More Than a Soldier Page 11

  Hank replaced the back-door lock and returned to Cindy’s bedside. Gently, he pulled a hairbrush from her loosely fisted hand and placed it on the nightstand. He slipped the flip-flops from between her toes. The left slipper bore a perfect imprint of Cricket’s teeth. He ran his thumb over the indentations. If it weren’t for his faithful canine companion, he might still be searching for Cindy right now.

  He flipped off the light switch on his way out of the room and closed the door.

  In the kitchen, Mrs. Baker scooped the last bit of cereal into a dustpan and emptied it into a trashcan, then slipped the broom into a spot between the fridge and the wall. “It’s awfully quiet in there.” She eyed the bedroom door. “Is she okay?”

  “Yeah, she’s asleep.”

  “Good, she needs to rest.” She wiped the countertops with a damp sponge. “She’s had enough excitement in the last few days to last her quite a while. Both good and bad. Finding her brother, meeting his family, having an accident that could have easily... Oh, dear.” Her hand fluttered over her heart. “The very thought is enough to bring on a bout of angina.”

  Hank rounded the kitchen bar, took the sponge from Mrs. Baker, and tossed it in the sink. “Speaking of rest, why don’t you go home and get some yourself?”

  “But,” she leaned sideways and peered into the living room, “what about the shelf and all the stuff lying on the floor in there?”

  “It’s not going anywhere.” He offered his elbow. “Allow me to escort you to your door?”

  Her eyes sparkled. “Oh, Hank, I like you more and more by the minute. Thank you for being so kind.”

  “My pleasure.” He patted the age-freckled hand that slipped into the crook of his arm. “Besides,” Hank opened the front door and stepped outside, “it bolsters a man’s ego to be seen with a hot chick hanging on his arm.”

  Mrs. Baker slapped a hand over her mouth to cover a laugh. A few steps across the porch brought them to her door.

  “Mrs. B, would you think it inappropriate if I hung out at Cindy’s a while longer? You know, make sure she doesn’t wake up scared or upset?”

  “Hank, I personally would feel safer if you stayed, especially after what happened this evening. I consider myself a good judge of character, and I trust you completely.” She entered her apartment, turned, and smiled. “Good night, dear.”

  “’Night, Mrs. Baker.”

  * * * *

  Hank spread the slats of the living room blinds and peeked outside. All quiet. The couch beckoned, but no, he wouldn’t give in until he absolutely had to. Maybe if he were tired enough, fatigue would quell his hellish nightmares. He couldn’t risk an episode like the one he’d had the other night with Edward. It would upset Cindy, and she didn’t need any additional stress right now. Not after falling off a cliff one day and having the security of her home violated the next.

  Milky white mini blinds, aglow from the streetlamps, bathed the room with enough light to chase away shadows and make it safe to walk about without tripping over things. Working slowly and quietly, Hank righted the bookshelf, loaded the bottom with books and placed knickknacks onto the upper shelves. Cindy could arrange everything the way she liked when she felt up to the task.

  He went to the fridge, helped himself to a stick of cheddar cheese and washed it down with a glass of milk. The digital microwave clock glowed 1:30. Involuntarily, his mouth gaped into a big yawn, and the couch’s invitation grew louder. “Okay, you win,” he whispered, then pushed off the counter he’d been leaning on.

  Hank paused outside Cindy’s bedroom door and let his memory replay the musical jewelry box’s tune. The lyrics that had gripped his heart had already fled the confines of his conscious mind. All but the last few, that is. Those, he could very well have written himself.

  I have loved...you since...first glance.

  Shall...we...dance?

  Chapter 13

  “You almost got yourself pepper sprayed this morning.”

  “Huh?” Hank rolled his head on the couch’s armrest to follow Cindy’s voice. Harsh daylight pouring through the open window blinds smacked him in the face. He raised a hand to shield his eyes from the glare.

  Cindy’s form stood dark against the window, a featureless statue without color or depth until his vision adjusted and brought her into focus.

  The faux leather couch cushion groaned as he sat up and planted his feet on the floor. He smacked his lips a few times. “A little pepper spray would probably taste pretty good about now.”

