily, but I’d had no idea she did it in heels.

“What,” Monica wheezed like a two-pack-a-day smoker, “happened?”

“You really should do some cardio. You’ll live longer.” Haley fitted her Hermès higher on her shoulder.

Monica shot her a look that said that she wasn’t above shanking Haley with one of her own designer high heels.

“I was on the way to TFBH and I saw Big Tommy out in his yard. We talked for a little bit, and then everything blew up.” I did my level best to slow the insane pumping of my heart and recall exactly what had happened. Surely the police or the fire department would want to know. “He was going to get me a to-go cup of chili when he found that the flame under his pot had died out. He said the chili wasn’t ready, and then he turned away. I guess he went to light the burner and it exploded.”

Monica finally caught her breath and looked around. She pulled out her smartphone and appeared to be videotaping the area.

“Put that away.” Haley’s cobalt-blue eyes turned the size of Oreos as she looked around to see if anyone had caught us filming. “It’s disrespectful.”

“Something’s not right.” Monica ignored Haley and continued to film. “His house exploded and not just the burner.”

Monica was a disability and workers’ compensation claims adjuster and could spot a fake anything from a mile away.

“How can you tell?” I shaded my eyes from the sun and took in the devastation. Everything burned—the trees, what was left of the house, and most of the pink flamingos. Chewing Gum Willie was dissolving into a puddle. Apparently, lawn art wasn’t flame retardant.

“I just paid a claim on a woman who had second- and third-degree burns from lighting an outside burner for a crab boil. She flicked the lighter not knowing that her husband had turned on the gas to the burner and then left it to get some matches. She was blown back about two feet and had burns on her forearms from bringing them to her face to cover it. She also had some on her nose, her hair and eyebrows were singed, and there were burns on her ankles and feet. Propane is heavier than oxygen, so the fire washed down her body.” Monica zoomed in on what was left of the chili pot. “It looks like Big Tommy and the pot were both thrown back in the same direction.”

Haley nodded as she shaded her own eyes. “If this was just a propane explosion, why did the whole house explode?” She pointed to the smoldering wooden slats littering the yard. “Shouldn’t only his front yard and maybe the front porch be on fire?”

“It does seem a little odd that he went to light a single propane burner and his whole house exploded. Then again, I don’t know for sure that he went back to light the burner.” My hands were shaking. I’d just watched...or, okay...almost watched a man die. I was freaked out.

The sirens became deafening as a yellow fire engine pulled up in front of Big Tommy’s house. Four firefighters dressed in yellow fire gear hopped down from the engine and hooked up a hose to the fire hydrant. It was like a ballet; each person had a job and they did them in unison.

Another engine roared up and so did an ambulance. The fire chief’s Chevy Tahoe parked behind my car. The reason I knew it was the fire chief was because it had FIRE CHIEF written on the side.

Two Lakeside Police cars drove up and blocked me in.

“Okay, ladies, can anyone tell me what happened?” It was Ben Jamison, former suitor and recently MIA listening device planter.

“Maybe we’ll tell you when you remove the bugs from our houses.” Monica glared at him. I noticed that she’d discreetly put away her phone.

“We’ll discuss that situation later, but now I need to know what happened.” Ben pulled out his iPad and began typing.

“Fine.” I spit out the word. I told him what had happened.

He shook his head. “Sounds like a propane explosion to me.”

Monica rolled her eyes so far back inside her head she probably saw her childhood.

Of course, how cut and dry. The Lakeside PD having to do actual detective work...not in a million years. Now, when Mrs. Ubank’s poodle, Precious, went missing, there was an APB out on a sketchy-looking drywall hanger who just happened to drive by Mrs. Ubank’s front window. The poor man had no idea about a missing dog, but they’d handcuffed him to the bike rack outside of McDonald’s. Did I mention that Lakeside doesn’t have a jail? Luckily, Precious had been found under Mrs. Ubank’s bed chewing up a pair of reading glasses.

Because Mrs. U was loaded, that made Precious important. It didn’t look like Big Tommy fell into that category.

“What are all of you doing here?” Ben avoided my gaze like the plague.

Spineless bastard.

“Haley is house-sitting for a friend. We were headed to check on it.” Monica was good. That explained why we only had one car, and she was vague enough not to actually give any details. Since Ben had bugged all of our houses, we’d just as soon not let him in on the fact that we had a secret clubhouse.

“So we’re free to go,” I demanded. I really should have asked, but Ben was a dick, so demanding made more sense.

“Absolutely.” Ben looked around. “On that other matter, give me twenty-four hours.”

