13
“What the—?” Donald’s voice faded into choking incoherence as he stared at the police cars that once more engulfed the house.
“There’s the forensics van.” Fern looked at Donald. “These people have done more killing than we have, in less time!”
“What’re we doing wrong?”
“Everything, apparently.” Fern shifted in the seat. It wasn’t easy being a wheelman with her arm in a sling, but the Town Car with the automatic was a big help. “Let’s go. We can’t plant the bomb with the police crawling all over the place.” Just being this close to police made her skin crawl.
“Wait. Look.” He pointed past the confusion down the street. On the edge of the action, but not in it, sat the Nash, alone, unattended under a shade tree just past the driveway. “Busy bodies’ll be watching the bulls. Bulls’ll b
