break in. When this man,” Simon nodded at Paulo, “heard the victim cry for help, he came to her rescue. If necessary, I will testify to that in any court in the land. So pursue this beyond today and your ass is mine. Not that I want it, Merle,” he added dryly.
“You got no right—” Merle began.
“Daddy,” Lee said, tears running down her face, but before she could utter another word, sobs overtook her.
“I wouldn’t hurt you, gal. You know that,” Merle said, not looking as if he understood how much he already had. His pinched, sun-baked face bore the signs of a lifetime of hard work, yet glancing about the neat but shabby condo, I realized he hadn’t profited much from his labors. I would have felt sorry for the guy, except for the sight of Lee leaning against the kitchen sink, sobbing into her hands, her shoulders shuddering. Paulo hovered close by, ready to catch her should she fall, but plainly not knowing what else to do other than sweep her back into his arms.
I found a tissue packet in my purse, pulled out five or six and pressed them into her fingers. She wiped her eyes, her sobs subsiding into quiet tears.
“I’m so ashamed, Daddy. And on Christmas Day. Momma wouldn’t have wanted this.”
“Your momma was a good, pure woman. She wouldn’t have wanted you keepin’ company with that! ” He pointed a finger at Paulo.
Her tears dried up in that instant, and I could see her spine stiffen. “You’re my father, and the Bible says to honor you. But you surely make it hard for me, Daddy.” Her eyes luminous with tears, she looked up at Paulo. “I want to leave now.”
“Stay away from your daughter, Mr. Skimp,” Rossi ordered. “When she’s ready, she’ll get in touch with you. Don’t contact her before then. If I hear there’s a problem, I’ll nail you. Understood?”
Merle nodded, the sag of defeat in his lowered shoulders.
“I’ll call you, Daddy,” Lee said softly. “I promise. But I won’t come out here ever again.”
His glance focused on the linoleum floor, Merle didn’t respond as she hurried past him.
In the parking lot, I called to Rossi as he was about to get into the Mustang. “Did you eat that pizza?”
“No, it’s waiting patiently for me, Mrs. D.”
“How many have you had this week?”
He shrugged. “I lost count.”
“That’s what I thought. Well, this is a holiday and you’re off duty—after performing an act of mercy.”
He had a quizzical expression on his face like he didn’t know where this was heading.
“So…you think the chief would mind if you joined us for Christmas dinner? Prime rib. Yorkshire pudding. Two kinds of pie. Brandy sauce.”
“What chief?” he said, grinning from ear to ear.
Chapter Ten
Back at Surfside, striving for a little holiday atmosphere, I lit my Christmas candles and poured drinks for the men. A beer for Rossi, a Coke for Paulo, a glass of the Pinot Grigio for Simon.
Lee brought a cheese tray and a bowl of cold shrimp into the living room, set them on the coffee table, then joined me in the kitchen while I surveyed my wreck of a dinner. I told myself that in the nearly two hours since we’d been gone, the roast hadn’t morphed from a Julia Child centerfold to roadkill. But looking at the meat sitting in its congealing juices, I had trouble staying positive about it.
Okay, Plan B.
“I’m bagging the Yorkshire pudding,” I said to Lee. “Too fussy. Too time consuming. You like potatoes?” I peered at her, standing there pale and deeply troubled in her FGCU T-shirt and jeans.
“Sometimes.” She sounded unsure. About potatoes, probably. About her future, for a certainty.
I opened the fridge and removed some Idahos from the vegetable bin. “If you want to tell me what happened,” I said, “I can listen while I cook. I’ll scrub these, nuke them for six minutes then put them in the oven with the roast.”
“No potato for me, Deva, if y’all don’t mind.”
“Not for me, either,” I
“You got no right—” Merle began.
“Daddy,” Lee said, tears running down her face, but before she could utter another word, sobs overtook her.
“I wouldn’t hurt you, gal. You know that,” Merle said, not looking as if he understood how much he already had. His pinched, sun-baked face bore the signs of a lifetime of hard work, yet glancing about the neat but shabby condo, I realized he hadn’t profited much from his labors. I would have felt sorry for the guy, except for the sight of Lee leaning against the kitchen sink, sobbing into her hands, her shoulders shuddering. Paulo hovered close by, ready to catch her should she fall, but plainly not knowing what else to do other than sweep her back into his arms.
I found a tissue packet in my purse, pulled out five or six and pressed them into her fingers. She wiped her eyes, her sobs subsiding into quiet tears.
“I’m so ashamed, Daddy. And on Christmas Day. Momma wouldn’t have wanted this.”
“Your momma was a good, pure woman. She wouldn’t have wanted you keepin’ company with that! ” He pointed a finger at Paulo.
Her tears dried up in that instant, and I could see her spine stiffen. “You’re my father, and the Bible says to honor you. But you surely make it hard for me, Daddy.” Her eyes luminous with tears, she looked up at Paulo. “I want to leave now.”
“Stay away from your daughter, Mr. Skimp,” Rossi ordered. “When she’s ready, she’ll get in touch with you. Don’t contact her before then. If I hear there’s a problem, I’ll nail you. Understood?”
Merle nodded, the sag of defeat in his lowered shoulders.
“I’ll call you, Daddy,” Lee said softly. “I promise. But I won’t come out here ever again.”
His glance focused on the linoleum floor, Merle didn’t respond as she hurried past him.
In the parking lot, I called to Rossi as he was about to get into the Mustang. “Did you eat that pizza?”
“No, it’s waiting patiently for me, Mrs. D.”
“How many have you had this week?”
He shrugged. “I lost count.”
“That’s what I thought. Well, this is a holiday and you’re off duty—after performing an act of mercy.”
He had a quizzical expression on his face like he didn’t know where this was heading.
“So…you think the chief would mind if you joined us for Christmas dinner? Prime rib. Yorkshire pudding. Two kinds of pie. Brandy sauce.”
“What chief?” he said, grinning from ear to ear.
Chapter Ten
Back at Surfside, striving for a little holiday atmosphere, I lit my Christmas candles and poured drinks for the men. A beer for Rossi, a Coke for Paulo, a glass of the Pinot Grigio for Simon.
Lee brought a cheese tray and a bowl of cold shrimp into the living room, set them on the coffee table, then joined me in the kitchen while I surveyed my wreck of a dinner. I told myself that in the nearly two hours since we’d been gone, the roast hadn’t morphed from a Julia Child centerfold to roadkill. But looking at the meat sitting in its congealing juices, I had trouble staying positive about it.
Okay, Plan B.
“I’m bagging the Yorkshire pudding,” I said to Lee. “Too fussy. Too time consuming. You like potatoes?” I peered at her, standing there pale and deeply troubled in her FGCU T-shirt and jeans.
“Sometimes.” She sounded unsure. About potatoes, probably. About her future, for a certainty.
I opened the fridge and removed some Idahos from the vegetable bin. “If you want to tell me what happened,” I said, “I can listen while I cook. I’ll scrub these, nuke them for six minutes then put them in the oven with the roast.”
“No potato for me, Deva, if y’all don’t mind.”
“Not for me, either,” I
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