Page 46 of A Cozy Christmas Blizzard
“Who is this?”
“It’s K.O.,” she told him, her voice faltering despite her effort to maintain a cheery tone.
He hesitated as if he needed time to place who she might be. “Oh,” he finally said. “The woman from downstairs. The woman whosefriendcaused me irreparable distress.” After another pause, he said, “I’m afraid I might be suffering from trauma-induced amnesia.”
“Excuse me?” K.O. was sure she’d misunderstood.
“I was attacked yesterday by a possibly rabid beast and am fortunate to be alive. I don’t remember much after that vicious animal sank its claws into my arm,” he added shakily.
K.O. closed her eyes for a moment. “I’m so sorry to hear that,” she said, going along with it. “But the hospital released you, I see.”
“Yes.” This was said with disdain; apparently, he felt the medical profession had made a serious error in judgment. “I’m on heavy pain medication.”
“Oh, dear.”
“I don’t know where my son’s gone,” he muttered fretfully.
If Wynn hadn’t told his father he was at the office, then K.O. wasn’t about to, either. She suspected Wynn had good reason to escape.
“Since you live in the building...” Max began.
“Uh...” She could see it coming. Max wanted her to sit and hold his uninjured hand for the rest of the day.
“I do, but unfortunately I’m on my way out.”
“Oh.”
It took K.O. a few more minutes to wade through the guilt he was shoveling in her direction. “I’ll drop by and check on you later,” she promised.
“Thank you,” he said, ending their conversation with a groan, a last shovelful of guilt.
K.O. hung up the phone, groaning, too. This was even worse than she’d imagined and she had a fine imagination. Max was obviously playing this incident for all it was worth. Irreparable distress. Rabid beast. Trauma-induced amnesia! Oh, brother.
Wanting to leave before Max decided to drop by, she hurried out the door and stopped at the French Café for a mocha and bran muffin. If ever she’d deserved one, it was now. At the rate her life was going, there wouldn’t be enough peppermint mochas in the world to see her through another day like yesterday.
Rather than linger as she normally did, K.O. took her drink and muffin to go and enjoyed a leisurely stroll down Blossom Street. A walk would give her exercise and clear her mind, and just then clarity was what she needed. She admired the evergreen boughs and garlands decorating the storefronts, and the inventive variations on Christmas themes in every window. The weather remained unseasonably cold with a chance of snow flurries. In December Seattle was usually in the grip of gloomy winter rains, but that hadn’t happened yet this year. The sky was already a clear blue with puffy clouds scattered about.
By the time she’d finished her peppermint mocha, K.O. had walked a good mile and felt refreshed in both body and mind. When she entered her building, LaVonne—wearing a housecoat—was stepping out of her condo to grab the morning paper. Her eyes were red and puffy and it looked as if she hadn’t slept all night. She bent over to retrieve her paper.
“LaVonne,” K.O. called out.
Her friend slowly straightened. “I thought I should see if there’s a report in the police blotter about Tom scratching that... that man,” she spat out.
“I doubt it.”
“Is he... back from the hospital?”
“Max Jeffries is alive and well. He sustained a few scratches, but it isn’t nearly as bad as we all feared.” Wynn’s father seemed to be under the delusion that he’d narrowly escaped with his life, but she didn’t feel the need to mention that. Nor did K.O. care to enlighten LaVonne regarding Max’s supposed amnesia.
“I’m so glad.” LaVonne sounded tired and sad.
“Is there anything I can get you?” K.O. asked, feeling partially to blame.
“Thanks for asking, but I’m fine.” She gave a shuddering sob. “Except for poor Tom being in jail...”
“Call if you need me,” K.O. said before she returned to her own apartment.
The rest of the morning passed quickly. She worked for a solid two hours and accomplished more in that brief time than she normally did in four. She finished a medical report, sent off some résumés by email and drafted a Christmas letter for a woman in Zach’s office who’d made a last-minute request. Then, deciding she should check on Max Jeffries, she went up for a quick visit. At twelve-thirty, she grabbed her coat and headed out the door again. With her hands buried deep in her red wool coat and a candy-cane striped scarf doubled around her neck, she walked to Wynn’s office.
