Andrew’s cheeks flashed crimson. “You’re lying.”
“No. It’s true. They didn’t teach sex education back then,” said Bob.
The other Gophers shook their heads. “Nope.”
Declan ran a hand through his hair. “I have so many questions.”
Andrew Hepper appeared as though something had lodged in his throat. He covered his ears with his hands, his mouth lipping what looked to Frank like, “No, no, no, no...” over and over.
Declan leaned toward Mac. “I think you might have hit a raw nerve there.”
Frank overheard and grunted. It looked as though Mac wasn’t the only person Major Hepper’s sexual predilections had sent to therapy.
Andrew lowered his hands from his ears and swallowed. He smoothed his tie against his chest and lifted his chin to cast a beady gaze in Tommy’s direction. “Who are you?”
“We’re the kids whose names your father painted on bomb targets to scare us away from these dummy bombs,” said Tommy. He cupped his hands and pointed toward the crowd behind them. “This guy’s Major Hepper’s son!”
Tommy’s announcement had no effect.
“They’re too young to remember Major Hepper,” muttered Frank.
Tommy sighed, shoulders slouching. “When did we get so old?”
Foliage turned back to the crowd, his expression twisting with what looked like horror. “What are they singing?”
Frank realized the crowd was in the middle of a round of ‘Row, Row, Row Your Boat.’
Before he could return to his conversation with Andrew, Hepper’s son huffed, lifted his hands in the air and dropped them to his sides with a slap. “Why am I even talking to you people?” He turned on his heel and marched back to the bulldozer to climb to his spot hanging from the driver’s cage. “This place is as good as gone. You’ve got no papers and no right to stop us.”
He tapped the driver’s shoulder and the tractor roared to life again.
“Are you sure those bombs ain’t real?” Frank heard the driver scream over the tractor’s rumble.
“Fake!” answered Andrew, thrusting his hand into the air like a fascist dictator punctuating a speech.
The Gophers, Declan and Foliage fell back a few steps as the bulldozer lurched forward.
“Now what?” asked Tommy.
One of the children ran up and threw a tomato at the tractor. It struck the top of the front grill, splattering the driver with mist of red slime and seeds.
“Take that!” the child arced around and slipped between two bombs, presumably to find another missile in the field.
Frank and the others watched the child go, their gazes settling on the plants beyond the bombs, each bursting with red and green fruit.
“You thinking what I’m thinking?” asked Mac.
Frank checked his watch. “Well, we do need to kill about fifteen minutes before that injunction gets here.”
Mac grinned and led the charge into the field. His first tomato hit the bulldozer driver square on the forehead, covering him with tomato blood.
“I’m not doing this,” screamed the driver as he cut the engine.
“What?” shrieked Andrew, his voice too loud as the engine shuddered to a halt.
“I don’t like it and I don’t need it.” The driver slid from his seat to the opposite side of the tractor to avoid flying produce, and jogged away.
Holding up his arm to block flying tomatoes, Andrew took the driver’s seat and restarted the tractor. He shifted some levers and the bulldozer jerked forward, its shovel knocking over three dummy bombs. Two more fell like dominos.
Declan picked up a child and scooted him out of harm’s way.
From his location in the field, Frank spotted a small group of militia men advance from the collection of protesters. They lined up like British soldiers, shotguns aimed at the bulldozer.
Frank frowned.
Crap.
“You can’t shoot me, you idiots!” Hepper shrieked. “You can’t murder people over gardens, in front of witnesses!”
More yellow-grey bombs tumbled passively to the ground as Andrew’s lemon-hued mount leapt forward again.
“My father knew you were watching him with his secretary! I watched him too!”
“Ooh, boy. There it is. Thirty years of therapy gone in a heartbeat.” said Bob. “He’s crazy as a jay bird.”
The protest party’s voices swelled.
“Eighty bottles of beer on the wall, eighty bottles of beer.”
Foliage spun and threw a tomato in the direction of the crowd. “That’s not what I told you to sing!” He stomped back toward the yard, waving his hands above his head. “Stop! Stop!”
Andrew and the tractor continued up the row of bombs, knocking them flat and rolling over a few, laughing maniacally as tomatoes exploded around him.
“He’s going to tear up the place before we can stop him,” said Frank.
Declan looked up, shielding his eyes from the sun with his palm. “What’s that?”
A second engine’s roar buzzed above them. Frank squinted skyward and spotted a crop-dusting plane, its blue wings tilting back and forth like a levitating see-saw.
Fierce goblin tomato faces, painted on the wings after The Great Tomato War, caught the sunlight in their angry eyes and flashed furious warnings at the bulldozer.
Mac turned his attention to the sky and then looked at Frank, his eyes wide.
“It’s T.K.!”
Chapter Twenty
Charlotte took the elevator to the lobby to find Angelina. The concierge desk sat unoccupied. Croix was at her station with her back turned, so Charlotte headed down the hallway to Angelina’s door. She knocked, but no one answered.
Shoot.
She’d hoped to go over her findings.
Turning to head back to the lobby, she nearly plowed into Croix, who’d somehow walked down the hall without Charlotte hearing her and now stood right beside her. The experience felt a little like a haunted house statue that followed people when they weren’t looking.
Charlotte took a step back to catch her balance and focus on the creeper.
“Where’d you come
