Heart Vs. Humbug. M.J. Rodgers

headache?”

      “No, but it’s cold, isn’t it?”

      Octavia scooted around in the mud in order to transfer Mab’s head from its resting place on Brett’s knee to a new resting place on hers. She wrapped her jacket more closely around her grandmother’s shoulders.

      “We’ll have you out of this excavation pit just as soon as the medics get here,” she promised.

      “Why am I in this pit?” Mab asked.

      For the first time, Brett heard a small annotation of anxiety underlying the normally mellow mark of Octavia’s voice.

      “Mab, don’t you remember falling?”

      “I didn’t fall, Octavia. I was pushed. I want to know why.”

      “Pushed?” Octavia said as though she must have heard wrong.

      “Yes, pushed,” Mab repeated.

      “Who pushed you?” Octavia asked.

      “Let’s just say I can make a good guess,” Mab replied as she stared up at one particular face looking down at her.

      Brett followed the direction of Mab’s eyes. He was decidedly uncomfortable, but not surprised, to find himself looking into his uncle’s sallow, bitter expression as he peered over the edge of the excavation pit.

      “I’ll go flag down the medics,” Brett said as he got to his feet and climbed out of the pit.

      When Brett reached the rim, he grabbed Scroogen and pulled him along toward the street where the medics would arrive. He waited until he and Scroogen were out of hearing distance of the crowd before he confronted him.

      “Did you push her, Dole?”

      “What?”

      “You heard me.”

      “No, I didn’t push the old bag,” Scroogen’s grating voice said, clearly angry at being asked.

      “Where were you when it happened?” Brett asked.

      “I was at the car placing that call,” Dole said.

      “Who did you speak to at the Community Development Department?”

      “The line was busy. I was just about to redial when I got distracted by the commotion at the pit. I hung up the phone and went over to see what was happening.”

      “So you don’t have an alibi.”

      “An alibi? For what? She topples five feet, face-first, into the mud, and she doesn’t even break anything.”

      “Don’t sound so disappointed. That’s the one piece of good news we’ve gotten today. No one would have benefited by her being injured.”

      “What do you mean no one would have benefited? I’m no hypocrite. If the old bag had broken a few bones—or even better her neck—that would have been an end to her and her trouble-making. And that would have been a huge benefit to me.”

      It rather sickened Brett to see a human being so caught up in himself and the furthering of his own interests that he couldn’t find even a little compassion for the pain and suffering of another. He consoled himself that at least no blood tied him to Scroogen.

      “You would do well to refrain from expressing those sentiments to anyone else, Dole.”

      “I’m no fool, Merlin. I know who I can talk to.”

      “Go on and make that call to Community Development,” Brett told him through a tight jaw. “Let’s just try to get this mess over with as quickly as possible.”

      * * *

      “MRS. OSBORNE, ARE YOU sure someone pushed you?” Detective Sergeant Paul Patterson of the Bremerton Police asked.

      “Of course I’m sure,” Mab answered.