Nervous Water by William G. Tapply Page B

you in any of the other rooms?”
    â€œNo,” I said. “We came in here, I sat over there, on the sofa. Moze went to the kitchen for beers a couple times. I stayed in here.”
    â€œYou didn’t go into the kitchen with him, use the bathroom, poke your head in the bedrooms?”
    â€œNo. The only thing I did was go over to the TV and look at the photos.”
    â€œWhich are now gone,” she said. She went over to the TV and shone her flashlight around behind it. “No, they’re not. Come over here. Take a look.”
    I moved beside her, and I saw a jumble of bent frames and torn photographs and broken glass strewn on the floor in the corner behind the television set.
    â€œLook at this.” She pointed with her latex-covered forefinger. There were dents and scratches and gouges in the wallpaper behind the TV.
    â€œSomebody threw these photos against the wall,” I said. “Threw ’em hard, too, judging by the size of some of those gouges.”
    Charlene looked at me. “Threw ’em with great anger, wouldn’t you say?”
    â€œGreat emotion, anyway,” I said. “You’re thinking about Cassie, aren’t you?”
    â€œShe’s so angry at him she hasn’t talked to him in a year and a half, you said.”
    â€œThat’s a different kind of anger from smashing her father’s photographs and punching him in the chest hard enough to give him a heart attack.”
    She shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not.”
    â€œI’m just having trouble,” I said, “thinking his own daughter could do this to him.”
    â€œI’ve seen way worse.” She touched my elbow. “Come on.” She steered me outside. “Why don’t you wait out here.”
    â€œWait for what?”
    â€œI’ve got some work to do.” She went over to her cruiser, opened the trunk, and came back with a camera. “I’ll only be a few minutes.” She went inside.
    I sat on the front steps and looked at my watch. It was a little after five o’clock. I fished my cell phone out of my pocket and called Evie’s office. After a few rings, the voicemail came on and Gina’s recorded voice invited me to leave a message. I declined.
    I tried our home number and got voice mail there, too. I told Evie I was still up in Maine, that Uncle Moze had had a heart attack and was in the ICU, that he was holding his own, that I wasn’t sure when I’d be home, that I loved her.
    I put my phone back into my pocket, and when I looked up, I saw an elderly woman shambling up the driveway toward me.
    I stood up, and when she came near, she said, “Who are you?”
    I smiled at her. “I’m Brady Coyne.”
    She nodded as if she already knew that. “I’m Helen Meadows. We spoke this morning. Do you have any news about Moze? I called the hospital but they wouldn’t tell me a thing.”
    â€œI saw him a little while ago,” I said. “He had a heart attack, but he’s doing okay.”
    â€œOh, dear,” she said. “A heart attack.” She was wearing overalls over a man’s blue shirt, with red sneakers. She had white hair, cut short, and sharp blue eyes behind her thick glasses. “I was afraid it was something like that.”
    I pointed at the front steps. “Do you want to sit down?”
    â€œCertainly not,” she said.
    I smiled. “The doctor says you saved his life,” I said. “If you hadn’t gone over when you did, called 911 right away…”
    â€œThat was our deal,” she said. “We watch out for each other, Moze and me. I don’t guess we ever really expected something like this would happen. Me, I just like the old cuss, enjoy havin’ him as a regular part of my life, even if it don’t amount to more than talkin’ with him on the phone most of the time.” She cleared her throat. “He don’t have much to say,