by J. L. Wilson
“I’m sure it is,” Alan said confidently. “The health inspector goes through the building at least once a year, so we know it’s passed inspection. I’m sure with a touch of paint and some cleaning, we could make it into a nice little home, at least until you know what you want to do.”
The thought of painting, cleaning, and moving was so exhausting I just whispered, “Sounds good, Alan.” I resolved to consider the idea tomorrow, when surely I’d have more energy to contemplate such a monumental task.
“Try not to worry about it, Tucker. Something can be worked out. Believe me.”
“I hope so. My house is a crime scene and I’m not sure I can ever go back there.”
“I know. But trust me. We’ll figure something out.”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t have that kind of hope left in me.
Chapter 14
When we got to his house, it took Alan a couple of trips to get me, the kittens, my hospital bags, hospital paperwork, and the grocery sacks with my belongings all moved to the lower level of his townhouse. I followed him down the stairs, relaxation increasing with each step. The dark brown carpet cushioned every move and a faint aroma of apples and cinnamon hung in the air, like a pie was pulled from the oven an hour or so earlier. It was such a startling contrast to the horror I just left.
“We’ll put you in this bedroom and we can close the upstairs door so the kittens stay here.” He put the two sacks on the immaculate bed in the tastefully decorated bedroom and set the cat carrier down. “They can run all they want around the TV room. I only use it to watch movies, anyway, so they’ll have the room to themselves. I brought some of their food and toys and stuff here. They’ll be fine.” He opened the door to the attached bathroom, a room almost as big as my old bedroom. “I’ll put the litter box in the corner over here.”
“They might jump around or get into things,” I cautioned when he opened the door on the carrier. For a minute nothing happened then Cayenne’s orange paw cautiously inched out, testing the carpeted floor. He emerged from the cage, spied the bed, and made a beeline for it, pushing underneath. His sister hesitated in the door to the cage as though considering making a break for it, but in the end she followed his example.
“I’ll be lucky if they ever quit hiding,” I said glumly. “I can’t imagine what it was like for them. Thank God my smoke alarms didn’t go off, otherwise they’d be deaf.”
“Yeah, the bastard who did that to your house must have figured the alarms would alert the neighbors. We found the batteries on the floor.”
“Thank heavens for small favors,” I whispered. “I feel sorry for them.”
“They’ll be fine. They can run and hide and do whatever it is kittens do. They’ll forget all about it in a day or two. I hardly use this lower level anyway, so if something gets broken or messed up, it’ll give me a good excuse to go and buy something new.” While he talked, Alan pulled a couple of my blouses from the sack and hung them in the large closet near the bathroom. “I’ll go back to your house tomorrow and get the rest of your clothes. You can use this space until we get the apartment whipped into shape.”
I sat on the bed, my cracked ribs aching fiercely, keeping time with the headache that almost blinded me and the throbbing of my broken fingers. It was like I kept all pain at bay while I dealt with the house and once it was behind me, the accumulated aches suddenly landed on me in a heap. I longed to fall over and let the dark burgundy bedspread envelop me in warmth and softness.
Alan tucked a couple of T-shirts into a drawer and tumbled the rest of the sack into another drawer. Oh, Lord. He was rooting around in my underwear drawer. I should have been mortified at the thought of him seeing my unders, but all I felt was exhaustion.
“There’s a spare bathrobe here if you want to take a shower.” He eyed me sympathetically. “Maybe you should wait until tomorrow. You might fall asleep standing up. Hold on.” He left and soon returned, carrying the hospital sack and paperwork. “John said there are pills in here somewhere.” He opened the sack and wrinkled his nose at what he saw. “Plastic ware. Oh well. At least you have a toothbrush.” Alan put the hospital hairbrush, toothbrush, toothpaste, and tissues in the bathroom. “How about a nice glass of wine to wash down the pain pill?”
“That sounds perfect. Except I won’t take a pill. I think a glass of wine will do the trick.” I followed him into the next room, a big open area with two deep easy chairs and matching hassocks, a large flat screen TV and a coffee table. I eased myself onto one of the chairs and sank back with a sigh of contentment.
