Page 103 of Mountain Man’s Mystic Touch

Not merely Loralee’s interpretation of the threat. A message chosen to echo a promise made a year ago.

My phone vibrates with a call from Carver. He has moved closer to the road so he can transmit safely.

“Mercer owns a dark gray SUV,” he says. “Same general size as the vehicle caught on your cameras. Plate isn’t visible in the recording.”

“Where is he?”

“Deputies are headed to his house.”

“Current employment?”

“Maintenance contractor. He services commercial properties throughout the county.”

That would provide tools, access to restricted areas, and an explanation if anyone saw him near a business after hours.

It also means he knows how buildings function and how crowds move through them.

The bomb squad arrives seventeen minutes later. Their vehicle rolls into the north parking area without lights or sirens. Two technicians confer with Carver before unloading equipment and approaching the lodge.

Loralee moves closer to me as a small wheeled robot crosses the path and enters through the rear door.

The camera feed appears on a portable monitor. The image jerks slightly as the device moves over the threshold and travels between the rows of displays. White table coverings pass on either side until the camera reaches the central arrangement.

The cloth shifts when the robotic arm lifts one corner.

Beneath it sits a black equipment case.

The bomb technician manipulates the camera angle, exposing wires, a battery unit, and several cylindrical objects secured inside. Even on the small screen, I recognize enough to understand that the device is improvised.

Loralee’s shoulder presses against my arm.

“Is it a bomb?”

“Possibly.”

The technician keeps his eyes on the screen before speaking quietly to his partner. Carver joins them. Their discussion lasts less than a minute, but each second seems like an eternity. Finally, Carver approaches us.

“It contains pyrotechnic material, smoke canisters, and a remote receiver,” he says. “The bomb squad believes it was designed to produce multiple loud reports, a bright flash, and enough heat to ignite nearby fabric.”

“Could it shatter the doors?” Loralee asks.

“If the case was positioned close enough when it activated.”

“It was on a wheeled display,” the coordinator says. “Tomorrow morning, that table would have been moved beside the entrance.”

The image forms exactly as Loralee described it. Shattered glass. Smoke. A flash of red from the banner or something worn by a person nearby. Cinnamon and scorched sugar drifting in from the vendors outside.

A child screaming.

“Would it kill someone?” she asks.

Carver chooses his words carefully. “It could cause serious injuries. The larger danger might be panic. People hear explosions inside a crowded building, they run. Anyone near the doors could be crushed or cut by glass.”

Engineered chaos.

Not random violence. Not an angry man lashing out without thought. Mercer has studied the event long enough to know when the lodge will be crowded and which display will be moved. He planted cameras to observe the setup, then used Loralee’s booth to draw security toward the opposite side of the grounds.

“What happens after everyone runs?” I ask.