Leann Sweeney - Pick Your Poison

“Between your umbrella and your dog, I’m sure we’re as safe as squirrels up a tree until they get here.”

“Very funny.”

Then we both heard it.

A shuffle or a scrape. Coming from upstairs.

Kate gasped, her umbrella weapon clattering to the floor. She zipped to my side, dragging Webster with her. “Let’s get out of here,” she whispered, digging her fingers into my arm.

Webster started pedaling, his nails clicking on the wood floor.

“Calm down or you’ll give the poor dog a heart attack. This is our house, and I’m finding out this minute what’s going on. Who knows? Maybe there’s a bird trapped upstairs—or even a possum.” I sounded brave enough. But was I trying to convince Kate—or myself?

“Okay,” she said. “But help me put Webster in the kitchen first. He’ll never go up those stairs.”

She was right. “Come on, you poor excuse for a dog,” I said, pushing him from the rear.

Kate stuck with his front end, but when we reached the kitchen door, footsteps—running, pounding steps—echoed through what I thought had been a vacant house.

Someone was coming down the stairs.

Neither of us had time to move before we saw a gray blur race through the foyer and out the open front door.

Kate started screaming, “Oh, my God!” over and over, which sent Webster flying through the kitchen entry beyond us.

I almost went after whoever ran off, buoyed by the idea that the intruder felt compelled to escape. I’ve always preferred my criminal types on the spineless end of the bell curve. But I didn’t think that would be too smart, so I said, “Pull yourself together, Kate. We’ll corral Webster and wait in my car for the police.”

I turned my attention to the kitchen, where sun persisted through the grime of curtainless windows, striping the room with dust-filled rays of light.

What I saw didn’t register at first, considering I expected to see Webster cowering in the corner rather than where he was—sitting in the center of the room... next to the man lying in a pool of blood.

I hurried over and knelt next to the man, pressing my fingers to his throat to take yet another pulse in less than a week.

Kate flipped on the light and opened the blinds. That was when I realized whose pulse I was taking.

“You’d better not be dead,” I said under my breath. “We’ve got too much unfinished business, buster.”

But Steven’s pulse was strong—racing, in fact. Blood still oozed from a gash at the base of his skull, and with nothing better available, I pressed the hem of my T-shirt against the wound.

“Is he... you know?” Kate stood above us, her mouth white-ringed with fear.

Steven answered the question himself by moaning and turning his head in my direction. “Abby? Is that you?”

“Yeah. I’m here.”

His eyes opened wider and then his hand flew to the back of his head.

“Don’t move,” I said sharply.

But did he listen? Of course not. He sat bolt upright, like Dracula popping up from his casket.

“What in hell happened?” He surveyed the room, obviously disoriented.

Meanwhile, Webster plopped down in the corner.

Steven gingerly removed his pale yellow Polo and held the wadded shirt against the gash.

A siren whined from several blocks away. Our siren, I hoped.

“We called the police. I’m sure they’ll call you an ambulance,” I said.

“I don’t need any ambulance. If I ever get my hands on the bastard who hit me, he’ll be one sorry-ass cowboy.” Steven slowly rose, but once upright, wavered on wobbly legs.

I supported him by cupping his elbow. “Why don’t you humor me and sit still a minute longer?”

“Don’t tell me what to do, okay?” He flushed with anger.

“Back to your old self in record time, I see. Fine. But the next time you need help, count me out.”

“She’s just glad you’re okay, Steven,” Kate said. “She gets a teensy bit irritable when she’s scared.”

“You don’t need to explain my behavior to him, Kate. He’s an ungrateful slob, which, of course, is not a news flash.”

“Me, ungrateful? I don’t recall ever hearing you say kiss my foot, much less thank-you,” he shot back. “I came here to help you, babe, if I remember right.”

“Don’t call me babe!”

When the police arrived a few minutes later, we were still arguing. From her expression, Kate was even more thankful than I was for the interruption.

They examined both doors, checked the windows, and started filling out reports. Policeman One convinced Steven that an emergency room visit might be a good idea, but agreed an ambulance wasn’t necessary. Then Policeman Two added his two cents, saying he’d have to be dead or unconscious to ride in an ambulance, since every paramedic he knew drove like a New York cabbie. “Besides,” he added, “everyone bleeds. Doesn’t mean you’re dying.”

They all laughed.

I had to interrupt this conversation before I became seriously nauseated. “Could we delay this meeting of Extra Y Chromosomes Anonymous? A crime was committed here.”

Cop One said, “You talking about the broken lock or the assault?”

“Both,” I said.

“I guess you saw that the back lock was broken, too,” Steven said.

Policeman Two nodded. “I noticed. We’ve had a problem with homeless folks in the area wanting out of the sun. Might have been one of them.” He looked at me. “You didn’t secure the place very well, if you don’t mind me saying. Padlocks aren’t much use. Now, if you kept that dog around, he might work. Dogs are the best theft deterrent going.”

“Thanks so much for providing my law-enforcement lesson of the day,” I said.

Cop Two smiled. “Sorry, ma’am. Didn’t mean to upset you. Our homeless in Galveston are pretty harmless for the most part, but if Mr. Bradley here caught one off guard, the guy might have freaked out.”

“Whoever was responsible, I’d appreciate a thorough investigation,” I said. “A man was murdered on my property this week, and this incident could be connected.”

“Murdered? Here?” said Cop One, finally showing interest.

“No. In Houston.”

He scratched his head. “Who killed him?”

“They haven’t found out yet,” said Kate.

“But you’re not involved, right?” said Cop Two, eyeing me suspiciously.

“Of course she’s not!” piped in Kate.

“Can’t we focus on this crime?” I said. “What about fingerprints? And interviewing the neighbors?”

“We’ll do that, ma’am. But I hope you don’t mind if we communicate with the boys at HPD while we’re at it,” said Cop One.

“Why? Because you think I’m a serial killer who flubbed the job on old Steven here?” I thumbed at my ex, then gave a disgusted wave of my hand. “Call whoever you have to.”

I folded my arms and slumped against the nearest wall. When was the last time I’d been in such a foul mood? Probably when Steven and I were together. Most times I felt like the tail was wagging the dog back then, too.

When I realized Steven’s truck had been parked out back by the garage all along, I felt like an idiot. If I’d bothered to go around to the back door, I would have seen the pickup and been better prepared for what Kate and I found inside.

Kate chauffeured Steven to the hospital in my car, despite his protests that he wanted to drive himself. The two of us had gone a round on that, but the wisdom of his newfound buddies on the police force prevailed, and he begrudgingly allowed Kate the honor. Meanwhile, I took the dog for a potty break.

While Webster took his time finding the perfect spot in the backyard, the forensic crew arrived. When I came back inside, I was relegated to the front room until they finished their job. Cop One had me sign the police report and told me he would let me know if they found the intruder. He and his partner left, and when the forensic crew came downstairs, one of them cheerfully informed me that the culprit had left “a hell of a mess upstairs.”