Tressa's Treasures (The King's Jewel Book 1) (2 page)

Holly's fear was justified. She had often suffered abuse at his hand before she had mustered the courage to leave him, just three weeks earlier.

Fred stumbled over the threshold with a murderous look in his blue eyes, his thin lips pressed together. He stared at Holly intently, as though he had to concentrate to stay standing.

"Away with you now, girls," I said, hastily guiding the teenagers behind him and out the door.

In my peripheral vision, I saw Sophia's face flush and her eyes grow wide before her father pushed her behind him, shielding her from danger. I felt the tension rising in him as he considered what action to take. I bit my lip in frustration. Their presence made it difficult to intercede.

"It's time for you to get your ass home," Fred growled. "Time to stop this whoring around."

"What?" Confusion filled Holly's doe eyes; she shook her head, shaking off the insult. "Stay away from me, Fred." Her quivering voice negated any impact her words may have had. "I'm staying with Eileen. You know that."

"The hell you are," he roared. "You're coming home with me where you belong. You live with me."

"Not any more I don't." She lifted her chin.

Cursing, he lunged toward her, stumbled, and lost his balance. As he pitched forward, he threw out a beefy hand to catch himself. His palm hit the glass door of a large antique curio that served as a display case. The thin glass fractured, slicing his hand.

In a rush of anger, he grabbed the frame of the cabinet with both hands and threw it down, shattering the remaining glass. The china inside flew in every direction, crashing to the floor and smashing into pieces.

Holly screamed. The sound cut into my eardrums. I covered my ears with my hands and reflexively turned away. At once, the foolishness of having my back to him hit me.

I turned back to see Fred lumbering toward Holly. He stumbled again and plowed his shoulder into her. She fell back and hit her head on a low hanging shelf on the wall behind her. Blood poured from a gash in her head, matting her carefully styled, wispy brown hair. Holly whimpered, holding her hands up in a feeble attempt to protect her face.

The sight of the blood overrode my concern over exposing my identity. I ran to help her, disregarding the audience. Sophia's father did the same, but I got there first. I jumped between them as Fred drew his cut and bloody fist back, preparing to hit Holly again.

I drew up to my full five feet seven inches. Although he was still several inches taller than I was, I locked eyes with him.

"Fredrick Moyer, husband of Holly Moyer, you will leave this building immediately and never cross its threshold again,” I said with all the authority I could command. “You lousy bastard," I muttered under my breath.

Fred blinked several times, the fury in his eyes fading with each flutter of his eyelids. He ran his injured hand through his short blond hair, streaking it with blood. Then he turned and calmly left the shop.

I held my breath until he was gone.

Behind me, Holly sank to the floor sobbing. I knelt and took her into my arms, rocking her gently as she cried on my shoulder. While I murmured to her, telling her he was gone and she was safe, I heard both our hearts thumping.

Sophia's father had followed Fred, watching his retreat. He stayed in front of the door, standing guard against his return. Fred would not come back, but I couldn't tell him that.

Then I heard light footsteps. Sophia threw her body against her father, hugging his leg. He reached down and pulled the weeping child into his arms. She clung to his neck, her face buried in his shoulder.

He turned and stared at me. I cringed at his incredulous expression.

CHAPTER TWO

I led Holly to sit on the tall stool we kept near the checkout counter. Although the height of the stool made her taller than her usual five foot one, I could still look down at the gash on the back of her head. It wasn't deep, but it was long and bleeding profusely.

I searched the immediate area for something to use as a bandage and found a linen dinner napkin waiting to be re-shelved. I folded it into a square, placing it over the gash and applying a gentle pressure. I hoped it would be enough to stop the bleeding. My thoughts raced as I tried to decide my next move.

Sophia's father, still standing by the door, whispered reassurances into his daughter’s ear. I wished he would take her away; surely that would help ease her fears. However, he seemed determined to secure the entrance. Slowly, her crying dwindled to hiccups. She lifted her head and looked over her father's shoulder at us.

There was something oddly knowing in her expression that cautioned me against using my essence to mend Holly's wound. The risk of exposure was too great, and not just for me. Exposing my presence would put Holly at risk too. I needed to let the humans take care of it in their way.

I brought my attention back to Holly. Streaks of mascara stained her cheeks and her large doe eyes were filled with surprise and pain.

"I'm so sorry, Tressa. I never thought he would do this."

I crinkled my brow, confused. Fred had hit her many times before this.

"Come here, I mean. To the store, to my work place," she clarified. "This is terrible, just terrible. I'm so sorry."

A police cruiser pulled up to the curb with its flashers on just as Sophia's father opened the front door. I had hoped he was leaving, but instead, he held the door open for the two officers who had gotten out of the car. To my dismay, they left their car with the lights flashing.

I recognized the dark-haired younger officer as Tom Lynch, a friend of Fred's. He stopped to speak to my unfortunate customer, Sophia's father, who was now officially a witness.

"You saw what happened here?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Stick around; we need to ask you a few questions."

"I'm going to step outside to make a quick call."

Tom nodded.

"Don't leave until we take your statement."

Sophia's father put her down and pulled out his phone, dialing as he led her outside. The store door snapped closed behind them.

The older officer, a middle-aged black man with a rather large stomach, walked over to us.

"Holly," he nodded at her cordially. "Tressa Danann, isn't it? We haven't met, but I know your grandmother. I'm Will Clark."

I acknowledged his introduction with a grim smile.