  “Bad case of morning mouth?” Cindy laughed, then crossed over to the kitchen and held up a glass decanter. “Coffee?”

  “Please.” He went to the bar, accepted the cup she poured, and clinked its rim against hers. “Cheers.”

  “Cheers.” Cindy blew through fluffs of steam and took a sip. “You scared me half to death earlier.”

  “That took talent, considering I was sound asleep.” Hank chuckled. “So what happened? Was it startling to come out and find a guy on your couch?

  “Actually, I awoke with a start, thinking I’d heard a prowler. So, I grabbed my phone and pepper spray and locked myself in the bathroom. Lucky for you, my first inclination was to call Mrs. Baker. If she hadn’t told me you’d stayed the night, I might have worked up the courage to come out and assault you with a barrage of hot sauce you wouldn’t have soon forgotten.”

  “I’ll have to remember to thank Mrs. Baker for her part in sparing me a near-lethal hot-saucing.” Hank drank a few swallows of coffee. “So, what kind of racket was I making that you thought I was an intruder?”

  “No doubt you’ve already noticed how my couch grunts, groans, and squeaks with the slightest of movements. I’m sure that’s what I heard. But at the time, my imagination conjured up a hockey-masked man tiptoeing over creaky floorboards toward my bedroom with a raised hatchet.”

  “Sounds like you’ve watched one too many horror flicks.” As scary for Cindy as a guy with a hockey mask with a hatchet sounded, it was still better than hearing her say she’d heard him shouting and crying in his sleep. Way better.

  Cindy freshened each cup with a hot splash of coffee. “Mrs. B can vouch for the fact that I usually sleep like the dead. She pounds on the wall to wake me when three separate alarms of a very annoying rooster’s crow don’t do the trick. Maybe I didn’t sleep as soundly last night because I was upset about the break-in.”

  “I’d say that was a good possibility.”

  Cindy smiled as she passed on her way to the living room. She grabbed a brush off the arm of the easy chair, stood at the window and brushed her tresses with long, fluid strokes. “Thank you for standing the bookshelf back upright.”

  “You’re welcome. Of course, I threw everything on the shelves helter-skelter, so you’ll have to—what’s that?” Sunrays glinted off something under the edge of the couch. Hank picked up a small silver picture frame. A girl—eight, maybe nine—smiled up at him with beautiful blue eyes that danced with laughter. Bald and browless, if not for pearly stud earrings and a lacy headband decorated with small rosettes, her gender could easily be mistaken.

  “Her name was Sheila.” Cindy spoke the name with adoration. “She came to live with us when I was fifteen and my sister Belinda was sixteen.”

  “Cancer?”

  “Yeah. Poor, sweet girl. Chemo was the only thing that dampened her spirits. It took days to recover from each treatment. Belinda and I doted on her like two young mothers, spoon-feeding whatever she could hold down, massaging sore muscles, and painting her toenails and fingernails bright, cheerful colors. One of the first things she always wanted to do when the effects of the chemo subsided was brush my hair.”

  Cindy moved to the window again, her back toward Hank. “Sheila would say, ‘When I get to heaven,’ words that would break my heart every time, ‘I’m going to ask God to give me hair just like yours.’ She seemed to get a great amount of satisfaction from—” Cindy sighed. “Five months. That�
��s all the time we had together, and we tried to make every minute count.”

  “I’m sure every second spent with her had eternal value.” Hank set the picture frame on the chair, took the brush from Cindy, and stroked her luxurious locks top to bottom. “I can understand why Sheila enjoyed this so much. It’s like brushing strands of satin.”

  “Thanks. I’m trying to take good care of my hair so that when I donate it to the Kiddie Wig Project, it’ll—”

  “When you what?” He spun her around by the shoulders. “You mean like, cut it off, and—”

  Cindy smiled sweetly. “I have no greater gift to honor her memory, Hank.”

  “But.”

  Sheila smiled up from the chair. Such a beautiful child with eyes full of life, but a body full of death. How many other Sheilas wished they had hair like Cindy’s, or wished they had any hair at all, for that matter?

  Cindy’s motives were faultless, pure, and founded in love. How selfish he’d been to open his mouth in protest as if he had any say in her personal affairs, or to momentarily put his attraction for her crowning glory above the needs of children with such grave misfortunes.

