“Will you?”
He laughed and shook his head no. “I’m walking back to the church. Frost is driving off. You should be safe.”
“Why are you here?” I asked.
He said, “This could be linked to my operation.”
And Tyndall walked away.
I drove the speed limit, came to a full stop at every stoplight, and did my best not to entice law enforcement to pull me over on the way back to the office. I got to Walnut Hill in forty-five minutes. The return trip took an extra thirty minutes.
The pain was tolerable but just barely. I had left the loft in such a rush that I hadn’t thought about taking a pain pill. Covered in mud, I refused to look at myself in the car’s rearview mirror.
When I opened the door to our building, I collapsed on the first landing. How did I climb the stairs last night?
Big Boy’s tags jiggled from the office area, and Summer called after him as he ran down the stairs.
“My Lord, what happened to you? You look like you lost a fight with a mule,” Summer said as she rushed behind the dog.
“I fell into a mud puddle,” I said. I pushed the dog off me and struggled to stand.
“Let me help you.”
“Before you do anything, help me take off this shirt,” I said. “No need to get you muddy, too.”
The shirt took a few tugs and moans to remove. Summer gasped when she saw the bandages wrapped around my chest. Fortunately, they weren’t dirty. My shirt and T-shirt had absorbed all the mud and water.
“Who did this to you?” she asked. “What’s happened in the last twelve hours?”
I said, “Get me up the stairs and let me change into some fresh clothes. I’ll fill you in on the wild adventures of Walker Holmes.”
Slowly we made it up to the third floor. Summer steadied me under one arm, while I kept a grip on the railing. Big Boy led the way, occasionally looking back to make sure we were following him.
Summer refused to let me fall on the bed without her first cleaning me up with a warm washcloth. While she removed the muck, I told her about Hopjacks and the Walnut Hill incidents.
“Please, nothing to the others yet,” I said. “Give me time to tell them about it. I promise I will after I get some rest.”
Summer made sure I landed gently on the bed, gave me two pain pills, and took Big Boy with her downstairs. Exhausted, I slept without any nightmares.
I got out of bed at 11:00 a.m. and texted Harden to meet me for a late lunch. The dog came up the stairs as I finished shaving and dressed. Summer followed. With her help, I put on a fresh T-shirt and white, button-down shirt. Big Boy started drinking out of the toilet.
“Today’s deposit covers yesterday’s check to the printer and most of this week’s payroll,” she said. “Sign these checks before you go.”
“Summer, thanks,” I said. “You told the staff about Hopjacks, didn’t you?”
“Mal and Teddy already knew about it,” Summer said. “Her sister works in the ER.”
“Okay,” I said as I put my hand on her shoulder to balance while I slipped on my deck shoes. No more tying shoelaces for a few days.
She said, “I didn’t mention Walnut Hill, other than to say you drove up there early and needed to catch up on your sleep.”
“Thanks. It’s Friday. Everybody knows what to do. I’m headed to lunch with Harden.”
“Is that smart?” she asked. “You look like a strong wind could knock you down. You need rest.”
“I’ll rest later and will sleep in tomorrow, promise,” I said almost convincing myself.
Summer said, “I’ll take Big Boy home with me so you don’t have to walk him tonight and in the morning.”
Big Boy looked up from the toilet and nodded approval.
19
Driving over to Bangkok Gardens, I got a text from Gravy: “Tatum ex-bookkeeper tends bar on Saturday afternoons. Call me later.”
Bangkok Gardens was in an old Western Sizzlin’ location that went out of business when Gayfers left the nearby Town and Country Plaza. The once thriving shopping center in midtown was mostly empty. Only nail salons, wig shops, and a bingo hall remained.
The restaurant was a popular lunch spot for sheriff deputies and bus drivers since it was within walking distance of the Escambia County Area Transit bus depot, Sheriff Frost’s administration building, and “Castle Grayskull,” the county jail.
An old Asian couple owned Bangkok Gardens, although we were never sure if they were Chinese, Thai, Vietnamese, or Cambodian. The restaurant had on its walls photos of royal families and Buddhist monks. Wooden cabinets lined one wall and were filled with Hummel figurines, Franklin Mint plates, and Furbies.
The menu only had a dozen items, each served with a spring roll and a cup of broth soup with a tofu cube and slice of mushroom floating in it. The AC hardly ever worked so customers jockeyed to sit close to the oscillating fans.
“You want pad thai?” one of the owners asked as I sat across from Harden. She wore a red blouse over a black skirt.
I ordered the pad thai and two Diet Cokes because she would never think to bring a second one later. Within minutes, her husband marched out of the kitchen and handed Harden and me the Tom yum kai soup, spring roll, and sweet and sour sauce before his wife had time to deliver our drinks. The couple had worked out this routine over the years.
Harden wore a short-sleeved, light blue work shirt, navy blue khaki pants frayed around the hem, and work boots. He looked like an auto mechanic on his lunch break.
“Do you do brakes?” I asked.
“Screw you, Holmes,” he said softly so he wouldn’t be overheard by the bus drivers sitting two tables away. “You called this meeting.”
“What’s the back story on Amos Frost?”
Harden said, “Good guy, a cop’s cop. You went after him
