Watery Grave - Sharon Hamilton Page 0,1

disapproving face of his beloved, her face wrinkled in a scowl, her right shoulder slightly lower than the left, pulled down by the weight of a computer strap and case hanging below.

It was one of those cat and canary moments. He’d been caught, almost anticipated he’d been caught.

“This just arrived!” He pointed to the dirty case fouling her kitchen.

“I should hope so, I mean, wouldn’t want that hanging around all day. Whatever possessed you to tell the kids you were going to open it? Here?”

He really didn’t have an answer for that one. Ask him anything about freefalling from thirteen thousand feet or firepower from different caliber ammo, and he’d have answers at the ready. But this, well, he’d never trained for this.

“So, you’d prefer I take this to the backyard?” He reached for the bag, but Christy slapped his hand away.

“I’d prefer that you blew it up.”

“Cool!” Brandon said quickly, and then realized his mistake. One glare from Christy, and the boys were exceedingly quiet. But Maggie took on the challenge.

“Can I light it up?” she asked, a devilish grin crossing her face.

Kyle shook his head. What had he taught his little brood?

“Nope. We’re going to take a look at this in private and you kids aren’t going to be anywhere near it.” She dropped her computer bag, grabbed a tea towel, used it to pick up the handle and, holding it out away from her body like a poop-soaked dirty diaper, headed for the back door. Before she stepped over the threshold, she abruptly turned, all three children piling up on one another as they stopped. “No one comes outside. And everyone washes their hands and face.”

No one moved. Even Kyle wasn’t sure what to do.

“I said now, troops! You march yourselves into the bathroom and wash those hands and faces before I stick you all in the tub together!”

This of course was always threatened, especially the part about the boys having to stand or sit naked in the tub/shower with their sister, and never really happened, but it worked every time. The boys were going through a “girls have cooties” phase that Kyle knew would last a few years before morphing into something more dangerous.

The three of them disappeared down the hallway. Kyle heard water splashing and the beginnings of an argument while he followed Christy outside.

“Honestly, Kyle. I thought you had better sense about hazmat things,” Christy was barking as he followed her. “You have no idea if this could be dangerous.”

“Honey, they wouldn’t deliver it if it was. I’m thinking—”

“No, Kyle, you weren’t thinking, because if you were, you’d have stayed outside with this little IED and not brought it into our house and expose the kids. If it was a package in a plain brown paper wrapping, you wouldn’t touch it, right?”

She did have a point there.

“But—”

“I know, I know. It has flowers and heart stickers all over it, and you recognized it as being mine. But would you take a look at this piece of shit?” She held the case up until satisfied Kyle got the full import of her wrath.

“You’re right, Christy. Of course, you’re right. I wasn’t thinking.”

Satisfied, she set the bag on the glass-top table on their patio under the opened red umbrella. Stepping back one pace, she examined it.

“I already shook it,” Kyle added, trying to be helpful.

“Of course you did. And you’re still here. So I’m guessing it’s just what we thought, but I still don’t know what to do about opening it.”

“Let me call Fredo. He’ll know about explosives and—”

“And I want another opinion too.”

“Well, I think Coop should be available, we could use a medic. Maybe Lucas or Jake. Tucker might know a thing or two about it. T.J.?”

“Sure. You call some boys over here. I’m going to call the funeral parlor where he was fried.”

Kyle winced at Christy’s words. It was hardly fitting for the honor and respect he held for the man, if their hunch was correct, might still be residing inside this pink case. Christy was serious, dropping the tea towel on the table, slapping her hands together as if getting rid of Gunny’s dust and ashes. It was slightly irreverent, Kyle thought.

“How was your day, sweetie?” he asked.

“Don’t ask. A disaster. I’m referring them out. Next time I’m not taking any more of you guys until you are good and married. I think he just wanted to impress her about living here in sunny San Diego so he could get a good