“You relax. I’ll get us something to snack on.” Alan went upstairs and I think I must have dozed off, because it seemed a while before he returned with an enormous tray, which he set on the coffee table.
“A feast.” I eyed the wine bottle and two full glasses of white wine, the two bowls of chips and three bowls of dip, along with napkins and small plates.
He handed me a wine glass. “Here’s to better times ahead.” He raised his glass to mine. We clinked the rims, making them chime.
“I’ll drink to that.” I took a swallow, sighing when I felt taut muscles relax. The wine coated my tongue with a silky coolness which washed off the accumulated stress and fear of the day. “I’m so screwed up. What day is today?”
“Tuesday.”
“I missed most of Monday, I guess.”
“Being in the hospital will do that,” Alan said.
“I missed work today. Who filled in for me?”
Alan waved that away. “Not to worry. Between Miller and the bar staff, we’re managing. You sleep in for the next few days and heal.”
“I’ll be there tomorrow.” I leaned forward and put a few chips and a healthy dollop of dip on a plate.
“You need to rest and recover. And we need to get you set up in a new place to live. The more I think about it, the more I think the apartment over the Acorn is just the thing.”
“I don’t know. Maybe a regular apartment would be better. I think I might feel safer if I have people around me.” I dipped, nibbled, and dipped some more.
“There’re people in either the Pub or the Parlor from about eight in the morning until two in the morning, sometimes earlier and sometimes later,” he pointed out. “You may find yourself overrun with people.”
“Well, yeah, I suppose.” I sipped my wine. It was cold and crisp and faintly dry, a perfect complement to the chips and ranch dip. In fact, it was so good I took several sips.
“Besides, our building has security.” Alan loaded up a corn chip with guacamole and sat back. “We have 24-7 security. All we have to do is call the service and they’ll fix it so the third floor has its own system. Remember? They asked about it when we set up the service.” He munched on the chip, dabbing his chin with a napkin.
“Yeah. I remember.” I didn’t remember, really, but I trusted Alan on things like that. I took another couple of sips of wine. “I am so beat.” I yawned.
“You should be.” He regarded me over the arm of his chair. “Did they get it?”
“Hmm?”
“Did you have something? Something they were after? Did they get it?”
A little voice in my head said, Shut up. Don’t talk about this. Nobody knew, right? Another voice said, Have another sip of wine and forget about worries for a while.
“No, they didn’t,” I said, following the advice of the second little voice. I held up my glass. “Fill ’er up.”
He obliged, tilting the bottle over my glass before taking my plate and loading it up with chips. “Is it worth all of this?”
I yawned again. “I don’t know. But Will thought it was important, so by God, it’s important to me. I won’t let him die in vain, Alan.”
He nodded. “I respect that.”
We sat in silence for a few minutes. It felt so good to lounge there, sipping wine, staring at the darkened TV, and letting the quietness seep into my bones. “Alan?”
“Hmm?”
“Someone in t
own tried to kill me.”
There was another long silence. “Yeah.”
“It’s hard to believe someone I’ve known for a long time might be capable of killing me.”
Another silence. “Yeah.”
“I shouldn’t be surprised. I mean, people are probably capable of just about anything.”
“Including good, Tucker,” he said quietly.
Now it was my turn to be silent for a while. “Yeah.” I drained the wine in my glass. “I think I’ll lie down.” I set the glass on the coffee table, noting it seemed quite distant.
Alan helped me to my feet and steered me to the bedroom. “I put a bottle of water here on the nightstand,” he said from a far distance.
I realized I was lying in the bed, staring at the ceiling. “Don’t turn out the light.”
“I’ll leave the lights on in the family room. Good night, Tucker.”
I closed my eyes.
****
Once again when I awoke I wondered who am I, where am I, why am I? I lay in the unfamiliar bed, slowly peering around the unfamiliar room.
A small bundle pressed against my feet. I propped myself up on my elbows, which proved to be a big mistake because my right elbow was badly bruised and still sore. I managed to see along the length of the bed to the two kittens sleeping soundly against my legs.