Behind him, Tom walked the perimeter of the showroom, looking at the broken display case and its shattered contents. He knelt and picked up one of the larger pieces of china. It had been the base of a bowl, perhaps, or a vase. He paused to examine the
Belleek
trademark stamped on its bottom.

"Now Holly, it looks like you're bleeding pretty badly from that cut on your head. I think it would be best if we go ahead and get EMS over here to take a look. Maybe take you to the emergency room," said Will in a kind voice.

"Yes, that's a good idea," I agreed. Not taking care of the wound myself turned out to be more stressful than I had imagined. I chafed with an urgency to help my friend.

"No, I'm okay," Holly said.

The door chimes clanged; Holly's sister exploded through the door and ran to her side.

Eileen, though she looked very much like her sister, was in many ways her opposite. She was taller and bigger boned. While Holly worked with feminine things like jewelry, crystal and china, Eileen drove an eighteen-wheeler.

"What's he done this time?" she asked venomously.

Eileen thrust her chin in the direction of the cloth in my hand, indicating that she wanted to see underneath it. I lifted the linen napkin from Holly's wound.

"Damn him, he split your head open." She took the cloth from my hand, taking over as nursemaid for her little sister. I suspected she had become accustomed to the role.

"He was drunk," Holly said in a monotone.

"Of course he was. Isn't he always when he starts throwing punches?" Holly started to speak, but Eileen talked over her. "And don't give me any of that 'He didn't know what he was doing' crap."

Holly crossed her arms over her stomach and looked away with pursed lips.

Tom had finished his inspection of the damage. After a moment of hesitation, he joined the rest of us.

He stood with his feet shoulder width apart, his thumbs tucked into his gun belt. Everything about his body language said he was all business. I suspected that he wanted to offset our awareness of his friendship with the offender.

Eileen turned to glare at him, flinging her ponytail over her shoulder.

"Don't you be making excuses for him either, Tom Lynch. How you can be friends with that bully I'll never understand."

Tom returned her glare but didn't respond. Instead, he effectively excluded her from the conversation by angling his body away from her and toward me.

"You want to tell us what exactly happened here this afternoon?"

"There wasn't much to it. Fred came in drunk. He threw over the display case, hit Holly and left," I said.

"How did you get him out of here?" Tom asked.

"He just left."

The scrutiny in his gaze made me uncomfortable. He glanced away from me, exchanging a look with his partner.

"Did he try to force Holly to leave with him?" Tom asked.

A bit of life came back into Holly's eyes. "He wouldn't do that," she said.

The officers nodded, their expressions remaining carefully neutral.

"Maybe he wasn't drunk this time," Tom suggested to Will.

"Come on, Tommy. He was drunk," Eileen said. "Just like he has been a thousand times. And you know as well as anyone that he's a mean drunk."

"No one's asking you, Eileen. You weren't even here," he snapped back at her. Regret instantly crossed his face.

"He was drunk, Tommy," Holly confirmed, flashing a warning glance at her sister.

"Was anyone else in the store?" asked Will.

"Linda Singer and her friends were leaving when he arrived. And a man—a customer—I don't know his name. He was here with his little girl."

"Yeah, he's waiting outside," Tom said.

"Ha. I didn't need to be here to know he was drunk," Eileen muttered, refusing to let it go.

Tom pressed his lips together as if determined not to let her get to him again. He turned back to his partner.

"Are we good here?"

"Yeah, let's go talk to the others and get this wrapped up."

The officers nodded to us and left the store.

Eileen turned her full attention to Holly's cut. The cloth in her hand was crimson red and soaked with blood. I handed her a clean one to take its place.

"Come on, Holly, let me take you to the emergency room. I really think you need stitches," Eileen said with a quiet urgency.

Holly finally agreed, though she insisted on splashing water on her face and attempting to put her hair in order first. She turned back to me before they went through the door.

"I'm so sorry, Tressa. I'll clean everything up tomorrow."

"Don't be worrying about it, Pix. I'll get it done before tomorrow's opening." I waved my hand to show how unconcerned I felt.

"But—"

Eileen cut off her protest by pulling her out the door.

Alone in the store, I debated what to do next. Surely people would expect me to stay, at least until the police leave.

I sat on an upholstered chair by the sweaters. I needed a moment of peace so I could think. Instead, my senses were assaulted from every angle.

The harsh flashing lights that flooded in through the windows made the jagged edges of the broken glass and china appear sharper, piercing to my eyes. Here and there, blood drops dulled the sharpness, but created their own affront.

I looked away from this eyesore, turning to stare out the window instead. The rain had stopped and the police lights had drawn a crowd of a couple dozen people. Their voices, filled with emotions ranging from tension to excitement to curiosity, created a turbulent, disagreeable sound. Concerned about the words being released into the wind, I made an effort to sort through the noise and pick out individual conversations.

"I saw that Mr. Moyer was real drunk and real mad. So when I left here I ran up to get my mom," Linda Singer was telling Tom. Her mother stood beside her.

"And that's when you called 911?"

"I called," said Rachel Singer. "It seemed like a good idea after what Linda told me. Tommy, you know how Fred gets when he's toasted."

The officer nodded wordlessly.

"Then I went ahead and called Eileen. She's Holly's sister, you know."

"Yeah, I know." If Tom had been trying to keep the agitation out of his voice, he failed.

I scanned the crowd and found Will Clark questioning Sophia's dark-haired father. Sophia wasn't with him.

"Did you recognize this man?" Will asked.

"No. I'm not from around here."