It was my turn to roll my eyes. “Whatever.”

Ben’s voice was pleading, but I wasn’t in the mood to forgive him.

“Are you okay?” He glanced at my shoulder.

“I’m fine.” It sounded a lot like “fuck you.”

Ben looked like he wanted to say more, but he turned and walked away.

There really wasn’t anything he could say that would make bugging my house okay. Part of me applauded him for recognizing that he was on shaky ground. In my experience, most men wouldn’t have given up on an argument just because they were in the wrong. They’d just keep on going, hoping that I wouldn’t notice they were full of shit. At least that’s the ploy my ex-husband used most often. Then again, my ex believed his own bullshit, so maybe Ben really thought he was in the right.

“Hey, sweetheart.” One of the firefighters waved at Monica.

Monica gritted her teeth, pulled out her phone, and turned around, clearly giving him the butt. She made a big show of checking her email.

“Hey there, Monica,” the firefighter said louder.

“Oh God, is he coming over here?” Monica gave up the pretense of playing with her phone, slipped it in her back jeans pocket, and folded her arms.

Haley shot her a one-eyebrow-up mom look. “Is there something we should know?”

“Remember that guy I went out with a couple of times with the really little...” She looked up at me from under her lashes. “...T-Rex hands?”

I glanced at him. “You know what they say about a man with little hands...really small...gloves.”

He took off his helmet.

“He’s cute.” I watched him take off his gloves and felt my eyes go huge. “There’s been a mix up. Somewhere there’s a toddler walking around with giant man-hands.”

“How bad can they be?” Haley glanced over her shoulder and back, her eyebrows locked in permalift. “How can he even hold a fork?”

“How can he hold the hose?” His hands were barely big enough to hold a pen.

“I didn’t stick around long enough to find out anything about his hose.” Monica turned and fake-smiled at him. “Hi, Rich.”

“It’s so good to see you.” He basked in her glow like a sun worshipper soaking up rays. “I left you several messages.”

I couldn’t help but wonder if he had to use both hands to dial the phone.

“The things I do for the group,” Monica mumbled under her breath. “Sorry. I didn’t get any of your messages.”

He was close enough to sniff her hair and kept pulling in long drags. It was creepy and cute. In Texas we like a good eighteen inches of personal space, but he’d cut that by half and was closing in fast. “I’d hug you but I don’t want to get you dirty and smoky.”

“How about dinner soon?” Monica got the words out without swallowing her own tongue. I had to hand it to her. It hadn’t looked easy.

Rich’s six-foot, burly fireman’s body smiled. “How about tomorrow night? I can pick you up at six.”

He was all giant, please-love-me, puppy dog eyes.

She nodded.

A tall fireman looked over his shoulder and shook his head. “Hey, Menners, job’s over here.”

“Great. I’ll see you then.” Rich blew Monica a kiss. “I have to go.”

He turned back to the fire and hitched a thumb toward Monica. “That’s the girl I was telling y’all about.”

Monica turned fifty shades of angry red. “Did he just brag about me to his buddies?”

“Yes, and I’m so glad he didn’t high-five any of them. That would have been weird.” I shivered.

“He seems like a nice guy and very interested in you. He’s handsome...you know, from the wrist up. Looks aren’t everything.” Haley sounded like she was trying hard to convince us.

“Yeah, but you don’t have to sit down and eat dinner with him. On our last date, I had to fight the urge to cut up his meat.” Monica continued to grin manically.

“Why did you ask him out?” I was all for a free meal, but not at the expense of tiny T-Rex hands.

“For the investigation.” Monica looked at me like I was five beers shy of a six-pack.

“What investigation?” I glanced at Haley in case she knew what Monica was talking about.

“No idea.” Haley’s shoulders bobbed up and down.

Monica took a deep, cleansing breath. “The murder investigation. Big Tommy was murdered.”

“Huh?” I looked around dumbfounded. What had I missed? When had Big Tommy been murdered?

“We already talked about this. His house exploded. I’d like to find out why. Since Rich is the only fireman I know, I’m going to have dinner with him.” Monica didn’t sound happy.

“You really are taking one for the team.” I glanced back at Rich. “You should tell him that you have a glove fetish and see if he can keep his hands covered.”

Haley nodded. “That’s a great idea.”

Monica thought about it for a couple of beats. “Not bad. I guess I can hint around about the gloves.”

“Couldn’t the house have blown up because he left the gas on?” Haley pointed out. “This seems like an accident.”

“I guess that’s possible.” Monica nodded. “Tomorrow night I’ll see what I can get from Rich.”