I rolled over carefully and examined the rest of the room. I glimpsed a bathroom with a light on, a closet, a doorway. Suddenly I remembered. I was at Alan’s house. I finally found the bedside clock and did a double-take. One? Was it one in the morning? Then I saw the small red dot next to “PM”. One in the afternoon?
I never slept past six or seven in the morning. Good heavens. I inched away from the sleeping kittens and sat up. I ached all over, from my head to my toes. I pushed aside the covers, surprised to see I was still in my clothes. I must have fallen asleep where I lay last night.
I got up, unsteady at first but gradually finding my balance by the time I reached the bathroom. A pristine white bathrobe hung on the door and I vaguely remembered Alan unpacking a few items of my clothing last night when we got to his house.
Yes, a shower. Please. I stripped off my clothes, which had been worn now for several days and left them in a heap on the floor. I peeled off the bandage over my elbow and examined the black-and-blue marks along my torso, showing where I slammed into something, probably the console in my car. A clear striping of bruising across my throat and over my chest showed where the seat belt dug in. And lastly there was a new bruise on my face, this one on my forehead above a nasty gash. “I’m the Bride of Frankenstein,” I said as I peeled off bandages and discarded them.
I stepped into the corner shower, luxuriating in the expensive rainfall showerhead which gently pummeled my body. I simply stood there for several long minutes, delighting in the warmth and the soft massaging sensation. I carefully soaped and cleaned myself and my hair, washing off days of grime, fear, and hatefulness. When I emerged and wrapped myself in the fluffy white robe, I felt like a new woman.
I towel-dried my hair and patted it into a semblance of shape. That was all I really needed to do because its naturally curly nature meant it had a mind of its own anyway. I went to the closet and pulled it open, expecting to see a blouse or two.
Instead, half of my entire wardrobe hung there, a light scent of lavender wafting to me with the opened doors. A suitcase on the floor held underwear and shorts. It wasn’t my suitcase. The last time I saw my suitcase, it was full of manure on the floor in my bedroom.
I turned to view the kittens, who still lounged on the bed. “Did you guys do this?”
“Hey, Sleeping Beauty!” Alan called from above.
I went into the family room. “I’m up and moving,” I called back. “What elf brought my clothes here?”
“I figured you might like some selection. You were zonked, so I hung things up and left. Come upstairs and have lunch.”
“Lunch? Why aren’t you at the restaurant?”
“Get dressed and come on up. We have talking to do.”
He sounded happy and excited, not glum. So maybe I wasn’t up for another day of awful happenings. I hurriedly dressed, pulling on clean jeans and a button-on light cotton shirt, which was all I could manage given how dinged-up I was.
When I went into the family room, the kittens followed me, making a beeline for the food dishes now arranged near the patio door leading to the lawn outside. A new water bowl, kibble bowl, and two small heart-shaped dishes were arranged on a large rug which said Spoiled Rotten Pets Live Here. I examined one of the dishes and determined that yes, it was indeed porcelain. Trust Alan to use the fine china for the cats.
I climbed the stairs and opened the door leading to Alan’s kitchen, closing it quickly behind me to prevent any kittens from escaping. They would take one look at Alan’s collection of angel figurines in his glass display case and havoc would ensue.
The roomy kitchen was empty but I saw Alan at his dining room table dressed in jeans and a pale blue shirt. “You seem better this morning,” he said, getting up. “I have quiche in the oven, keeping warm. Have a seat and let me serve you.”
“What are you doing here? Did you close the restaurant?” I filled a waiting ceramic mug with coffee while he went to the stove, opening it and releasing a mouth-watering aroma. I went to the dining room, a bright room with an expanse of windows with a view of the golf course in the distance.
“We did a buffet today.” He put a plate in front of me with a large steaming slice of spinach-mushroom quiche. My stomach rumbled at the sight of its creamy texture. Alan’s quiches were always moist and delicious and the crust was buttery and so flaky. The dish of fresh fruit next to it appeared almost as good. “I made up a bunch of quiches and the staff will pop them in the oven for reheating.”
