Jean Harrington - The Monet Murders

She wrote it down. “Anything else, Ms. Dunne?” I never got to answer. “Oh, no,” she whispered. “He’s found me.” Terror filling her eyes, she dropped the pad on the table. As if her fear drew him like a beacon, the strange man spotted her and came at her full tilt, in his haste elbowing a woman out of his way.

“Hey, quit your shoving,” she yelled.

He ignored her and hurried toward the terrace. Trembling, Lee shrank against the pub wall.

I knocked my chair back and jumped up. “Daddy?”

She nodded, panic in her eyes. “He’ll make me go home.”

“You don’t want to?”

Too terrified to speak, she shook her head.

I hate bullies, and judging from Lee’s fear, this little, skinny guy was a bona fide bully in the flesh. No way could I sit by and let him push her around. A grizzly protecting her cub, I stood in front of Lee, my purse clutched in both hands.

“Get out of the way,” her father ordered, his body fairly quivering with rage.

I squared my shoulders, drawing myself up to my full five feet six. “I’ll do no such thing.”

“My name’s Merle Skimp, this gal’s daddy. I’m telling you to step aside.”

“I’m telling you to leave her alone.”

“You got no right to come between kin.” Skimp’s hand, quick as a snake’s strike, darted out and clutched my arm. For a skinny man, he had a powerful grip. I couldn’t shake him off.

Food forgotten, the diners at the nearby tables stopped eating to stare at us.

“Let her go, Daddy,” Lee begged. “I’ll come with you.”

“No, you won’t,” I said. “You,” I shouted to a startled diner. “Get the manager. Hurry.” To my relief, the man jumped up and rushed into the pub.

“That won’t do you no good.” Skimp tightened his hold on my arm, bruising it. “You heard her. She’s leaving this godless place. Come on, gal.” The pressure of his fingers increased, shooting pain down to my fingertips.

Shaking, ashen-faced, Lee took a step toward him. Where the hell was the manager?

As Lee moved away from the wall, Skimp let go of me to lunge for her. The tyrant. My Irish temper flared sky high. Before he could grab her, I swung my handbag and clobbered him. Combined, my cell phone, keys and makeup kit had enough clout to knock him off his feet for a second. But only for a second. He rallied, beckoning to her. “Come on.”

I struck out again, this time knocking the baseball cap off his bald head. As he bent to retrieve it, I realized why he looked familiar. “I know you!”

He was the gardener I’d seen stooping over the shrubbery on the Alexanders’ lawn.

Before he could admit or deny it, a tall, chesty man with the heft of a barroom bouncer hurried over, trailed by the flustered diner.

“I’m Brad, the pub manager. What’s the problem here?” the big guy asked.

“Ain’t nothing to worry about, sir,” Merle Skimp said, tugging the Devil Rays cap back on his head. “It’s a family matter.”

Brad turned to me. “You called for help, ma’am?”

There was that “ma’am” again. First Dreadlocks, now Brad. Clearly, I needed to change my image-lengthen my hair, shorten my skirt. Something.

“This man-” I pointed a finger at Skimp, “-attempted to abduct your server.”

At the direct accusation, Skimp found his spine. “She’s my gal. I just want to do the right thing by her. She don’t belong in here. Servin’ drinks like a common hussy.”

His eyes on Lee, Brad upped his hefty chin in her father’s direction. “You know this man?”

Trembling, Lee stepped out from behind me and nodded.

“You want to go with him?”

Without lifting her gaze from the concrete pavers lining the terrace, she shook her head. “No, sir.”

“You heard her,” Brad said to Skimp. “I have to ask you to leave.”

Skimp shot a venomous glance at me then held out a hand to Lee. She made no move to take it.

“Come on home, gal. Think of what your momma would say.”

Lee shook her head. “No, Daddy.”

Brad reached into his pants pocket and removed a cell phone. “Your choice, mister.”

“I’m goin’, but I ain’t happy about it. I’ll talk to you another day, gal.”

“Come back, I’ll call the police.” Arms crossed over his green Irish Pub T-shirt, biceps bulging, Brad held the phone, watching as Skimp darted across the square and disappeared around the corner of the Island Grill.

“I’m so sorry,” Lee began, teary eyed. She got no further.

“No need to apologize, Lee. You’re a good employee.” Brad turned to the gaping diners. “Show’s over, everybody. Drinks on the house.”

As a pleased buzz went up, he asked me, “Your name again, ma’am?”

Ma’am . “I give up.”

“What was that?” Brad asked, a puzzled look on his face.

I shook my head. “Sorry. Just thinking out loud. My name’s Deva Dunne. I opened a design shop on Fern Alley a few weeks ago.”

“We’re neighbors, then.” He held out his huge hand, pumping mine up and down with a surprising gentleness. “You’re a friend of Lee’s?”

“Yes,” I replied without a moment’s hesitation.

Lee rewarded me with a tremulous smile.

“We’re not busy right now,” he said to her. “Why don’t you take an hour off? Have a burger or something. Talk to your friend…ah…Deva. I’ll have Nancy cover for you.”

“What a nice man,” Lee said as Brad strode off.

“Absolutely,” I agreed, stopping short of adding, “One out of two ain’t bad.”

With a grateful sigh, Lee sank onto the steel mesh chair across from me. Her lips quivered, but she didn’t cry. “Daddy means well, but I had to leave home all the same. He wouldn’t let me do anything. Except go to work at Kmart. He didn’t want me to have friends, either. Not even girlfriends. And I’ve never had me a boyfriend. Not one. Not ever.”

“He wanted to keep you for himself?”

“I guess so. Since Momma passed, he’s been lonely but…”

“You have your own life to lead.”

She nodded, her eyes misty. “I stayed, though, till he told me to quit school. That’s when I left.”

“School?”

“FGCU. Florida Gulf Coast University,” she added, sitting up straight. “I’m an art major. Got me a scholarship, too. I plan to be a decorator just like you.”

Just like me. I wanted to cry. I’d seldom had a finer compliment.

“I’m renting a room two blocks over on Third Avenue, so I can walk to work, and I get a ride to class with a girl I know. Everything’s going just fine, except for-”

“Daddy.”

“Yes.”

Working nights and going to school days couldn’t be easy. She looked so frail and burdened I reached across the table to squeeze her hand. “Let’s order burgers and Cokes. You’ll feel better after you eat something.” She had a long way to go until the pub closed at midnight.

We had nearly finished eating when she surprised me with a question. “Deva, would you like some help in your new shop? When I peeked in the window the other day, I told myself I’d surely love to work there.”

I rested what was left of the burger on my plate. “I’m barely getting started, Lee. I can’t afford to hire anyone.”

Her eyes flared wide. “Oh, I don’t mean for pay. I mean kind of like a-what’s the word?-internship. Yes, that’s it. Internship. For the experience, like.”

I shook my head. “That would be taking unfair advantage of you. Besides, you have enough to do as is.”

“I worked at Kmart all through high school and after. I got to know the Martha Stewart line real good. Martha’s another decorating lady,” she added, “just like you.”