Page 2 of Chain Reaction

The task had felt monumental, but she’d done it.

Her friends at the Sunrise Beachcomber Club would besojealous. She could only imagine their reactions.

She grabbed her cell phone from her back pocket and snapped a picture. Then she opened the Facebook page for her group and typed, “The early bird gets the worm! Look what I found this morning. Anybody have any idea what this is? No identifying marks, FYI.”

As she hit Post, she grinned again. She couldn’t wait to hear what her friends had to say.

She set her phone on the kitchen bar and walked past it to get some coffee while she waited for the responses to begin pouring in. She would be the talk of the group today.

The small moments like this were what she lived for.

Her breathing finally returned to normal after her impromptu workout. She fixed herself a cup of coffee in her favorite mug—one that read “World’s Best Wife.” Her husband had given it to her a month before he died. Using the mug always filled her with a bittersweet sadness.

She watched the steam rise before circling the mug with her fingers and taking a sip.

Today would be a good day. She could feel it in her bones.

It had taken her a long time to find her new normal as a widow. But she’d finally found her groove.

Carl, her husband, had been gone for five years. The two of them had purchased this small oceanfront home ten years ago after she’d bought a three-million-dollar winning lottery ticket. They’d immediately quit their jobs, bought this place, and moved here.

It had always been their dream to live in an oceanfront cottage, and that lottery ticket had allowed them the opportunity.

Life hadn’t been as easy as Eleanor had thought it would be after winning so much money.

She frowned. No, if anything, life had become more complicated as people came out of the woodwork wanting some of their windfall.

But at least she had beachcombing to help her relax. Hobbies and friends kept her active and entertained.

Dings began sounding on Eleanor’s phone, and more excitement coursed through her. Holding her coffee with one hand, she grabbed her phone with the other. Then she sat at the table, her new treasure in front of her.

She clicked on the post and read the first response.

“That’s an unexploded WWII ordnance. You need to stay far away. Please tell me you didn’t bring it inside!”

Her eyes widened. What? That couldn’t be right. And would something this old still be dangerous?

Certainly, Donald757 was overreacting.

Then she read the next comment. “You need to call the authorities so the bomb squad can come out. Get away from it. Now!”

Her lips parted. Another outrageous theory? What was wrong with these people?

Maybe they’d been watching too many of those World War II documentaries.

But the comments kept furiously coming.

Eighty percent of them were the same—warning of danger.

One commenter offered to buy it.

Only three comments shared her amazement of what she’d found.

Eleanor frowned as her gaze drifted to the object. Could this really be dangerous after so many years submerged in the ocean?

Besides, didn’t mini torpedoes have an expiration date?

Some of her joy began to fade as apprehension set in.