Christmas in Key West. Cynthia Thomason

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СКАЧАТЬ minutes.” She stepped ahead of him, then walked a few feet down the hall.

      “Can we find a place to sit and talk?” he asked.

      She stayed where she was. “This is okay. I don’t want to be too far away in case Poppy calls me.”

      “Fine.” Reese tucked the ball cap under his arm and ran his fingers through his hair. Strands fell onto his forehead, andAbby locked her gaze on the nurses’ station rather than stare at him. “I know how this must look to you,” he began.

      “No, you don’t,” she said, focusing on his face again. “Because if you did, you wouldn’t be here. You’d be out trying to hire a lawyer.”

      “I don’t need a lawyer, Abby. What happened was unfortunate, but there was no physical abuse.”

      She didn’t respond, letting him squirm. “Since you’re here, I assume Loretta called you.”

      She nodded. “Thank goodness.”

      “Right. Anyway, then she told you that Huey’s been starting fires on his property, which is an escalation of his other irritating antics.”

      “And I’m sure that, as a representative of the police force, you did your duty and warned him to stop.”

      “I did. Several times.”

      “And he cooperated?”

      “For now, yes. But it’s only been a few days. I also told him to get rid of a pile of burned, potentially toxic substances that remained from his last bonfire. The stuff is offensive to his neighbors. It stinks.”

      Abby remained silent. She couldn’t very well argue the point. She’d experienced the foul odor herself.

      “Anyway, responding to a complaint call from another resident of Southard Street, I went back to Huey’s place today and discovered that he had dumped the mess at the edge of his yard, with most of it spilling onto the street. That’s illegal dumping, violation of code number—”

      “Never mind,” she interrupted. “I’m not arguing with you about minor infractions my father may have committed. I want to know why you manhandled a senior citizen, a man at least thirty years older than you.”

      “I’m getting to that.”

      She glanced at her wristwatch. “You’d better hurry. You’ve only got two minutes left.”

      When he glared at her, she backed up a step. Perhaps she was hitting too hard.

      “I told Huey I was going to arrest him. He deserved it, and damn it, Abby, I could still arrest him.”

      “If you think you’re intimidating me with your threats, Reese, you’re wrong. I’m not the teenage girl who left this island years ago. I’ve experienced a few things—”

      He held up his hand. “I don’t think for a minute you’re that same girl, Abby. I’m hoping you’re ready to hear a reasonable explanation for what happened.”

      Reasonable? Abby quickly tamped down her anger by mentally counting to ten. Was he insinuating that her behavior thirteen years ago hadn’t been reasonable?

      “In typical Huey fashion,” Reese continued, “your father refused to get in the car and come down to the station.”

      Abby had no defense for that charge. She knew her father too well.

      “He stood there over that trash like he was king of his self-made mountain, and wouldn’t budge. In fact, he even said that if I wanted him in the patrol car, I’d have to drag him into it.”

      Abby could almost hear her dad’s voice.

      “That did it, Abby. After I’d warned him time and again about breaking the laws in Key West, I’d reached my limit. I stepped around the trash heap, grabbed his arm and started to pull—gently, mind you—pull him to the car.”

      “And what happened?”

      “He yanked free, stumbled, slipped on something gooey at the edge of the yard and fell. Unfortunately, his head hit the mailbox, and that’s how he got the black eye. The other bruises and the concussion? Collateral damage, I suspect.”

      She waited a moment, tapped her toe against the floor and said, “That’s the story you’re sticking with?”

      Reese raised his hands. “Abby, that’s the story. Period. I called an ambulance, and the rest you know.”

      She would definitely confirm this version with her father. In the meantime, she made a great show of checking her watch again. “We’re done here,” she said.

      Reese reached out as if to touch her arm. She stepped away and he dropped his hand. “I’m sorry it happened,” he said. “That’s why I’m here tonight—to make sure Huey’s all right.”

      “And you have,” she said. “You’re free to go and celebrate Thanksgiving.”

      “Celebrating is the last thing on my mind,” he said. “But I will go.”

      He walked to the elevator. Once inside, he pulled on the baseball cap and stared at her from under the bill. Then the doors closed, and Abby drew the first normal breath she’d taken in more than five minutes. But at least the worst was over. She’d seen Reese again and she hadn’t melted or fainted or even babbled. She’d stood her ground pretty well. Now, though, as she went back to her dad’s room, she realized that nearly every limb of her body was trembling. She’d have to work on controlling that reaction.

      Jeopardy had ended. The TV was silent. “Buzz the nurse, Abby,” Huey said. “Earlier they told me I could go home if I had somebody to observe me through the night. I guess you’ve got a good enough pair of eyes, so I want out of this place.”

      “Okay, Poppy. I’ll see if I can arrange for your discharge.”

      He swung his legs over the side of the bed. “So what’d you think of Burkett after all these years?” he asked. “He’s a piece of work, isn’t he? Officious son of—”

      “Let’s not talk about that now,” she said. “Let’s just get you home. Those two turkey dinners I brought might still be edible.”

       Chapter Three

      ON FRIDAY MORNING, Abby raked dried leaves and twigs into a large pile. Somewhere under this mess that used to be her front yard, grass had to exist. And if it didn’t, she’d plant seeds, fertilize and hope for the best.

      After scooping part of the pile onto her rake, she dumped the refuse into a garbage can. Thank goodness the trash collector she’d phoned earlier had removed the burned debris from Southard Street. Abby considered the money well spent, since Reese wouldn’t have anything to complain about for a while. She wondered why her father hadn’t called the trash man himself. Did Poppy not have thirty dollars?

      She’d just resumed her raking when the window to the second-story СКАЧАТЬ