EXCERPTS FROM BROKEN TOYS BY GLENDA THOMPSON
“Crime scene?” Mr.
Schmidt crumpled as if he’d been kicked in the solar plexus. Bewilderment
flooded his features. For the first time since the rangers
arrived, the man looked old. “My driveway is a crime scene?”
“I’m afraid so, sir,”
Noah said, using the tone he reserved for scared kids, grieving family
members and sagging old men who hadn’t tasted sweet tea in more
than sixty years. “Hip implants, bits of bone and teeth are not normally used
for road base. It looks like someone may have disposed of a body in
your driveway.”
***
In
the bedroom, he rummaged through the top drawer of his dresser, searching for
the engagement ring. It wasn’t there. I know I put it in here somewhere. He
opened the second drawer. Tossed t-shirts around.
No
ring. Starting to panic he jerked open the third drawer. The tiny blue box,
snuggled in the corner of the drawer beneath his rolled socks, winked up at
him. His shoulders sagged in relief. He reached in, grabbed the box, and opened
it.
Empty.
No ring.
***
The shooter
returned. Another barrage of bullets pounded into the door followed by a
physical assault. The barricade could not hold against this kind of pressure.
Bree grabbed her phone. It slipped from her bloody fingers. She wiped her hands
on her jeans and grabbed it again to dial her dad. It went straight to
voicemail. Damn it.
She switched
to her text app and thumbed down to her Dad’s number. Her fingers flew across
the screen.
—Active shooter.
High School. At least one fatality, multiple injuries. I’m ok— Her throat
tightened with tears. Her fingers trembled. —I love you, Daddy—
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