214 Palmer Street(5)

“No, I don’t mind.”

He turned to the group. “Sarah Aden is twenty-nine years old and was brought in by ambulance yesterday with a head injury.” He went on from there, pointing out her vitals on the monitor and explaining that her CT scan showed a hairline crack on her skull.

A cracked skull. That explained the spiky ball of pain bouncing around in her brain.

From there he changed his focus to Sarah. He asked her to do a few simple tasks. She was able to follow the doctor’s moving finger with her eyes and squeeze his hands. She could count and add, and knew her address and where she worked. When they asked who the gentleman was sitting next to her, she was able to say, “My husband, Kirk Aden.”

Kirk’s eyes lit up with love when she rattled off the date of their anniversary and both their birthdays. She noticed then how worried he looked. Behind his glasses, his blue-gray eyes were creased with concern.

“That’s my girl,” he said, reaching over to caress the knuckles of her hand.

Sarah seemed to remember everything, except what had happened to put her in the hospital. As the doctor and his entourage left the room, Kirk called out, “Thank you.”

The exchange with the doctor, easy as it was, left her exhausted. She closed her eyes again, and didn’t wake until the police arrived an hour or so later. After they introduced themselves, giving names that didn’t stick in her head, she answered their questions as best she could. “I remember that it was windy. Really windy.” She thought hard, remembering the howling, and the way the trees in their backyard swayed, the branches of the willow actually whipping back and forth. She’d noticed that the patio table umbrella was open, which was odd since they’d always kept it closed except when it was in use. She knew it had to be closed before the whole thing blew over. “I had just gotten home from work and was in the kitchen when I noticed the patio table umbrella was open. My husband was in the garage, I think?” It was so hard to remember.

Kirk leaned over. “No, honey, I had to work late that night, remember?” He turned his attention to the detectives. “I own the Aden Luxury Car dealership, so my hours vary. I was delayed because I’d been wrapping up some paperwork in my office.”

“You were late that night?” Sarah asked.

“I sent you a text, remember?”

A text. The fog in her head cleared long enough for her to recall the ping of her phone. He had sent a text. It had come in around the time he usually arrived home. Lost track of time. Will be home soon. That’s right. He hadn’t been home yet, which was why the chore of closing the umbrella had fallen to her. The table and chairs were new, a top-of-the-line set. The umbrella had a solar panel on top, which powered the lights on the underside. If it had gotten ruined, it would have been a shame. More than a shame really. They’d both been excited about getting it. Sarah had anticipated sitting outdoors after work together, drinking wine and sharing the events of the day. The day it was delivered she’d told Kirk, “We can shut out the world and just enjoy each other’s company.”

“I went outside to close the umbrella,” she said slowly. She remembered a gust of wind had caught the screen door. In her mind, she heard the crack when it slammed behind her. The sky had been angry with dark clouds that blocked the sun, which had made it seem later than it was. Usually, at that time of year, it was light outside until seven or so. “It was so windy,” she repeated. Judging by the faces of the two police detectives, this wasn’t what they wanted to hear. “I started to close the umbrella… I had some trouble with the crank.”

Her pause was long enough that one of the detectives, a young woman with sharp features prompted her, “And then what happened?”

“I don’t know,” Sarah finally admitted. “I heard the dog next door barking and I went to go see what he was going on about. Then I felt a terrible pain in the back of my head. And that’s all I know.” Calling it a terrible pain was an understatement.

“Did you see anyone?” the male detective asked. “Anyone at all?” He was the older of the two, bald with dark-rimmed glasses.

“No.” She shook her head slightly. “It was really windy.”

“Okay, it was windy,” the male detective said patiently. “That we know. But someone else was there. Did you notice anything different in the house or the yard when you came home from work that evening?”

“I don’t think so.” Sarah saw them exchange a glance and felt as if she’d let them down. “Everything was the same as usual.”

The woman detective asked, “Did you hear anything outside? Footsteps, maybe?”

“No.”

“Any problems with neighbors or anyone at work? Friends, family members? Any disputes or fights?”

She’d thrown so many questions at her at once that it took all of Sarah’s concentration to think it through. “No problems. No disputes,” she said finally. “Why are you asking all these questions?”

“Just standard procedure.” Her tone was reassuring. “We wouldn’t be doing our job if we didn’t ask.”

Her partner asked, “Has anyone made any threats recently?”

She started to shake her head, then remembered something. “In our mailbox,” she said. “I got an odd note once. It was unsigned.”