Tribute

flooring for up there, and the fixtures and tiles for that bath, and the master. We’ll be able to have a beer out on the patio, soon as you’re ready. What I need is pots. A couple of big-ass pots. Monsters. Oh, and I’m going to plant tomatoes. I think it’s about the right time to do that. And, like, peppers, maybe carrots and beans. I should wait until next year when the house is done, but I think I could scratch out a square for a little garden now. Then—”
    “Miss McGowan.”
    Cilla took a breath. When it hurt her chest to draw it in, it told her she’d been pushing too hard. “Yes.” What was the nurse’s name, the nurse with the curly blond hair and warm brown eyes? “Dee. It’s Cilla.”
    “Cilla. The police are out there. A couple of detectives. They asked to speak to you.”
    “Oh. Sure. Just a sec. I’ve got to do this thing,” she told Steve. “I’ll be back.”
    Spotting the cops was the easiest thing she’d done all day, Cilla thought. She stepped up to them. “I’m Cilla McGowan.”
    “Detective Wilson. My partner, Detective Urick. Is there somewhere we could talk?”
    “There’s a little waiting room down here. They’ve got something they call coffee. You’re looking into what happened to Steve now,” she said as she led the way.
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “Then you know he didn’t trip over his own feet, bash himself in the head and fall under his own bike.” She hit the coffeepot, added powdered creamer. “Do you know what did happen?”
    “We’re looking into it,” Urick said. “Do you know anyone who’d wish Mr. Chensky harm?”
    “No. He’s only been here a few days. Steve makes friends, not enemies.”
    “You were married.”
    “That’s right.”
    “No hard feelings?” Wilson prompted.
    “None. We were friends before we got married. We’ve stayed friends.”
    “He’s living with you.”
    “No, he’s visiting me, and giving me a hand for a couple of weeks on the house. I’m rehabbing the house. He’s in the business.”
    “ Rock the House ,” Urick commented. “I’ve caught the show.”
    “Best there is. You want to know if we’re sleeping together. No. We have, but we’re not.”
    Wilson pursed his lips, nodded. “Your neighbor, Mr. Sawyer, states that he saw a prowler on your property a few nights ago.”
    “Yeah, the night Steve got in. Steve heard something outside.”
    “You didn’t.”
    “No, I sleep like a rock. But Steve woke me up, said he heard something. I brushed it off.” The guilt wormed its way back. “Then Ford mentioned the flashlight he’d seen. I was supposed to get a padlock for the barn, and I let it slip by.”
    “We noticed you seem to be using the barn to store things. Boxes, furniture . . .”
    “Junk,” Cilla finished, and nodded at Urick. “I brought it down from the attic. I’m having the attic finished off and needed to clear it out. I’ve been sorting, but it’s a big job. I thought I’d separated what struck me as potentially valuable, but it’s hard to tell on a couple of passes.”
    “You didn’t notice anything missing?”
    “Not at this point.”
    “Some of the boxes were crushed, the furniture knocked over.” Wilson gestured. “It looked, possibly, as if Mr. Chensky drove his bike into the barn, lost control, went down.”
    “That’s not what happened. You know he wasn’t drunk or stoned.”
    “His alcohol level was well under the legal limit,” Urick agreed. “There were no drugs in his system.”
    Inside her chest, her heart began a tripping beat. “A sober man, and one who’s straddled a Harley for about a dozen years, doesn’t get off the bike, open the door, get back on the bike and yee-haw drive in over a bunch of boxes and furniture.”
    “The X-rays indicate Mr. Chensky was struck at the base of the skull. Probably a crowbar or tire iron.”
    Cilla pressed her hand to her heart as it tightened to a fist. “Oh, God.”
    “The force of the blow pitched him forward, dropped him so that he hit the concrete floor, which caused the second fracture. Our reconstruction indicates the Harley was rolled to where Mr. Chensky lay, then pushed over on top of him, breaking two of his ribs and bruising his kidney.”
    Urick waited, watched as Cilla set her coffee down, as her hand trembled. Her color went from pale to ghostly. “Now, let me ask you again. Do you know anyone who’d wish Mr. Chensky harm?”
    “No. No, I don’t know anyone who’d want to hurt him. Who’d do