Christmas in Key West

As she pulled up the cracked cement driveway, she encountered debris that spread from the lawn into the street.

Much of it was charred and unrecognizable—and an indication that things were as bad as her mother had said. Abby parked, got out of her car and wrinkled her nose at the foul odor from the garbage.

Then she gazed up at the two-and-a-half-story house she’d grown up in. At one time she’d been proud that the 1857 mansion had been built by her great-great-great-grandfather Armand Vernay, a self-made millionaire during the island’s infamous shipwrecking days. Today, eleven months since her last visit, Abby only sensed decay and desperation around her, emphasizing even more the painful memories of the choices she’d made thirteen years ago, and the consequences she’d been forced to live with.

Scraggly oleander bushes, once brilliant with pink blossoms, now reached heights of more than ten feet and invaded the wraparound porch. Bare limbs chafed the delicate rippled glass in the ancient windows. The wide brick pathway, where once two people could walk arm in arm to the front door, barely allowed one person to climb the three steps without risk of scratching ankles on unkempt brambles. Most of the windows were shuttered, giving the house a sad, deserted feel.

Clutching the turkey dinners, she picked her way toward the porch, half expecting Huey to burst through the door. He always seemed to have a special radar where she was concerned, somehow knowing when she was around. Disappointed, she walked in the door, which was never locked, and called his name.

Silence. She stared into the parlor, noting the disarray. Mail, mostly flyers, littered Huey’s desk. Dust lay thick on the old mahogany pieces she used to polish with such care. She progressed down the hall, again calling for her father. Once in the kitchen, she set the turkey dinners on the table and peered out the window. Maybe he was in the backyard. She glanced at the overgrown bushes and a large, darkened patch of dirt that looked as though it had been burned—confirmation of Huey’s run-in with Reese.

Abby shook her head and returned to the hall. Maybe Poppy was napping. She’d go upstairs and awaken him, she decided, just before her cell phone rang. She pulled the phone from her jeans pocket, read the digital display and answered. “Mom?”

“Hi, honey. Have you arrived at Huey’s yet?”

“Yes, I just got here.”

“Good. I didn’t want to call and upset you while you were still on the road. I was afraid you’d drive too fast to get here.”

Abby sat heavily on the bottom step of the staircase. “Mom, what’s happened? Poppy’s not here.”

“I know.” Loretta paused. “Now, don’t think the worst, but he’s in the hospital.”

“The hospital?” Abby rose and hurried to the front door. “Why? What’s wrong with him?”

“He fell, Abby. He’ll be okay, but he’s got a few bruises and a concussion. The doctors want to keep him overnight for observation.”

“My God. Poor Poppy.” She picked up her purse, which she’d dropped on the hall stand, and went outside. “I’ll head right over. Are you coming, too?”

“I went when I first heard, but once I knew Huey was okay, I came to work. You can call here at the Shack if you need me.”

“Okay. But wait, Mom, don’t hang up. How did it happen? Why did Poppy fall?”

Loretta breathed deeply. “You won’t like hearing this, Ab.”

“Mom…”

“Huey says Reese Burkett attacked him.”

ABBY’S HANDS SHOOK on the steering wheel as she drove the mile to the island hospital. She tried to picture Reese Burkett with her fingers wrapped around his neck. But instead of popping veins on his forehead, and broken blood vessels in his eyes, all that came to mind was a youthful, cocky smile and heavily lashed green eyes full of confidence and invincibility. That was Reese then. She had no idea what he looked like now, only that she would experience an admittedly selfish gratification in discovering he’d packed forty pounds onto his athletic frame and lost most of his thick dark hair. How dare he manhandle her father? She’d meet him in court, facing an abuse charge!

The sun was setting as she parked in the hospital lot and entered the lobby. Mechanically, she showed the required identification, had her picture taken and patted the ID sticker onto her blouse. She was used to hospital security regulations. In the course of her job, she visited many hospitals in the Atlanta area.

Huey was on the second floor. Abby exited the elevator, quickly scanned the directional signs for his room number and headed to the end of the hall. She heard Alex Trebek read an answer on Jeopardy, then recognized her dad’s voice giving the proper response before the contestants could buzz in.

Huey snapped his fingers as she entered the room. He’d gotten the Jeopardy question right.

Abby hurried to his bedside, then stopped short when she saw the bruise around his closed right eye. “Poppy!”

He turned to her, and a huge grin spread across his face. “Well, I’ll be. Baby girl! What are you doing here? You found out I was in this joint?”

“Not until I got into town, about thirty minutes ago. Mom phoned and told me you’d been admitted.”

He stared at her with his good eye. “So what are you doing here? It isn’t Christmas yet.”

“No, but I came early, to spend more time with you.”

“What? You’re staying through December?”

“That’s the plan.”

“That’s not like you, Abigail—taking off work so long.”

