Chapter 6
Brandy changed her clothes and put on her comfortable cross trainers since she’d be standing the entire afternoon. She drove down the strand past the SEAL Qualification course and thought about what it had been like for Tucker and Brawley going through the training together. Many times, she’d watched the boat crews of new recruits working their way over the rocks or running down the beach carrying telephone poles over their heads. She mused that Tucker could actually make a telephone pole look small.
She turned off the highway and into the tree-lined streets of an older suburban neighborhood then headed away from the bay where things were a little more spread out. Small ranchettes dotted the landscape. She came upon the boutique strip mall containing a cluster of specialty stores with her father’s organic grocery and deli at one end. She could see his silver pickup truck parked at the side, as well as Kip’s beat-up VW. The five time college freshman had worked for her dad ever since he’d mastered the art of riding a bike. He was practically family. There were only a couple of other cars in the lot, indicating they were having a very slow day.
She loved the smell of the produce and the bright colors of the vegetables and fruit every time she arrived. It was like the smell of flowers at a florist. Her dad was famous for carrying unusual fruits from all over the world, but he specialized in California and Florida citrus and always did a huge business every Christmas sending fruit baskets to customer’s relatives all over the globe.
She ducked under the portable canvas awnings shading the lovely displays, piled up in pine boxes. Two shoppers wandered down aisles inside the building itself. One was headed in the direction of the checkout, having spotted Brandy arrive.
“I’ll be right back,” she told the woman. “Just got to grab my apron and punch in.”
Inside the store’s tiny office was her father’s desk, covered in catalogs, papers, and envelopes—most of them unopened. It was obvious he needed help with his bookkeeping and office organization. She intended to have a discussion with him about that very thing, and soon.
Brandy placed her purse inside the top file cabinet drawer, noticing it had been pushed aside and was slightly crooked. With a couple of shoves she righted it to stand snug against the desk, where it belonged. Her dad’s chair was pulled out, and his glasses were folded on top of the closed laptop that was so old the Apple store refused to work on it any longer.
Slipping the kelly-green apron over her head, she deposited her cell phone in the large center pocket, tied the straps behind her waist, and began to look for her father.
“Dad?”
There was no answer so she figured he might be in the large cooler room at the rear.
That’s where she found him. He was sprawled on the floor, his face turned to one side. A trickle of blood had seeped into the floorboards coming from under his upper body somewhere. His face was pale, lips slightly purple. She was immediately worried he might be dead.
“Oh my God. Dad! What’s happened?”
She fell to her knees and tried to revive him, but his body remained limp. Then she checked for a pulse and was relieved to have found one. And he appeared to be breathing, but when she tried to arouse him again, he didn’t respond. His face was cold and clammy.
With her own pulse racing, she dialed 911 and gave instructions to the paramedics who promised they’d be there within minutes.
She called out for Kip, but again received no answer.
“Hang in there, dad.”
But her father didn’t register any response, which sent a spear of panic down her spine. She wasn’t sure if she should roll him over on his back and decided it would be safer to just leave him on his side. Beneath his head she felt the sticky dark red blood. Finding a clean hand towel, she applied slight pressure, hoping to stop the bleeding. In mere seconds, the towel was bright red and soaked. Her hands were dripping in her father’s blood. She carefully rested his head against the soaked cotton and staggered out front to see if she could find Kip. It was hard to concentrate, but she managed to calm her nerves.
The customer was waiting not-so-patiently by the checkout, but when she spied Brandy’s bloody hands, she began to scream. Brandy jumped as if she’d been slapped.
“Hold on. My father has taken a spill, and the paramedics are on their way. Give me a minute to get myself gathered. Have you seen Kip?”
The woman closed her mouth and merely shook her head briskly. “Who’s Kip?”
“He’s the other clerk here.”
“I didn’t see anyone.”
Brandy looked at the woman’s basket, then at the counter and discovered the cash register drawer had been pried open and was completely empty. A check was crumpled at her feet. It began to dawn on her that perhaps this had been a robbery attempt gone badly.
