Chapter 28 A Dozen Gunshots

 I spent the morning with the ladies of Kon-Tiki Sands, on our weekly Catholic Charities excursion. Shopping was the last thing I’d felt like doing, but with all the potlucks I was seemingly required to attend, I couldn’t very well afford to miss it.

After putting my groceries away, I filled a large pot with water and added a dozen eggs. I set the heat on high, silently congratulating myself on my more-than-brilliant plan to make deviled eggs for tonight’s poker game.

My clothes clung to me. The humidity was unreal. The eggs would take fourteen minutes—just enough time to hop in the shower for a quick rinse.

The cool water was refreshing. After my shower, I wrapped a towel around me sarong-style and checked the bedroom clock. Seven more minutes till the eggs would be perfectly boiled.

My knees throbbed. The bed beckoned. I lay down, just to take the weight off my legs for a few minutes. I gave the woman on the ceiling a thumbs-up, and close my eyes.

A loud POW! Jolted me from sleep. I sat upright. What was that?

POW!

POW POW POW!

POW POW!

Gripping my towel so it wouldn’t fall off, I snatched my cell phone from the nightstand and called Romy.

“Romy,” he barked.

“Romy—this is Lillian. I hear gunshots! Right outside my apartment! Call the police!”

“Are you sure? I don’t hear anything.”

POW! POW!

“There—did you hear that?”

“I heard it. Are you sure it’s—”

“I know the sound of a gunshot.”

“Okay. Stay inside and keep your door locked. I’m calling the police.” He ended the call.

My heart banged in my chest. I perched on the edge of the couch, listening for more gunshots.

POW!  POW!POW!

I flinched. The gunman had to be very nearby.

An overpowering odor of sulfur filled the air.

The eggs!

I’d put a dozen eggs on to boil before my shower. And my nap. How long—?

I jumped up, one hand gripping my towel, and half-ran to the kitchen. In here the smell was even stronger. The burner under the pan glowed bright red. I turned it off and peered into the pot. The empty pot. The water had all boiled away—but where were the eggs?

I couldn’t believe it—someone had come in and stolen my eggs while I was in the shower! Had I remembered to lock the door?

Outside, a siren wailed.

That’s when I noticed bits yellow and white confetti splattered on the wall behind my stove. My eyes were drawn upwards. The ceiling was plastered with it. And then it dawned on me what had happened.

I sank onto a kitchen chair, covered my eyes, and let out a groan. “What have I done?” I whispered out loud.

Someone pounded on my door. I pulled myself up, painfully, and peered out the window. Romy stood there. Beside him was the same female officer who’d interviewed me last week. Bautista—that was her name.

One hand went to my mouth. “Oh no,” I muttered through my fingers as I unlocked the door and pulled it open.

Still dressed in a towel, my wet hair standing out in all directions, I glanced past Romy. All around the complex, doors were opening. The other residents emerged to see what the commotion was about.

“Everyone get back inside—now!” ordered a male uniformed officer.

“Vat is going on?” Francesca asked him.

“Someone reported gunshots in this area,” he said. “Now get inside. All of you. Hurry it up!”

Everyone disappeared back into their condos. Doors shut.

“Can we come in?” Officer Bautista asked me, drawing my attention back to her.

She and Romy practically shoved me aside as they barged in. He closed the door.

“Are you the one who heard the gunshots, ma’am?” Officer Bautista asked.

My mouth fell open. What was the penalty for calling in a false police report? “Well, I was taking a nap,” I said. “I heard these loud pops … I thought it sounded like …” I gave a little shrug. “Now I’m not so sure.”

“What do you mean you’re not sure?” Romy said angrily. “You told me you were sure.”

“I thought I was …”

“What time was this, exactly?” Bautista asked.

“I … I really don’t know …”

Romy consulted his phone. “You called me at one forty-two.”

“Well then, that was when I heard it.”

“How many shots did you hear?” Bautista asked.

“Around a dozen,” I muttered.

“Pardon me?” she said.

“Twelve,” I said louder. “I heard about twelve gunshots.”

“Okay. We have officers searching the area. We haven’t found anyone with a gun but we’ll keep looking. You need to stay inside with your door closed and locked. Keep away from the windows until we give the all-clear.”