“You must have been up all night working.” I speared a strawberry and bit into it, savoring its sweet juiciness.
“Oh, somewhat. It won’t be the first time I was cracking eggs at dawn.”
“Did you slip me a Mickey Finn last night? I was out like a light. I never sleep so good.”
“I cannot tell a lie. I contacted your doctor and he said mixing one pain pill with a drink would not harm you. So yes, I slipped you a Mickey.” Before I could express my reaction to this perfidy, he said, “I ran over to your house and got most of your clothes and a few other items. The police photographed everything so you’ll know what I’ve taken. That way, when you do an inventory, you’ll know what’s really missing.” He sat at the seat across from me and picked up his matching coffee mug. “Owen said they’re done processing the scene so you’ll be able to get a service in to do the cleaning sometime soon.”
My first bite of quiche paused on the way to my mouth. “Who do I call? I’ve never even thought about it. Who can I get to clean up a mess like that?”
Alan pulled a memo pad from his shirt pocket. “I called around. There’s a service in Des Moines which specializes in what they call disaster recovery. You know, floods, fires, and those kinds of things. They’ll give you an estimate. And Owen said there are companies which specialize in cleaning up crime scenes.” Alan grimaced. “You know, blood splatter and fingerprint dust and all that. So we can find someone. And I checked with your insurance company, and a large part of it will be covered.”
“That’s a start. I don’t want to go in and inventory anything until it’s at least somewhat cleaned.”
“Absolutely,” Alan said. “You don’t have to worry about it. I have a team of volunteers standing by, ready to go in and get it cleaned enough so you can go through and check things.”
“Seriously?” I said around a bite of delectable quiche. It really did melt on my tongue. Combined with the fruit and the coffee, it was ambrosia.
“Yep. When the police give us the word, they’ll be in there handling things. After they’re done, we’ll call the real pros in and they’ll get it all fixed up again.”
“I’m going t
o have to sell it. I don’t think I can live there.” I swallowed hard, a memory of the horrid smell overriding the delicious scent of strawberries and coffee.
Alan nodded. “I don’t blame you. I talked to Lee Knight. His brother, the realtor, said he’d list it for you at half his normal commission. I’m sure he can sell it, Tuck. Once the restoration people get in there and we buy new appliances, it’ll be good as new.”
“Okay. Maybe there is a light at the end of the tunnel.” I sighed happily. “You are the best cook, Alan. Thanks for taking care of everything, not the least of which is my rumbling tummy. Did I tell you Isabel Fitz stopped to see me in the hospital? She wants to work for you. Oh, and I forgot to tell you about John’s idea.”
Alan held up his hand. “Hold that thought. Or those thoughts. First, tell me, what’s your favorite color?”
I stared at him blankly. “Huh?”
“Favorite color. Come on, tell me.”
“I like to wear gold but I like green around me. And yellow. Not bright but soft.” I regarded my plate and the few crumb remaining. “Like your quiche.”
Alan grinned. “Excellent. Hold on. I need to make a call.” He dashed into the kitchen and I heard phone sounds, his voice so quiet I couldn’t hear a word he said. He quickly returned. “Now tell me about Isabel and John.”
“What are you up to?” I pushed aside my empty dishes. “Why do you care about my favorite colors?”
“Tell me about Isabel and John. Go on.”
I told him about Isabel’s visit to me at the hospital. “I couldn’t make sense from what she said. I mean, she and I chatted but I don’t think I said anything earth shattering.”
Alan tilted his coffee mug, watching the swirls of cream. “I wonder about the allergy thing. I heard, and I won’t say where I heard it, that PJ was allergic to latex.”
“So?” I leaned back and burped softly, hands crossed my full tummy. I could get used to being treated like a princess. Fluffy white bathrobes, fresh clean sheets, food on demand. Yep, a girl could get used to this.
“PJ used a condom with his, um, girlfriend. A latex one. I heard she was surprised. He never used condoms before. He apparently wasn’t worried about disease, only pregnancy, and she assured him she used the pill.” Alan rolled his eyes. “Not that he should believe her.”