“It’s fine, Poppy. Everything’s covered.”

“But you never stay more than a couple of days.”

“I know, but this is different.” She pulled up a chair. “Anyway, I don’t want to talk about me. I want to know what happened to you. How are you feeling?” She lifted the tube leading into his arm. “And what’s this for?”

He lowered the TV volume with his remote. “It’s nothing,” he said. “Everybody gets a drip of some kind, they tell me. That’s just sugar water or something.” He tapped the side of his head. “It’s the old noggin that’s giving me trouble. But they gave me something that makes Alex Trebek look like Loni Anderson.”

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.

Reese reached out as if to touch her arm. She stepped away and he dropped his hand. “I’m sorry it happened,” he said. “That’s why I’m here tonight—to make sure Huey’s all right.”

“And you have,” she said. “You’re free to go and celebrate Thanksgiving.”

“Celebrating is the last thing on my mind,” he said. “But I will go.”

He walked to the elevator. Once inside, he pulled on the baseball cap and stared at her from under the bill. Then the doors closed, and Abby drew the first normal breath she’d taken in more than five minutes. But at least the worst was over. She’d seen Reese again and she hadn’t melted or fainted or even babbled. She’d stood her ground pretty well. Now, though, as she went back to her dad’s room, she realized that nearly every limb of her body was trembling. She’d have to work on controlling that reaction.

Jeopardy had ended. The TV was silent. “Buzz the nurse, Abby,” Huey said. “Earlier they told me I could go home if I had somebody to observe me through the night. I guess you’ve got a good enough pair of eyes, so I want out of this place.”

“Okay, Poppy. I’ll see if I can arrange for your discharge.”

He swung his legs over the side of the bed. “So what’d you think of Burkett after all these years?” he asked. “He’s a piece of work, isn’t he? Officious son of—”

“Let’s not talk about that now,” she said. “Let’s just get you home. Those two turkey dinners I brought might still be edible.”

Chapter Three

ON FRIDAY MORNING, Abby raked dried leaves and twigs into a large pile. Somewhere under this mess that used to be her front yard, grass had to exist. And if it didn’t, she’d plant seeds, fertilize and hope for the best.

After scooping part of the pile onto her rake, she dumped the refuse into a garbage can. Thank goodness the trash collector she’d phoned earlier had removed the burned debris from Southard Street. Abby considered the money well spent, since Reese wouldn’t have anything to complain about for a while. She wondered why her father hadn’t called the trash man himself. Did Poppy not have thirty dollars?

She’d just resumed her raking when the window to the second-story master bedroom opened and her father stepped onto the balcony, a cup of coffee in hand. She’d checked on him several times during the night, and he’d slept well, almost as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

“Good morning, Poppy,” Abby called up to him. “How are you feeling?”

He rested his elbows on the railing and gave her a robust smile. “Fine, but what are you doing down there? It’s barely eight o’clock, way too early for you to be making all this racket.”

She glanced at what she’d accomplished in the past hour. “This yard won’t rake itself.”

“But I don’t get up this early. I have to work today.”

She leaned on the rake handle and reined in her impatience. Unless his routine had changed, and she doubted it had, hours would pass before he pulled his vendor’s cart from the side of the old theater building where he stored it, and set up his souvenir business in Mallory Square. “We’ll decide about you going to the square later. It’ll depend on how you’re feeling then. Besides, you don’t work until sundown, and the festivities are over by nine o’clock.”

“That doesn’t mean I want my daughter disturbing my rest before I’m ready to get up.”

“Funny, but I was thinking that if you’re feeling better, you could help out.” She pointed to the veranda, where she’d stacked assorted lawn tools. “I brought two rakes from the carriage house.”

“I’d help you, but I’ve got this bad eye. Keeps me a bit off-kilter, if you know what I mean. I hope someone comes along to give you a hand, though, baby girl.” He pointed a shaky finger. “Only, not that someone.”

A blue-striped Key West patrol car rounded the corner of Duval and Southard Streets. Abby couldn’t see the identity of the driver, but her heart leaped to her throat just the same. When the car stopped directly behind her Mazda, Huey let loose a few choice words and disappeared into the house, leaving Abby to face Reese, who was stepping out of the cruiser.

Dressed in a standard police uniform, he walked toward her. “I hear Huey came home last night. How’s he doing?”

“He’s okay.”

Reese gave her a lopsided smile. “Then you’re not going to sue me or the department?”

Once she’d had a chance to consider Reese’s explanation, Abby had reached the conclusion that his story was probably closer to the truth than her father’s. Huey’s version had included such colorful phrases as “rough-necked bully” and “power-hungry tyrant,” while he referred to himself as “innocent victim.” But not knowing Reese’s reason for showing up this morning, she simply said, “I’m keeping my options open.”

Reese smiled again and glanced around the yard. “I see the trash has been removed.”