  “I’m sorry, Sassy. I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did. What you’re doing is a beautiful thing—a truly beautiful thing. And it makes me proud just hearing about it.”

  “Thanks, Hank.” Cindy’s posture straightened like that of a just-praised kid. Her smile glowed. “Kiddie Wigs requires just eight inches of hair for a donation, but I’m going to give sixteen. My hairdresser friend Bonnie says lots of people do it that way, especially for first-time donations. Call me crazy, but I can’t help but think that Sheila would have loved to see my hair as long as it is right now.”

  “I don’t think you’re crazy at all.” Not by a long shot.

  * * * *

  “Mrs. B, it’s me, Cindy.” She laid three more raps on her neighbor’s door.

  “Hang on, I’m a-coming.” Mrs. Baker pulled the door open and stepped aside. “Good morning, sunshine. Come in. Coffee’s brewing. I see the Jeep is still here, but where’s Hank?”

  “I convinced him a hot shower would do some good to loosen the knots my six-foot couch deposited into his six-four frame.” She settled onto her usual stool at the bar. “Even found an unopened toothbrush I’d forgotten I had in the linen closet so he could brush his teeth. I came over here because it just didn’t seem proper for me to be in the same apartment while he was, you know—”

  “Naked in the shower?”

  “Mrs. B!” Cindy’s jaw dropped and fire burned in her cheeks.

  Mrs. Baker fell into rip-roaring laughter, slapping the counter and tossing her head back with mischievous glee.

  Cindy joined in. How spunky and full of surprises her neighbor could be. Naked. Cindy shook her head and laughed more. “I had no idea you could be such a—”

  “Dirty old lady? Oh yes, I can be very naughty when the mood strikes, and it was worth it to see you blush like that.” Mrs. B curtailed her merriment and poured two cups of coffee. “I slept good and hard knowing Hank was keeping vigil over there. I like that young man. I like him very much.”

  “I do too. Yesterday, when Hank brought me home from dinner he—” She spun her cup in slow circles on the counter.

  “He what?”

  “He said he wanted to see me again.”

  “And you said yes, didn’t you?” Mrs. Baker leaned halfway over the kitchen bar with an intense stare. “Please tell me you said yes.”

  “Well, not exactly.”

  “You silly, silly girl. I can’t believe you’d turn down a guy like that. I ought to—” Mrs. B’s gaze darted to a pile of mail lying near the toaster.

  Cindy pulled her head and shoulders tight to her body and closed her eyes. The folded newspaper circular that hit her head inflicted more noise than pain. “Feel better now?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. Now why in the world would you say no to Hank? It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Mrs. B, you don’t understand. When I first met Eric, he—”

  “Enough about Eric!”

  Cindy flinched.

  In a blink, Mrs. Baker appeared beside Cindy. “I’ve heard all I want to hear about that arrogant, self-centered, manipulative sociopath. I’m sorry you got hurt, but I’m glad you learned the truth about him before it was too late.

  “That man, however,” she pointed toward Cindy’s apartment, “respects you, which is more than I could ever say about Eric Nolan.”

  Sternness drained from Mrs. Baker’s face, and a soft, endearing expression took its place. “Last night after you’d fallen asleep and I’d tidied up your kitchen, Hank insisted on seeing me to my door. Not willing to tarnish your reputation, he asked me—as if I were your mother or guardian—if it would be improper for him to stay over in case you woke up frightened during the night.”

  She touched Cindy’s hand. “Don’t let past pain keep your heart locked forever. Men of such fine character as Hank are hard to come by, and this one practically dropped into your lap. All I’m asking, sweetie, is that you give him a chance. Who knows, he may make you fall madly in love with him.”

  Hank’s words exactly.

  Cindy curled her fingers around Mrs. B’s hand. “Maybe you’re right. I will give him a chance. I promise.”

  * * * *

  “Cindy?” No answer.

  Hank rubbed a towel over his still-dripping hair as he wandered through the apartment. Except for the murmur of female voices penetrating the living room wall, the place was dead quiet. He moved closer to the bookshelf, and turned his good ear toward the sound. Bits and pieces of conversation between Cindy and Mrs. Baker came through clearly.