“Ma’am, it looks like we’ve been robbed, too. You sure you didn’t see anyone?”
“No. No one was here. These folks,” she said, pointing to a couple behind her, “arrived after me. Is your dad okay?”
“No. I’m worried. He’s unconscious, but help is on the way.”
Just then, she heard the familiar sound of Kip parking the company van. He entered the store, tossing and catching his keys. Upon seeing Brandy, he gave her a big grin. “Hey there.”
“Kip, Dad’s fallen. He’s in the back. I’ve called the paramedics and they’re on their way. This woman wants to check out, but I need to stand guard with Dad until the paramedics come. Can you get the backup working? If not, can we just close down the store?”
“Sure thing.” Kip was already on his knees, extracting another register from under the counter, connecting the telephone feeds, and adjusting the paper. “I’ve got this. You go be with your dad.”
She jogged to the back of the storeroom. Her father still hadn’t moved.
She was relieved to hear the sirens getting closer until she saw just flashing red lights. Someone must have directed them to the rear because two paramedics ran through the back door and bent over to attend to her father. Their fingers deftly poked and repositioned his head and neck, checking out his neck, arms, and legs.
“Did you see him fall?” the handsome dark-uniformed rescue worker asked her as he scanned her bloody hands. He turned his attention back to her father, focusing on the bleeding from his head.
“No. I got here like ten or fifteen minutes ago. I expected to find him in the store, so I went looking for him and found him here. Just like this. I put the towel under his head. But there was so much…blood.” Her voice wavered.
The other paramedic was up on her feet, barking instructions into the com strapped to her shoulder.
“Are you a relative or co-worker?” the male paramedic asked.
“I’m his daughter.”
“What’s his name?”
“Steven Cook.”
“He have any illnesses or things I need to know? Medications?”
“Geez.” Brandy wracked her brain, trying to remember if he’d told her anything about his health, and came up blank. “I don’t think he takes anything. As far as illnesses, not that he’s told me.”
“How old is he?”
“Sixty-two.”
“No pacemakers, history of stroke or heart attack?”
“No. Not that I know of. I really don’t know. He’s been healthy.”
“So you didn’t see how this happened?”
“No.”
“Anybody angry with him for some reason?”
“No, why?”
“Sorry to have to tell you, but this was no accidental fall. It appears he was hit at the back of the head, you see here?”
He showed her a dark mass of clotted blood, hair, and tissue at the back of his head, slightly underneath him.
“And then it appears he fell, because this other wound looks like it happened when his head hit the floor. So we got two head injuries to deal with.”
“I see.” Brandy tried to sound as calm as the paramedic was. But in spite of her efforts, her teeth began to chatter.
“You going to be okay?” he asked.
“I don’t like blood,” she whispered. Black dots began obscuring her vision, and she could tell she was close to passing out.
The paramedic’s quick thinking had him grabbing her upper arms with his bloody gloved hands and positioning her on a nearby chair. “Put your head between your knees if you need to. I’ll get you some water in a minute. Better?”
She was starting to get confused and could feel her breathing becoming labored. So much was happening.
“Breathe. Take deep breaths,” he commanded.
Her father still wasn’t moving. His dark lips were getting darker by the minute. She abruptly threw off his hands. “Dad. He looks terrible! He’s worse!”
“We got it. Just don’t want you to die on me, okay?”
The woman paramedic returned with a gurney, which she lowered and positioned next to her father. She cut his long-sleeved shirt with scissors and then started an IV before helping her partner lift him onto the bed. They raised the legs on the cart, clicked it into position, and ran toward the back of the van. The woman stayed behind while the male worker came back to check on Brandy.
“Where can I get you some water? This is a store, right?” he asked.
“There’s a case on the other side of this wall. Take a couple for yourselves, too.”
He was back in seconds, snapping open the plastic cap and holding the bottle up to her mouth.
Brandy guzzled the cool liquid, trying to keep up, but wound up spilling much of it down her front. She didn’t care.
“That help some?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“You have someone you can call?”
“Kip’s here. I want to go be with my dad at the hospital.”
