Page 111 of Booked for Murder

“You’re welcome. Thank you for putting so much on the line to help others. Without you, there’d be two people dead right now instead of just one. That reminds me. Her name is Agatha, and she would love to meet you so she can thank you personally. Can I give her your phone number?”

“Absolutely,” I replied. I’d met a few of the patients who’d survived because of my work in the ER, and I’d always left the meetings reminded of why I’d put in all the work I had. “I’d like that. It’ll be a few days. Give her Bradley’s number, too—he can play my secretary for the next few weeks.”

“Does that earn me a day of visitation rights with your cat?” he asked.

“Only one. I need some orange chicken, Bradley. They tried to give me pancakes this morning again. I refused.”

“That’s my cue, Dr. Mansfield. I better feed her since it seems she skipped breakfast.”

“After the last pancake incident, I fully understand why she would rather starve than risk another bout of food poisoning. Take care, Janette. Call me if there are any problems. Do daily checks of your blood for the next week, and if you detect any of that hot, slimy, greasy feeling you dislike so much, call me immediately. The exsanguinator who helped said it’s uncommon, but sometimes a remnant amount replicates in the bloodstream after a few weeks.”

“I will,” I promised. The last thing I wanted or needed was yet another stint with that drug. Once outside of the hospital, I’d have a chat with everyone about the substance, why Senator Maybelle was on it—and if there were any evidence Senator Godrin was also taking it.

After a final farewell dance with my doctor, Bradley led me out of the lobby, pointing across the parking lot. “In bad news, he’s parked all the way over there. We’d already gotten the lecture from Dr. Mansfield we were to make you walk around on your foot to get you used to walking again. The crutches are only if your foot is hurting or you’re particularly fatigued. You can’t heal without exercise.”

“Orange chicken, Bradley.”

“I see you are ready for lunch.”

“Absolutely. Feed me, please. I’m hungry. Please tell me that you didn’t bring the sports car. I can’t do the sports car today.” I’d probably see it and start crying. Thanks to the medications, I’d suffered through several such outbursts, which Dr. Mansfield had promised would stop in a few days.

“It’s the luxuriously spacious family car with plenty of room even in the back for you to stretch out and relax. Why can’t you do the sports car today?”

“Dr. Mansfield showed me a picture of her new car, which is a little sporty, and I cried. I had a drug-induced meltdown. If you show me a sporty car, I will likely suffer through another meltdown, and I’m done with random fits of crying, except I’m really not. The medications suck. I’m on some sort of painkiller, and I still have other medications lingering in my bloodstream. My prescriptions should be okay. They’re antibiotics and painkillers, and not the kind that turn me stupid.”

“Ah, I see. So, we should just ignore if you start to cry for any reason?”

“Yes, please. It should stop in a few days.”

“I’ll make sure everyone knows.”

Huh. That had gone easier than I thought it would. “Thank you. Lead the way at a meander, because I tried to shuffle at faster than a meander in the hospital and almost fell on my face. I meander right now.” I sighed. “Habitual limping means I can’t go faster than a meander without my legs becoming confused. I almost cried over that, but Dr. Mansfield reminded me I was going to get orange chicken, and it seems I am so desperate for orange chicken it can stop me from crying. I’m a lot ashamed of that.”

“Don’t be. I’m trying to figure out how to eat it without it killing me, because I tasted it. It is delicious but lethal at the same time.”

“Please tell me you haven’t been trying it.”

“I’ve been trying it,” he admitted. “I ask them to put a single piece in a sauce container so I can try to conquer it. Every time I go in, I get an assortment of horribly spicy but wonderful samples. I actually paid an extra twenty last time I was there because he gave me a sampler of everything with remotely any spice to it.”

I laughed. “Has it gotten any better?”

“I need to buy stock in lactose-free milk, but I was able to eat three whole samples before I needed a drink.”

“Well done!”

Bradley led me to his new car and opened the back door for me, where my cat’s carrier waited in the middle. I slid in, buckled up, and opened the top zipper enough I could slide my hand inside. Bradley closed the door and circled the car, choosing to sit in the back rather than take the more comfortable front passenger seat.

My cat pounced, scolding me with a single, gentle nip before marking my hand as her territory. Rather than risk petting her back, I went for her chin, as she usually permitted a good chin scratch without mauling me for daring to touch Her Fluffy Demonic Highness.

Ajani purred.

“You’re looking good,” Ren said, twisting around in the driver’s seat. “We have a date at your parents’ place in a few hours for dinner, but do you need anything while we’re still in town?”

“Orange chicken.”

He chuckled. “Already on the schedule. Unless you need something non-clothes related from your apartment, I took Bradley over and cleared it out, and with some assistance from his mother, we did all of your laundry. We were supervised, so nothing was damaged, and his mother confiscated certain items and did those herself. Something about women, secrets, and not spoiling special surprises.”

“You emptied my closet, didn’t you?”