Page 34 of Healing Hope
Jess looked at the little girl. “Do you know where your Mom’s money is, baby?”
Face scrunching up, she shook her head. “Not exactly. I know we left it at a bus store.”
Bus store. “A bus depot?”
“Is that what they’re called? People get on buses there.”
“Yup,” Paul said. “It’s like an airport for buses. You think that’s where she put the money?”
Hope nodded. “And she got an orange key. I haven’t seen it for a long time, though. Maybe we lost it in the crash.”
“Maybe,” Paul said softly.
Hope slept with her that night, as well as the next two nights. Jess didn’t mind. She was recovering from a shock, and they could be flexible. Besides, the kid was a warm bundle to curl up behind when the AC got too cold.
14
Knowing that he had to bite the bullet, Paul went out into the garage. There had been a box of Tara’s stuff handed over to him when he’d gathered Hope and the few belongings she’d had with her. As soon as he’d realized it was her stuff, he’d closed the lid and thrown it in the trunk. At the time, he’d debated throwing it away completely, but he hadn’t.
Cursing as his hand slipped off the corner of a box, jarring it, Paul debated the wisdom of being out here. If he hurt himself on her shit…
Then he found the box. It was against the wall of the garage, underneath a couple of nylon yard chairs. Propping one of the chairs open, he sank down into it to go through the box.
Swallowing back the anger, he popped open the cardboard flaps. If there was anything he could keep for Hope, he would, but this was as good of a time as any to decide what needed pitched and what needed kept.
There were a lot of clothes in here. Shorts and t-shirts. A few things he recognized. Hope wouldn’t need any of those things, so he made a trash pile to his left. There was a purse in the bottom corner. It was narrow and kind of square. He upended it into the box, dumping out everything inside, then he looked for closed pockets. Everything had been open when he dumped it. Setting the purse aside, he started going through the junk.
There was a pill bottle with the label torn off. Had it been hers or stolen? He had no way of knowing. It rattled with a few pills, but he didn’t open the lid to see what was inside. It didn’t matter now. Her wallet was a ragged thing. There were a few cards inside, but he doubted she had any money on them. In the zipper part of the wallet there were a few hundred dollars in cash. He set that aside to ask the detective about.
Then he found the key. Like Hope said, it had an orange plastic head, and a metal tag hanging from it. There were numbers on the tag, but no name, so he had no idea what depot it came from. Again, he would leave that to the detective to figure out.
Paul went through the rest of the stuff, but nothing else seemed worth keeping. And if Hope hadn’t mentioned it or asked for it by now, she’d probably forgotten about this stuff anyway.
Pocketing the key, he headed inside.
* * *
The next day,Paul went back to work. He hated to go back, but he needed to.
He needed to do a lot of things. Top of the list was to stop mooning over the help. This morning the two of them had entered the kitchen, and Hope had been laughing. Jessamy Swan had come into their lives at the perfect time, and he would be forever grateful to Erin for suggesting he contact the Helping Hands, Healing Hearts company.
Jess took care of Hope better than anyone ever had, and Hope was flourishing, though she still had worries about Viktor coming in at night.
He called Detective Elkhorn and repeated what Hope had told them. Elkhorn was interested enough to send a car over to pick up the key, but he didn’t make any promises. Paul assumed it would be entered into evidence and forgotten about.
There had been no sign of the tall burglar anywhere, and Elkhorn didn’t expect there to be. He’d apparently gone into hiding, waiting for his next opportunity to approach or attack them. It was worrisome. Paul hung up from the detective feeling more on edge than before. When the police officer arrived, he handed over the key and answered all the man’s questions.
It seemed like he’d been at the hospital days rather than hours by the time he finally went home. He just wanted to relax. Heading to his bedroom, he changed into shorts and a t-shirt, shucking the khakis and button-down shirt. Then he headed out to the patio, ice bag in his hand.
The bruising had finally begun to fade. The knuckles were still damn sore, but he’d gotten used to that. The stitches in his forehead were bothering him the most right now. And his damn ribs. He was pushing forty, and his body didn’t heal the way it used to.
“I know it’s early, but do you want me to take those out? You’ve already gotten three of them out.”
Paul looked at Jess sitting across from him, and shrugged a little sheepishly. Obviously she’d seen him trying to brush the stitches away. “I think I scratch them in the night. I’m not used to anything on my forehead.”
He ran his healing hand over his hair. As soon as he could, he would go in for a cut, as well. “Yeah, if you don’t mind, I would love to get them out.”
She nodded once and padded into the house. When she returned, she had a few paper towels in her hand, as well as a tube of all-purpose ointment and orange-handled scissors. They were little tiny scissors, but had very sharp tips. Jess set the items on the patio table, then moved close.