“No, not in your condition. But we’re taking him to Scripps. You can meet us there. No way I want you driving by yourself.”
“Gene?” his partner inserted herself in the exit. “We gotta go now.”
“Okay, we’re outta here. The police will be arriving soon, so you’ll have to give them a statement. Then get someone to bring you down. Right now, we gotta focus on Mr. Cook. So, you take care.”
“Thank you so much.” She started to stand, but he pushed her shoulders down.
“Don’t be stubborn. Be smart.”
She didn’t like the comment, but she didn’t have the energy to fight him back with some quick witty thing. If he only knew.
Stubborn is my middle name.
The police interviewed them both, promising to be brief so she could get to the hospital to see her father.
Kip answered another question. “He asked me to do the home deliveries because he knew you were coming in.” He spoke directly to her.
“How long were you gone?” the officer persisted.
“Hour? Maybe an hour and a half. Normally, I’d go later, but I asked to get off early.” He turned to Brandy again. “I got a date.”
That’s when she realized so did she. She’d promised to meet Tucker at the Rusty Scupper after work. He was working at the skydiving school all afternoon.
“You know of anyone who would want to hurt Mr. Cook?” the officer asked.
Brandy shook her head from side to side. “He doesn’t have any fights or enemies of any kind. Everyone loves him.”
“Well,” Kip interrupted, “there is this one thing. He had a guy he let go last week. Several customers complained about him. Too friendly with the younger girls. I’m talking thirteen, fourteen-year-olds.”
“When did this happen?” the officer asked.
“Thursday, I think. Jorge Mendoza. I never liked him. Steve got him from some church group recommendation. He’d been staying at a halfway house. I told your dad he was stealing beer and drinking on his breaks, but he didn’t care until he started getting the complaints. Tats, even on his face. He stared at people. Cold eyes. Not a good dude at all. I was glad Steve let him go.”
“I didn’t know about any of that.” Brandy admitted it was just like her dad to give someone a chance.
Several customers came asking questions, after hearing the sirens and seeing the police activity. Brandy told them they were closing for the day, and that her father was in the hospital. The police reminded her afterwards not to give out many details.
“Your father keep records here? Any way we could get this guy’s address?”
“Um, yes. He keeps his records in the office, but I’ll have to dig a bit. He’s not the most organized owner out there. Some of it, he keeps in the safe,” Brandy answered. One of the officers followed her, and she was able to get the employee folder from the second file drawer. She lifted a heavy canvas seed sack to access her father’s safe and found it gaping open. “Holy crap.”
Kip was at the doorway in a flash. “Ah shit. I was afraid of that.” He put his hand over his mouth. “Sorry, Brandy.”
“Did everyone who worked here know about the safe?” one officer asked.
“I wouldn’t think so, but then, Dad was pretty trusting.” shrugged Brandy.
Kip added, “We were really busy over the weekend with New Years coming up. Everyone was shopping for last minute things. I think he closed early last night. I’m sure he didn’t make it to the bank. It’s a shame, but I’m guessing he had a lot of cash in that vault.”
“Which points to Mendoza again,” said one of the officers.
Brandy took another long gulp of her water, finishing it off. Her eyes filled with tears. Her day had gone from spectacular to tragic. She needed to go be at her father’s side. And what if he didn’t survive? What would she do? She just couldn’t bear to think about it.
The officers agreed to let her go if they could question her further at the hospital. Kip was in charge of closing the store. Brandy agreed to keep the place closed until the police had finished their work, and Kip agreed to open it for them in the morning.
Alone and headed back down the freeway, she left a message for Tucker, and then she burst out in tears, flushing out all the pain and pent up worry all the way to the hospital. By the time she arrived, her eyes felt like her lids were made of cardboard.
This was not the way she’d expected this day to go. As she entered the Emergency Room doors, she began to find some of her courage. She hoped it would be enough for whatever news they’d give her. She said a little prayer before she approached the admitting desk and strained to keep her lower lip from wobbling, Taking a deep breath, she told the admitting clerk, “I’m here to see Steven Cook. Can you tell me what room he’s in?”