Pick Your Poison

I stared up at the house, feeling groggy and disoriented. How had I landed here? I remembered climbing the stairs... the floor was wet, the door was swaying in the wind, and—

What was that noise? It sounded like my name. Or had I damaged my brain and now suffered from hallucinations?

No. I definitely heard a human voice coming from above me.

“Abby?”

“I’m in the bathtub,” I croaked.

And I was in the bathtub. Well, half in the bathtub. One leg dangled over the mangled faucet, and my backside rested in three or four inches of muddy water. I rose up on my elbows.

Steven was standing above me where the bathroom used to be. “Are you okay?” he said.

“Yes, but we’ll definitely start here with the redecorating.” I attempted to extricate myself from the pile of jagged porcelain and shattered lumber. But moving wasn’t as easy as it had been prior to my plunge into renovation hell. I hurt. Everywhere.

“How did you end up down there?” he called.

“Obviously I fell, idiot.” But I was the one who felt like an idiot.

“Don’t move. I’m coming down!”

At that point I became aware of the persistent and extremely annoying rain, which, despite the summer heat, was probably contributing to the chills threatening to shake me silly.

After bringing the ladder from the garage and propping it on the side of the house, Steven hoisted me carefully from the tangled pile of beams, fixtures, and broken ceramic tile, then helped me climb down.

“You’re bleeding,” he said quietly, wiping my forehead with the heel of his hand once we stood on the soggy lawn.

“That’s probably mud,” I argued, but then my knees buckled. He caught me, saying gently but firmly, “Shut up. I know blood when I see it.”

My teeth started chattering and waves of tremors began in my shoulders, spreading to my arms and legs as he lifted me and carried me to his truck. After a few minutes passed, I noted with relief that all limbs remained attached to my body and I had all my teeth.

The drive back to Houston was a blur. Thank goodness he didn’t take me to the hospital. Injuries aside, I would have died of embarrassment. Most folks fall in the bathtub, not into it.

Kate paled when she opened the front door and saw Steven supporting me. I could imagine how I must have looked. Luckily I seemed to have sustained only a puncture wound to my butt from a nail and a gash on my forehead. Nothing seemed to be broken, but my hero insisted he had to help me upstairs, and I didn’t have the energy for a dispute.

“Despite appearances, I’ll survive,” I reassured Kate as Steven walked me up the stairs. “To the bathroom. Okay?”

“Sure.” He steered me left at the landing, with Kate following close behind.

“Let’s be real careful before we go in, though. I discovered today that bathrooms have this strange way of disappearing.”

“This is all my fault,” Steven said. “I knew that section of the house was unstable. I should have blocked off the stairs so you wouldn’t go up there.” He helped me sit in front of the vanity.

Webster appeared, wagging his tail. Apparently he considered mud and blood a delightful combination and began licking my legs.

“I’ll be picking up tarps to seal off the damage as best I can,” said Steven. “Otherwise the rain will saturate the entire second floor. I’ll tow your car back, Abby, but before I leave, are you sure you don’t want to reconsider and visit a hospital?”

“Positive. Thanks for everything,” I said.

He left.

I gratefully took the towel Kate offered and wiped my face.

“Tell me what happened,” she said. “Looks like a bomb exploded in your immediate vicinity.” She stooped and pulled my shoes off.

“The bathroom succumbed to the fatal allure of gravity, requiring only my one hundred and twenty pounds to reach that decision.” I took off my shirt, and thank goodness Webster enjoyed sniffing that filthy, tattered remnant better than running his snout over my body.

Kate turned on the bathwater.

“Bubbles. I need lots of bubbles.” I stood on unsteady legs and finished undressing.

“Once I help you in, I’m calling the doctor.”

“I don’t need a doctor. I’ll sit in this wonderful, fully appointed tub—a far cry from my previous experience in the bath—and recover immediately.”

“Abby, for God’s sake, you just fell off a house!”

“Don’t remind me.” I slowly descended into the hot, soapy water and knew what heaven was about.

“I’m calling. I don’t care what you say.” She stomped out, pulling a reluctant Webster, who bade a fond farewell with a longing look at the offensive shirt on the floor.

If calling the doctor would occupy Kate for a while, that was fine by me. I didn’t want to slap her with the truth about Daddy. Not yet. I had a row or two to hoe with someone else first.

*  *  *

I had just settled into bed when Kate entered and handed me a snifter half-filled with amber liquid.

“What concoction is this, Dr. Kate?”

“Brandy,” she said.

“Where’s the chamomile tea? The feverfew? The valerian root?” I said, accepting the glass. I was thinking that all this attention for a few bumps and bruises was making me more uncomfortable than I already was.

“This occasion requires something more potent. And brandy is medicinal.”

I sipped, and since I rarely drink alcohol after my experience with Steven’s problem, the brandy had an immediate effect, both soothing and warm. I set the half-empty snifter next to me and readjusted the quilt over my knees.

“When I explained to the doctor what happened,” Kate said, “he thought you should go to the emergency room, but I told him you wouldn’t cooperate. He insisted you come to his office tomorrow for a tetanus shot, though.”

“He insisted? And will he have a medical tantrum if I don’t obey? Or maybe send me to noncompliantpatient jail?”

“Humor me if not him, Abby. I’m guessing that was a very nasty, dirty nail that stabbed you in the patoot.”

The doorbell saved me from pronouncements of the fate awaiting me if I refused medical care, although I had to admit a tetanus shot was probably a good idea.

“That’s Terry,” Kate said. “Mind if he comes up?”

“Invite the neighbors, if you want. But they may have to watch me sleep, because I’m damn tired.”

As it turned out, Terry wasn’t alone. Jeff Kline was with him, and he definitely looked irritated once I explained about my fall without grace.

Terry hadn’t eaten, which was closer to an emergency than my own accident, so he and Kate went down to the kitchen, offering to bring me up something in a few minutes. They left Jeff and me alone, and he wasted no time getting to the point.

“Busy today?” he asked, propping his feet on the tapestry-covered footstool near my bed. His inquiring eyebrows, not to mention the snide slant to his tone, confirmed this would not be a pleasant conversation.

“Besides examining the plumbing on P Street?” I said, trying to sound innocent.

“Before that.” Out came the gum.

I was beginning to understand about the gum—how the quantity and chewing speed increased proportionately with his level of agitation. I shifted off my aching rear end and said, “This sounds like an interrogation, Sergeant.”

“Darn right, Abby. Or should I call you Police Consultant Abby? I had no idea we had an Unsolved Crime