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Authors: Deborah Brown
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daughter. When Ian returned, he got the shock of his life. Ursula had moved out all right; she gutted the entire house. She took everything —fixtures, appliances, clothing, furniture. She didn’t leave behind a single personal possession, only leaving his daughter’s bedroom untouched.” He shook his head, still not believing what had happened.
“Wonder why she spared the daughter?” I asked.
“Who the hell knows. They did have a good relationship. Ian tried to keep everything from his daughter and make an adventure out of staying in a hotel. When she started asking too many questions, though, he had to lie or fess up, and he chose the latter. She took the news better than him.”
“It must have been quite a shock when he opened the front door,” I said.
“Ha,” Brick said in disgust. “Ian told me it took a minute to register that the front door was missing. When he crossed the threshold, he found that the house had been stripped to the drywall. He scooped up his daughter and took her to the car, ran back in, and surveyed the damage.”
“Is this where the police show up?” Fab tapped her foot impatiently. She preferred cut-to-the-chase explanations.
“Ian didn’t call law enforcement until the next day. They met him at the house. Can you believe she even took the cabinets? Anything that could be removed was gone, and if removing it wasn’t an option, she inflicted damage that left the word ‘repair’ out of the equation.”
“Why so vindictive?” Fab asked.
Brick shrugged. “Bitter over the break-up. I get that Ursula was unhappy—the relationship didn’t work out—but who destroys an entire house?”
“What did the police have to say about this lovely family drama?” I asked.
He pulled a file out of his drawer, shuffling through papers. “Here’s the best part. The officers claimed there wasn’t anything they could do. Referred him to civil court even after they said they’d never seen damage the likes of what had been done. As far as they were concerned, it was a new twist on he said/she said unless he could provide receipts for all the missing items.”
“Did they speak to Ursula?” Fab asked.
“My brother spoke to one of the detectives assigned to the case.” Brick’s brother, Casio, worked for the Miami Police Department as a decorated detective, and there were whispers that he wasn’t a man to screw with. “He reported that she was cooperative, claimed most of the household items belonged to her, and stated that she had left behind anything that belonged to him and had no clue who caused the destruction inflicted on the house. Suggested it might be one of his unsavory connections and that he had low standards when it came to choosing friends.”
“Any prior clues that Ursula was crazy-vindictive?” I asked.
Brick shook his head.
I shouldn’t be so cynical about Brick’s new forthcoming attitude about disclosing unpleasant facts in their grim detail. In the past, one had to read between the lines. I wondered if the confrontation with Creole had made him rethink sending us on jobs in complete ignorance of what to expect.
“Any eyewitnesses?” Fab asked. “What you’re describing took a long time to execute, hours if not an entire day, and certainly could not be done by one lone woman.”
“Several neighbors reported seeing a moving van and four men loading it up. Ursula, calm as can be, walked around the neighborhood, saying her goodbyes and informing anyone that would listen—and they all did—that Ian was a bastard of the worst sort. That he abused her and she feared she’d be killed if she didn’t leave. She claimed she was running for her life.”
Brick opened his refrigerator and took out another bottle of water. “She reported all these claims to the police, and in addition to her friend theory, she offered up another theory that it was a hoax orchestrated by Ian to provoke sympathy. According to Ian, the police acted like they deserved each
“Wonder why she spared the daughter?” I asked.
“Who the hell knows. They did have a good relationship. Ian tried to keep everything from his daughter and make an adventure out of staying in a hotel. When she started asking too many questions, though, he had to lie or fess up, and he chose the latter. She took the news better than him.”
“It must have been quite a shock when he opened the front door,” I said.
“Ha,” Brick said in disgust. “Ian told me it took a minute to register that the front door was missing. When he crossed the threshold, he found that the house had been stripped to the drywall. He scooped up his daughter and took her to the car, ran back in, and surveyed the damage.”
“Is this where the police show up?” Fab tapped her foot impatiently. She preferred cut-to-the-chase explanations.
“Ian didn’t call law enforcement until the next day. They met him at the house. Can you believe she even took the cabinets? Anything that could be removed was gone, and if removing it wasn’t an option, she inflicted damage that left the word ‘repair’ out of the equation.”
“Why so vindictive?” Fab asked.
Brick shrugged. “Bitter over the break-up. I get that Ursula was unhappy—the relationship didn’t work out—but who destroys an entire house?”
“What did the police have to say about this lovely family drama?” I asked.
He pulled a file out of his drawer, shuffling through papers. “Here’s the best part. The officers claimed there wasn’t anything they could do. Referred him to civil court even after they said they’d never seen damage the likes of what had been done. As far as they were concerned, it was a new twist on he said/she said unless he could provide receipts for all the missing items.”
“Did they speak to Ursula?” Fab asked.
“My brother spoke to one of the detectives assigned to the case.” Brick’s brother, Casio, worked for the Miami Police Department as a decorated detective, and there were whispers that he wasn’t a man to screw with. “He reported that she was cooperative, claimed most of the household items belonged to her, and stated that she had left behind anything that belonged to him and had no clue who caused the destruction inflicted on the house. Suggested it might be one of his unsavory connections and that he had low standards when it came to choosing friends.”
“Any prior clues that Ursula was crazy-vindictive?” I asked.
Brick shook his head.
I shouldn’t be so cynical about Brick’s new forthcoming attitude about disclosing unpleasant facts in their grim detail. In the past, one had to read between the lines. I wondered if the confrontation with Creole had made him rethink sending us on jobs in complete ignorance of what to expect.
“Any eyewitnesses?” Fab asked. “What you’re describing took a long time to execute, hours if not an entire day, and certainly could not be done by one lone woman.”
“Several neighbors reported seeing a moving van and four men loading it up. Ursula, calm as can be, walked around the neighborhood, saying her goodbyes and informing anyone that would listen—and they all did—that Ian was a bastard of the worst sort. That he abused her and she feared she’d be killed if she didn’t leave. She claimed she was running for her life.”
Brick opened his refrigerator and took out another bottle of water. “She reported all these claims to the police, and in addition to her friend theory, she offered up another theory that it was a hoax orchestrated by Ian to provoke sympathy. According to Ian, the police acted like they deserved each
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