Cynthia Thomason - Christmas in Key West

Abby leaned close. “What about your eye?”

“Oh, yeah, that. Haven’t had a shiner in years.”

She rested her hand on his arm. “Poppy, what happened? Tell me how you ended up in here.”

He snorted. “You need to ask your old beau about it, Abigail.”

“Don’t call him that. He was never my beau, and you know it. If Reese did this to you, I want to hear the details.”

“He did it, all right. Knocked me flatter than an IHOP pancake in my own front yard.” Huey suddenly sat up straight. He stared over Abby’s shoulder and gazed cantankerously at the doorway. “And there’s the abuser now. Come to try and put the cuffs on me again, Reese?”

Abby spun around, the chair legs scraping on the speckled linoleum. Her heart pounded. There he was, well built, still with a full head of hair. Damn you, Reese, she thought, hating that her chest clenched with resentment and heartache and other emotions that, if she analyzed them, might scare her to death.

She stood up and placed her hand over her stomach in an effort to calm the trembling inside. She hadn’t seen Reese in thirteen years. He’d matured, but he hadn’t really changed. At twenty-one, he’d given lots of girls reason to hope he would ask them out, her included, though at barely eighteen, she hadn’t sparked his interest. Until…She shook her head, banishing the image of that one night she’d tried so hard to forget, a night he obviously had.

As he walked toward her, Reese stared, obviously searching for her in the recesses of his mind. His lips twitched, as if he almost wanted to smile but figured it was inappropriate. He wiped his hand down the side of his jeans and held it out to her. “I can’t believe it. Is it really you, Abby?”

She refused his handshake—a small act of defiance to let him know she was aware of his role in this travesty of justice tonight. “It is,” she said, her voice harsh. “And I’ve arrived just in time, it seems.”

“Come to finish me off, did ya, Burkett?” Huey muttered. He tugged onAbby’s arm, getting her full attention. “Don’t leave the room, Abigail. I’m going to need a witness.”

“That won’t be necessary, Huey,” Reese said, twisting a ball cap in his hands. “I just stopped by to see how you’re doing.”

“How do you think I’m doing?” Huey said. “You roughed me up pretty good, Captain Burkett.” He pointed to his eye. “I may lose my vision in this one.”

Abby gasped. “Poppy, is that true?”

Reese frowned. “It’s not true. I’ve talked to the doctor. Your dad’s going to be fine.”

“Lucky for you,” Abby said. “If Poppy suffers any permanent injury because of what you did…”

Reese scratched the back of his head. “Abby, can I talk to you in the hallway?”

She glared at him with all the bravado she could muster. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“Give me five minutes, Abby, please.”

She looked at her dad, who reached for the TV remote and punched up the volume a couple of notches. “Go ahead,” he said. “But don’t believe a word he says. He tried to arrest me today and it got ugly. That’s the truth of it.”

Reese shook his head. “I’m sorry, Huey. I apologized to you earlier, and I’m apologizing again. I didn’t want you getting hurt. You can’t think that I did.”

“Don’t ask me what was going on in your head, I just know what I felt when you attacked me. And I got the bruises to prove it.”

Reese stretched out his arm. “Abby?”

“Five minutes.” She stepped ahead of him, then walked a few feet down the hall.

“Can we find a place to sit and talk?” he asked.

She stayed where she was. “This is okay. I don’t want to be too far away in case Poppy calls me.”

“Fine.” Reese tucked the ball cap under his arm and ran his fingers through his hair. Strands fell onto his forehead, andAbby locked her gaze on the nurses’ station rather than stare at him. “I know how this must look to you,” he began.

“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.