  He went out to the Jeep, sat in the passenger seat with the door wide open, and thumbed Edward’s number.

  “Hey, Hank. What’s up?”

  “I’m at Cindy’s, and—”

  “What are you doing over there this early? More work on her car?”

  “Nah, the car was easy. Swapped out the alternator yesterday and got the old beast up and running in no time.” Hank yawned. “I stayed over last night. We’ve only been up half an hour or so. I thought the shower would wake me up, but—”

  “We’ve only been up half an hour? Dang it, Hank. You slept with my sister?”

  “Whoa, boy.”

  “I asked you to watch out for Cindy, not sleep with her.” Edward’s volume cranked up several notches.

  “Eddie, you don’t—”

  “What were you thinking? I can’t believe you would...”

  Hank set the phone on the dashboard. Edward ranted on, his angry voice rising and falling with new waves of insults and chastisements. But, at least he wasn’t screaming in Hank’s one and only good ear. He tied a loose sneaker lace and picked up the phone. “Eddie.”

  “What!”

  “Shut up for a few minutes, would you? I didn’t sleep with your sister. Let me say it slowly so it’ll sink into your thick skull. I. Did. Not. Sleep. With.”

  “All right. I got it.” Edward grumbled under his breath.

  “I spent the night on her couch, and if you’d keep your mouth shut for a few minutes without hurling accusations or jumping to crazy conclusions, I’ll tell you why.”

  Edward let out a loud exhalation. “I’m listening.”

  “Yesterday, after I fixed her car, Cindy and I went out for an early dinner. When we got back to the apartment an hour and a half later, we found the place had been ransacked. Cindy’s neighbor, Mrs. Baker said that while we were gone, she saw—”

  “What? Ransacked? Who?”

  Hank told Edward about the cable guy and the missing necklace and money, then went on to tell him about the landlord’s slipup and the visit from the cop.

  “Did you get the landlord to change the locks?”

  “Done. I installed them myself.”

  “Good. How’s Cindy taking all this? Calm, upset, mad
?”

  “All of the above. I can’t say for sure, but I think she may have cried herself to sleep. She and Mrs. Baker seem to have a deep affection for one another, so before I made a decision to spend the night, I bounced the idea off Mrs. B. Everything was on the up and up, Eddie.”

  “I know. Sorry I went off on you.” His words were sewn with a thread of sincerity.

  “Apology accepted.”

  Before Edward had made peace with the Almighty, his persona, for the most part, hadn’t made allowances for the softer things in life like apologies, words of appreciation, or expressions of tender emotions.

  Hank put a foot on the dash. “There are a few things that don’t make sense about the break-in.”

  “Like what?”

  “Sound travels easily between Cindy and Mrs. Baker’s apartment. But even though Mrs. Baker was home when the break-in occurred, she heard nothing. She said it had been quiet the whole time we were gone until she heard the cable guy pull the door shut.

  “A large bookshelf was knocked over in the living room. Books, whatnots, you name it, were scattered on the floor, and not a single item was broken. Cindy has a collection of glass figurines—the hollow kind made of glass as thin as eggshells. There wasn’t so much as a crack in any of them. Snow globe? Intact. Crystal vase? Unscathed. It’s as if everything was taken down, placed carefully on the floor, and the bookshelf lowered afterward.”

  “You mean like someone staged the scene to make it look like a garden-variety break-in?”

  “Exactly.” Hank got out of the Jeep and cracked his neck side to side. The couch had done a number on him. “And here’s another oddity. What kind of thief opens a box full of jewelry and takes just one piece? It defies reasoning.”

  “What about the fifty dollars?”

  “An easy lift. Bam—in the pocket, and the burglary is official.”

  A chilly morning breeze blew through Hank’s wet hair as he crunched across the gravel toward the street. He stopped short. “The other day, when I came to pick Cindy up to bring to Mom and Dad’s, she got a call that set her on edge. She was practically screaming into the phone, telling someone—presumably a guy—not to come near her. Even threatened to shoot him if he stepped foot on her porch. When she hung up, I asked if everything was okay.”