Leann Sweeney - Pick Your Poison

“Despite appearances, I’ll survive,” I reassured Kate as Steven walked me up the stairs. “To the bathroom. Okay?”

“Sure.” He steered me left at the landing, with Kate following close behind.

“Let’s be real careful before we go in, though. I discovered today that bathrooms have this strange way of disappearing.”

“This is all my fault,” Steven said. “I knew that section of the house was unstable. I should have blocked off the stairs so you wouldn’t go up there.” He helped me sit in front of the vanity.

Webster appeared, wagging his tail. Apparently he considered mud and blood a delightful combination and began licking my legs.

“I’ll be picking up tarps to seal off the damage as best I can,” said Steven. “Otherwise the rain will saturate the entire second floor. I’ll tow your car back, Abby, but before I leave, are you sure you don’t want to reconsider and visit a hospital?”

“Positive. Thanks for everything,” I said.

He left.

I gratefully took the towel Kate offered and wiped my face.

“Tell me what happened,” she said. “Looks like a bomb exploded in your immediate vicinity.” She stooped and pulled my shoes off.

“The bathroom succumbed to the fatal allure of gravity, requiring only my one hundred and twenty pounds to reach that decision.” I took off my shirt, and thank goodness Webster enjoyed sniffing that filthy, tattered remnant better than running his snout over my body.

Kate turned on the bathwater.

“Bubbles. I need lots of bubbles.” I stood on unsteady legs and finished undressing.

“Once I help you in, I’m calling the doctor.”

“I don’t need a doctor. I’ll sit in this wonderful, fully appointed tub—a far cry from my previous experience in the bath—and recover immediately.”

“Abby, for God’s sake, you just fell off a house!”

“Don’t remind me.” I slowly descended into the hot, soapy water and knew what heaven was about.

“I’m calling. I don’t care what you say.” She stomped out, pulling a reluctant Webster, who bade a fond farewell with a longing look at the offensive shirt on the floor.

If calling the doctor would occupy Kate for a while, that was fine by me. I didn’t want to slap her with the truth about Daddy. Not yet. I had a row or two to hoe with someone else first.

I had just settled into bed when Kate entered and handed me a snifter half-filled with amber liquid.

“What concoction is this, Dr. Kate?”

“Brandy,” she said.

“Where’s the chamomile tea? The feverfew? The valerian root?” I said, accepting the glass. I was thinking that all this attention for a few bumps and bruises was making me more uncomfortable than I already was.

“This occasion requires something more potent. And brandy is medicinal.”

I sipped, and since I rarely drink alcohol after my experience with Steven’s problem, the brandy had an immediate effect, both soothing and warm. I set the half-empty snifter next to me and readjusted the quilt over my knees.

“When I explained to the doctor what happened,” Kate said, “he thought you should go to the emergency room, but I told him you wouldn’t cooperate. He insisted you come to his office tomorrow for a tetanus shot, though.”

“He insisted? And will he have a medical tantrum if I don’t obey? Or maybe send me to noncompliantpatient jail?”

“Humor me if not him, Abby. I’m guessing that was a very nasty, dirty nail that stabbed you in the patoot.”

The doorbell saved me from pronouncements of the fate awaiting me if I refused medical care, although I had to admit a tetanus shot was probably a good idea.

“That’s Terry,” Kate said. “Mind if he comes up?”

“Invite the neighbors, if you want. But they may have to watch me sleep, because I’m damn tired.”

As it turned out, Terry wasn’t alone. Jeff Kline was with him, and he definitely looked irritated once I explained about my fall without grace.

Terry hadn’t eaten, which was closer to an emergency than my own accident, so he and Kate went down to the kitchen, offering to bring me up something in a few minutes. They left Jeff and me alone, and he wasted no time getting to the point.

“Busy today?” he asked, propping his feet on the tapestry-covered footstool near my bed. His inquiring eyebrows, not to mention the snide slant to his tone, confirmed this would not be a pleasant conversation.

“Besides examining the plumbing on P Street?” I said, trying to sound innocent.

“Before that.” Out came the gum.

I was beginning to understand about the gum—how the quantity and chewing speed increased proportionately with his level of agitation. I shifted off my aching rear end and said, “This sounds like an interrogation, Sergeant.”

“Darn right, Abby. Or should I call you Police Consultant Abby? I had no idea we had an Unsolved Crime division. Very creative.”

“Oops.”

“I could have come here with a warrant for your arrest.”

“How did you find out?”

“All you care about is how I found out?” he said. “You’re not even sorry? Not even grateful you won’t be arrested? You’re just bothered by getting caught ?”

“Arrest me if you think I’ve committed a crime,” I said, surprised I had the energy to raise my voice. “But if you’d done your job, I wouldn’t have been at Feldman’s house in the first place.” I snatched up the snifter and downed the rest of the brandy in one gulp. And choked.

Not content with my failed attempt at self-destruction earlier in the day, I now threatened to drown in my own secretions. What an attractive picture I must have presented—bruised and scraped practically beyond recognition, and now turning blue from lack of oxygen.

Jeff pounded my back, and when it was obvious I’d survive another brush with death, he switched to rubbing circles and massaging my neck. I relaxed against his strong, kneading fingers.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked. “Kate said you didn’t break anything, but you look miserable.”

“I’m okay. And I’m sorry for flying off the handle. I should never have taken Terry’s business cards, and I probably deserved to fall off the house, and—”

“Quiet, Abby.”

“But Jeff, you don’t understand. I can’t drop this investigation until I find out—”

He reached down and took my face in his hands. “Hush.”

I met his eyes and blinked hard, fighting tears.

“Slow down.” He brushed my hair away from the cut on my forehead before pulling back—a withdrawal that came a tad soon for my liking. He said, “Feldman phoned the precinct and complained that an officer harassed him about Ben’s murder investigation. Guess who they routed that call to?”

“Again, I’m sorry.” A few deep breaths eliminated the threat of tears.

“If you suspect this man is a murderer, what’s to keep him from hurting you?”

I didn’t tell Jeff that I wasn’t sure it mattered at this point whether Feldman hurt me or not. I didn’t say anything.

He took my hand. “I’m stuck with an unacceptable emotional involvement in this case and—”

“What do you mean, unacceptable?”

“As the lead detective, I need... No, let me rephrase that. I must remain objective. Emotions block the truth. They cloud my instincts. Did it cross your mind that someone could have arranged your tumble today?”

“Arranged it? What makes you think that?”

“Paranoia goes with my job. Seriously, could Feldman have figured out you weren’t a police officer? Could he have tampered with those boards that gave way?”

“He didn’t know I was playacting. If you didn’t tell him any different, he may still think I work for the police. And remember, he called you. Why draw attention to himself by phoning the police if he planned to kill me?”