Christmas in Key West

“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 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.