Maybe he’d left me in the van, knowing it would catch on fire.
Yes, by now my subconscious had put it all together. He had to be crazy. Mr. Crazy had taken a stun gun out of this van and helped Lucky to a heart attack by blowing the circuit of his pacemaker. I sighed in frustration. No, Ellis had said it was a computer programming malfunction. My brain was working so hard, I expected smoke to come roaring out of my ears. Frank told me he programmed the fireworks display. He also said that he’d had a number of careers. What if he’d programmed the interruption to Lucky’s pacemaker? What if he’d used the stun gun to scare Lucky into a heart attack?
A missile exploded directly above the van, and I hurled myself into the cargo area. If I hid behind his gear or, heaven help me, made it out the back of the van before he returned, he might hesitate before killing or hurting Lenny. I had stun guns at my beck and call. This joker had better watch his butt.
I crawled into the back of the van with my flashlight, determined to find the phone and managed to wedge one of my legs between a large crate labeled EXPLOSIVES and my other fat thigh between the explosives crate and a roof-high stack of cases of a popular red soda. Too much soda. Maybe that was this guy’s problem. Too much food coloring? Too much caffeine? Fear was slowing me down. I shoved with all my might and gained nothing. There was silence.
Was the show finished? Would he be back any minute? Did he have to stay with the show in case something went wrong? I prayed I was right.
The back doors of the van creaked open. He reached up and unscrewed the cabin light, dashing my hopes of attracting someone’s attention. Who was I? A wimpy scary movie heroine? No.
I froze, praying he wouldn’t see me where I crouched behind the cases of red soda, my head fully exposed.
“I bet you’re wondering why I’m holding your dog in my arms like a watermelon I’m about to crush?”
I refused to answer, hoping beyond hope that he was bluffing, that he hadn’t actually seen where I was in the van. I let my gaze roam the corners of the van that I could see. No phone. No tire iron. Not yet.
He rubbed his hand over his face. “Most people, they never see it coming until it’s too late.” He waited. “My wife, Felicia. All sunny and bright eyed one day, and dead from cancer three months later.”
“Oh, Frank. I’m so sorry. Felicia is a beautiful name.”
“I always thought so.”
“How did she die so suddenly?”
He rubbed a hand across his eyes. “She’d lost a lot of weight. Had no appetite. I tried to get her to see a doctor, but she refused. Blamed her stomach discomfort on food allergies and indigestion.”
“Was it pancreatic cancer?”
He ignored me. “We didn’t have any money to speak of, what with my layoff and all.”
“Surely the county hospital would have taken her.”
“And I was never home—always traveling across the state with my fireworks, trying to make ends meet.” He stroked Lenny’s head. “I’d come home and ask her how she was feeling, but she always said she was fine. Or that the new medicine the doctor gave her was making her sick to her stomach.”
“Did she ever see a doctor?” Poor woman. What a painful way to die.
“She lied to save my pride!” His eyes became those of a madman. “She didn’t want me to feel bad or blame myself. Stupid woman wouldn’t go to the doctor if it meant I’d have to do without.”
Puzzle pieces began to fall into place. “Were you laid off from Texas Power?”
His fevered gaze turned toward me. “Lucky Straw never cared for anyone but himself. Didn’t matter that I’d given my life to the power company. Didn’t matter that I’d worked long hours and never saw my wife. Heck fire, it didn’t matter that I was too old to be offered another job in my line of work. All that mattered to that SOB was that his budget sheets looked good when he presented them to the board. His bonus was the only thing he cared about in his entire life.” A slow grin spread across his face. “That and making Lucky’s Naked Chili.”
Should I prod him to confess outright? Or will I drive him away?
His manner changed abruptly. “If you’re not going to tell me the real reason you’re snooping around my personal belongings, I’ll go back and check on my fireworks. The show’s a real humdinger.” And then he laughed as if all his screws had not only come loose, but had fallen to the floor and been kicked under the sofa. “Not to mention, I’m getting hungry.”
I debated turning on my flashlight to draw attention to our plight, but I didn’t want to lose a possible weapon. At that hopeful thought, a shower of sparkling fireworks showered down nearly on top of us. Frank wasn’t fazed. Lenny tried to wriggle free. And I prayed the lights had illuminated Creepo for a second or two.
I gathered my thoughts and slowed my breathing. Enough was enough. I gripped my flashlight and tensed my muscles to run. If I could distract his captor, Lenny could either scratch or bite him, or escape the way that Toto escaped from the Wicked Witch of the West.
Then he closed the rear door and locked it.
And I lost it! I began to bang the side of the van with my fist, metal or no metal. Fireworks made no difference. I banged and