She gave him a smug look. “Of course. We’re law abiding residents of Key West, Reese. Ones who should not have to be fearful of being arrested.”

He nodded. “Nope. Not anymore. Not about this, at least.”

“Gee, it’s nice that the police department is sending out one of its finest to follow up with surveillance of some of the most dangerous citizens.”

“That’s not why I’m here—exactly,” he said.

“Oh?”

He held out his hand. “You wouldn’t shake with me last night. I thought I’d try again.” When she didn’t move, he added, “It’s been years, Abby.”

She relented, clasped his hand and stared at the long fingers wrapped around hers. Bits of twigs and soil stuck to their joined palms. She pulled her hand back and wiped it against her jeans. He did the same. “Cleaning the yard, I see.”

She swiped her rake across the dirt. “You cops don’t miss a clue, do you?”

Reese folded his arms over his chest. “So how have you been?”

How have I been? Abby marveled at how absurdly casual his question was in light of what her life had been like since she’d last seen him. But of course, Reese never thought of that night. He’d had thirteen years to forget. She’d had thirteen years to remember. And regret.

She answered blandly, though her heartbeat pounded in her ears, nearly deafening her. “Fine.” Ironically, in spite of the churning in her stomach now, that was mostly true—or should be. She had a fulfilling job, many friends and nice neighbors. And past relationships that didn’t linger overlong in her mind when they ended. She had offers for dates that she sometimes accepted. In fact, her life was so busy she didn’t allow herself to think about what was missing in it or what had gone wrong.

He looked toward the house, his features indicating a sort of benign acceptance. “I know Loretta called you. I’m sorry for putting both of you in the middle of this problem with your father.”

Abby’s back immediately stiffened—an involuntary reaction she experienced when dealing with anyone who even hinted that something might be wrong with Huey. “There’s no problem. Poppy seems okay to me. But if it makes you feel any better about interfering in people’s lives, I can tell you that we’re working on a few things.”

“I don’t want this situation to get blown out of proportion, Abby. I have a job to do. You know that, don’t you?”

She pretended to concentrate on her work. “I wonder how many acts of aggression have been committed under the guise of that excuse.”

He started to respond, but she added, “It’s okay, Reese.

You have to protect the people of Key West from the threatening presence of a confused senior citizen. It must be a mammoth responsibility.”

He rubbed his thumb over his clean-shaven chin and stared at her a moment, as though trying to decide if her sarcasm was for real. After a moment, he said, “I can’t imagine why we haven’t run into each other in the seven years since I’ve been back.”

“I don’t return to the island often,” she said. At least, I haven’t in the past seven years.

“How long you planning to stay this visit?”

She glared at him determinedly. “As long as it takes to get the authorities off my father’s case.”

His lips curled into a genuine grin. “It’s a great time of year to be here. Decorations are going up on Duval Street and Mallory Square today. Plans are under way for the Christmas boat parade. You’ll see a lot you remember about the holidays, plus some new additions.”

“Can’t wait,” she said. How nice for Reese to chat about holiday decorations as if he weren’t on a one-man mission to pester Huey into having the worst Christmas ever.

Deciding they’d had enough small talk,Abby was about to release Reese from this obligatory visit when her father shouted, “Scram!”A single word delivered from the veranda with enough force to approximate a shot from a rifle.

Startled, Abby spun around. Reese, seemingly unconcerned, took a slow step toward the porch. “’Morning, Huey,” he said.

“Get off my property, Burkett!”

Huey filled the front entrance. His old shotgun rested against his right elbow, the barrel pointed toward the porch floor.

Abby rushed to him. “Poppy, what are you doing?”

He had the good sense to set the weapon against the door frame. “Reminding certain people that this is Vernay property.”

She grabbed the gun and put it out of his reach. “Do you always greet visitors by threatening them with firepower?”

“Mostly just pain-in-the-ass police captains.” He stared at her, obviously noting her shocked expression. “It’s not loaded, Abby. I keep it for show.”

She opened the breech of the shotgun he’d taught her to use years ago, and looked down the barrel. To her relief, he was being truthful. It was empty. “Someone could see you with this thing and get the wrong impression.”

“No, they wouldn’t,” Huey said, his good eye narrowed at Reese. “They’d get just the impression I want them to have.”

Huey appeared determined to make her efforts on his behalf impossibly difficult. She took the gun inside the house and came back to the porch. “Reese, I didn’t know about this.”

He shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. He’s got the proper paperwork for that old thing, and everybody’s aware that he doesn’t have shells for it.”

“That you flatfoots know about, anyway,” Huey said. “Just because you sent Loretta over here to search doesn’t mean she found every bit of contraband.” When Abby started to protest, he waved off her concern and whispered, “Keep your cool, Abigail. If I even have bullets, I don’t remember where they are.”