Christmas in Key West. Cynthia ThomasonЧитать онлайн книгу.
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 master bedroom opened and her father stepped onto the balcony, a cup of coffee in hand. She’d checked on him several times during the night, and he’d slept well, almost as if he hadn’t a care in the world.
“Good morning, Poppy,” Abby called up to him. “How are you feeling?”
He rested his elbows on the railing and gave her a robust smile. “Fine, but what are you doing down there? It’s barely eight o’clock, way too early for you to be making all this racket.”
She glanced at what she’d accomplished in the past hour. “This yard won’t rake itself.”
“But I don’t get up this early. I have to work today.”
She leaned on the rake handle and reined in her impatience. Unless his routine had changed, and she doubted it had, hours would pass before he pulled his vendor’s cart from the side of the old theater building where he stored it, and set up his souvenir business in Mallory Square. “We’ll decide about you going to the square later. It’ll depend on how you’re feeling then. Besides, you don’t work until sundown, and the festivities are over by nine o’clock.”
“That doesn’t mean I want my daughter disturbing my rest before I’m ready to get up.”
“Funny, but I was thinking that if you’re feeling better, you could help out.” She pointed to the veranda, where she’d stacked assorted lawn tools. “I brought two rakes from the carriage house.”
“I’d help you, but I’ve got this bad eye. Keeps me a bit off-kilter, if you know what I mean. I hope someone comes along to give you a hand, though, baby girl.” He pointed a shaky finger. “Only, not that someone.”
A blue-striped Key West patrol car rounded the corner of Duval and Southard Streets. Abby couldn’t see the identity of the driver, but her heart leaped to her throat just the same. When the car stopped directly behind her Mazda, Huey let loose a few choice words and disappeared into the house, leaving Abby to face Reese, who was stepping out of the cruiser.
Dressed in a standard police uniform, he walked toward her. “I hear Huey came home last night. How’s he doing?”
“He’s okay.”
Reese gave her a lopsided smile. “Then you’re not going to sue me or the department?”
Once she’d had a chance to consider Reese’s explanation, Abby had reached the conclusion that his story was probably closer to the truth than her father’s. Huey’s version had included such colorful phrases as “rough-necked bully” and “power-hungry tyrant,” while he referred to himself as “innocent victim.” But not knowing Reese’s reason for showing up this morning, she simply said, “I’m keeping my options open.”
Reese smiled again and glanced around the yard. “I see the trash has been removed.”
She gave him a smug look. “Of course. We’re law abiding residents of Key West, Reese. Ones who should not have to be fearful of being arrested.”
He nodded. “Nope. Not anymore. Not about this, at least.”
“Gee, it’s nice that the police department is sending out one of its finest to follow up with surveillance of some of the most dangerous citizens.”
“That’s not why I’m here—exactly,” he said.
“Oh?”
He held out his hand. “You wouldn’t shake with me last night. I thought I’d try again.” When she didn’t move, he added, “It’s been years, Abby.”
She relented, clasped his hand and stared at the long fingers wrapped around hers.