“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.”
And what, I wondered, was so darn delightful about that?
Webster, now Mr. Cooperative, had no problem following me, and as I went upstairs, I asked myself how much havoc could one little old vandal wreak in an empty house?
But within seconds I answered my own question.
“Plenty,” I said aloud from my vantage point in the doorway of the bedroom. “Plenty indeed.”
I was sitting cross-legged on the floor in the bedroom, papers scattered in every direction, when Kate and Steven returned from the hospital.
“Whoa, Abby! What happened here?” Kate said, handing me a sack from the local sub shop.
Steven followed her into the room, offering a jumbo iced tea, which I accepted gratefully.
“Welcome to Daddy’s stockpile,” I said. “I remember him saying, ‘Why rent a warehouse when this place will serve the same purpose,’ but I never realized his pack-rat mentality went as far as paper wads. Whoever was up here dumped all four of Daddy’s filing cabinets.”
“Looks like you’ve got your work cut out for you,” said Steven.
I had nursed him through enough hangovers to recognize the strain in his tone. The man had a giant headache. “How’s your head?” I asked.
“Five stitches, and my plot at the cemetery is still empty,” he replied. “What’s in all these files?”
“Documents from back when Daddy first started CompuCan. Certainly old tax files. I’ve seen plenty of those already. I’ve also run across Kate’s and my report cards, twenty pounds of newspaper clippings, a dozen recipes for salsa, and napkins from every restaurant this side of the Mississippi.”
“Why would anyone save this stuff?” He pushed sheets of paper around with his booted toe.
“Because Daddy saved everything,” Kate and I said in unison.
“Either the guy who broke in wanted something real bad or he was plain ornery,” Steven said.
“If there’s a reason other than vandalism for this mess, I’d sure like to know,” I said. “And I’m still wondering if this has something to do with Ben’s murder.”
“I’m more interested in who clubbed me. No one’s gonna blindside me and get away with it.” He rubbed his head near his recent reminder of the day’s events.
“How did this person get the jump on you, by the way?” asked Kate.
“I came by to inspect the place, see what needed doing.”
“Did you see this person? See anything?” I asked.
“Actually, my new contacts were bugging me, so I’d taken them out.”
“Ah. So you were literally blindsided,” I said.
“Why do you think I let Kate drive me to the hospital?” he said. “I sure as hell couldn’t navigate with that skull crusher of a headache and my contacts out.”