That stopped me. 11-99 is scanner code for “Officer Needs Assistance.” I didn’t remember saying that, either, but I tried to shrug it off. I said, “Well, what was I supposed to say? There’s no scanner code for ‘Cat Sitter Needs Assistance.’”
Just then, Deputy Beane appeared in the doorway to the laundry room. I probably wouldn’t have recognized her but I remembered her hair—straight and jet-black, cut in a short bob that framed her face like a helmet. We had met before.
Morgan looked up at her and said, “Anything?”
She shook her head. “No. And I talked to a couple of neighbors. Nothing.”
“Okay,” Morgan said. “Dixie, I believe you know Deputy Beane.”
She nodded at me. “Hi. You all right?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
Morgan said, “Dixie was just filling me in on all the details. Seems she reported an 11-99 because a fat, bald, naked woman with red toes broke in and hit her over the head with a statue.”
I started to interject but he held up one finger. “Oh sorry, no, I got that wrong. It was Dick Cheney. Dick Cheney broke in and hit her on the head with a statue. He was wearing a mask, and he had red toes. I forget, was he naked, too?”
Beane’s eyes widened as she looked at me expectantly. I couldn’t tell if she was thinking I needed immediate medical attention, or if she was waiting to find out if Dick Cheney had been naked, too.
I sighed. “No, he was not naked. And it wasn’t actually Dick Cheney. He was wearing one of Mrs. Keller’s masks that reminds me of Dick Cheney, so that’s what I call it. And he hit me with this little statue that had red toes.”
They both just stared at me with blank expressions.
“I know it sounds crazy, but I’m telling you the truth. I admit I must have been a little loopy when I called 911, but if I had a concussion, would I be sitting here talking to you like a normal person?”
Morgan’s eyes narrowed a bit. “I’m not so sure you are, but let’s try this. What’s your name?”
“Huh?”
“You heard me, what’s your name?”
“Oh, give me a break. You know exactly who I am.”
His expression didn’t change. “What is your name?”
I knew what he was up to. A person with a concussion can seem perfectly normal on the outside, while on the inside circuits can be overloading and burning out and blood can be pooling up in all corners of the brain and then before you know it you’re a vegetable. One way to determine if someone’s had a concussion is if they have trouble answering basic questions.
“I’m waiting.”
I sighed. “All right. My name is Dixie Hemingway.”
“And where are you?”
“I already went over this with 911. I’m in the laundry room.”
“Funny. I mean what town are you in?”
I blinked. “Oh. I’m in Siesta Key.”
“What state?”
“Florida.”
“Who’s house is this?”
“Buster and Linda Keller’s.”
He nodded. “Okay. So far, so good. What’s one hundred minus thirty-seven?”
My eyes glazed over. Math is not exactly my best subject. I can barely balance a checkbook.
I said, “Uh…”
Morgan stood up. “Yeah, we’re calling an ambulance.”
“Wait a minute, I got this … seventy-three?”
He nodded at Beane, “Go ahead and call Dispatch while I start a report.”
She pulled her radio out of its holster while I swiped at Morgan’s ankles, feeling like Barney Feldman under the hall credenza. “Sixty-three! Sixty-three!”
Morgan looked down and sighed. “Dixie, are you sure you’re okay?”
I looked around and thought for a second. I had mistaken my flashlight for a pistol, I’d told the 911 operator I was a sheriff’s deputy, my head was throbbing, the room was rotating slightly, and there was a distant ringing in my ears that sounded a little bit like the coronation bells at a royal wedding.
“Yes,” I said. “I’m totally fine, and I promise if I notice anything weird I’ll go straight to the doctor.”
He shook his head slightly. “Okay. I don’t like it, but I guess I’ll just have to trust you on this one.”
I held out my arms. “I could use a little help getting up, though.”
Beane stepped in and they both pulled me to my feet and stood on either side while the blood rushed back into my legs.
He said, “You good?”
I gave him a nod and a smile. “I’m good.”
“Okay, let’s have a look around and see if you notice anything out of place.”
I steadied myself with one hand on his shoulder. “Well, I can tell you right off the bat, those candles in the living room … they weren’t there before.”
Morgan glanced at Beane and then frowned. “What candles?”
4
I was standing at the entry to the living room just beyond the Kellers’ kitchen, with Deputy Morgan on one side of me and Deputy Beane on the other. Luckily the ringing in my ears had subsided a bit and the room was only barely rotating now, but my eyes were wide as saucers. I was holding one arm out in front of me with an open palm, like I was about to shake hands with a ghost.
“They … they were right there.”
Morgan said, “A candle.”
“Two candles. And they were both lit.”
The coffee table was one of those big square modern things you see in fancy catalogs, with iron legs and a massive slab of white stone polished to a glassy finish, and just like everything else in the Kellers’ house it was completely clutter-free—no old magazines piled up, no TV remotes, no half-finished crossword puzzles, and most importantly, no tapered candles in the middle.
Morgan walked around to the other side and squatted down to peer underneath it. “And when did you see these candles?”
“Right when I woke up. The first thing I noticed were those curtains moving in the wind, but then…”
I glanced over at the curtains. They were not moving in the wind. Not even slightly. They were not moving in the wind because there was no wind. The doors to the garden outside were completely closed.
Morgan folded his arms over his chest and looked down at his shoes. “You saw the curtains moving?”
“Yeah, because those doors were open…”
“And where was the cat?”
“I don’t know.”
“And you saw all this before or after you got the concussion?”
I cast him a sidelong glance. “I do not have a concussion. And I told you, it was after.”
He studied my face for a moment and then said, “Bright red toes, huh?”
I sighed. “Look, I know it sounds crazy, but I’m not making this up. As sure as I’m standing here, those doors were open and there were two lit candles on that table.”
He looked around the room. “Well, I hate to tell you, Dixie, but I’m standing here, too, and I don’t see any candles anywhere.”
I tried to think of a smart-ass reply—something I’m normally pretty good at—but my brain just wasn’t cooperating. “Well, they must have … taken them when they left…?”
Even as I said it I knew how ridiculous I sounded, but there had to be a logical explanation and that was the only thing I could come up with. Deputy Beane went over and parted the curtains with the back of her hand.
She said, “These doors are all locked. And they’re latched from the inside.”
Morgan nodded. “Okay, it’s all starting to make sense now.”
I turned to him. “It is?”
“Yep. Somebody snuck in here and clobbered you over the head with a statue. Then they opened these folding doors. Maybe they needed some fresh air or something.” He pointed toward the laundry room. “Then, while you were taking your beauty nap in there, they came in here and lit a couple candles.” He looked around and nodded with a smug grin. “Now, as to why they lit those candles, I have no idea. Who can say what motivates the mind of a criminal? All I know is, when they got done doing whatever they were doing, maybe they took a nap or watched a movie, they locked everything up and took the candles with them. Happens all the time.”