Page 28 of Booked for Murder

“Yes, I’m quite displeased about the medical review of your file. Frankly, I can’t blame you at all for dropping off the radar after reviewing your medical file. They described you as difficult, unwilling to accept your disability, and so on. It’s obvious they were incorrect in their diagnosis, and you were absolutely justified in your stance. However, I would have preferred if you had run away back to home where you belong.” Bradley dug through the bags on the coffee table and pulled out one, setting it in front of me. “Orange chicken for you, and I asked them to make it so spicy your tongue shrivels into a husk before catching on fire. I have also made other requests to suit your taste in horrifically spicy food.” He set a second container in front of Beatrice. “You get barbecue ribs because that was the only food I could confirm you actually like.”

“I do not know who your informant is, but I approve. And what are you having?”

“Pain and suffering,” he complained, eyeing the remaining container. “I decided I would try this dish she kept swearing was actually good but will probably kill me. I have not done something this rebellious since I was approximately seven or eight.”

My mouth dropped open. “You’re going to try Chinese food?”

“Considering how you reacted the rare times you got it, I am concerned I’ve been missing something worthwhile for no reason other than it wasn’t fancy enough to match my family’s rating.”

After taking a few moments to brush Ajani, I set her brush aside and peeked into the container. Sure enough, the entire container was crammed full of orange chicken without a single grain of rice or anything resembling a vegetable in sight. In his household, the times I’d gotten something like Chinese, I’d been required to adhere to the family diet plan, which involved a few token bites of my favorite parts and a lot of rice and vegetables.

I’d adapted to it, but I’d dreamed of escaping long enough to eat an entire plate of just meat.

I spied chopsticks in the bag, and I swiped them, separated them with a snap of wood, and snagged a piece and nibbled.

Whatever the restaurant had used as spice transformed the dish into a fiery hellhole of deliciousness. Ajani took a single sniff of my lunch, yowled, and bolted for the bedroom.

“You know it’s spicy when the cat runs away in terror,” Bradley said, and he cracked open his container. “Are you sure this isn’t going to kill me, Janette? Ren thinks this is going to kill me. He told me I deserved my fate. When I’m done dying, just drag me to the street. He’ll take me home for disposal.”

Maybe the bodyguard wasn’t as useless as I’d thought. I snorted and pointed at my fridge. “Just get a glass of milk. That’ll help you if you can’t handle the burn.”

“But I’m lactose intolerant. You know I’m lactose intolerant. The milk will kill me.”

“Then I guess you’re just going to have to pick your form of death. Choose wisely.”

Bradley took a cautious sniff of his lunch, shot me a glare, and got himself a glass of milk along with a fork. He hesitated, opened my fridge again, and stared in the general vicinity of my coffee creamer. “Would the cream work better?”

“I have no idea. I don’t drink milk while partaking of good orange chicken. Why would I want to stop it from burning better?” To demonstrate I had zero regard for my taste buds, I selected the biggest piece of chicken I could find and bit into it, staring at Bradley while I did so.

“I feel like you’re a shark out for blood, and I’ve just cut my ankle on coral.” He sighed, sat on the living room floor on the other side of the coffee table, and regarded his container through narrowed eyes. “Are you sure this won’t kill me?”

“I’m absolutely sure either the orange chicken or the milk will try to kill you.” I pointed in the direction of my bathroom. “When you succumb to the milk, the bathroom is that way, and I’ll even be a courteous hostess and notify your guard so he can come in and make sure you don’t truly expire by the time the lactose is finished with you.”

“Have you always been this evil?”

“Absolutely. I was contracted against displaying my evils openly before. You gave me an out, and I used it. That’s entirely your fault. I refuse to acknowledge or accept any blame for your current situation. You could have picked something else to eat.”

“I really did, too. I have learned from my mistakes, and your vacation is over. Your status as mine is now active again. And anyway, when I was ordering, I figured I needed to experience what your life might be like.”

“I hope either the spice or the milk does you in,” I grumbled. “Your taste buds are about to die a terrible death. I eat spicy food at least once a week, Bradley. You’ve eaten it how many times?”

“Never.” He stabbed a piece of chicken with his fork, and either ignoring the strips of pepper clinging to it or deciding he had a point to prove, he popped the entire thing into his mouth and bit down like he meant it.

I chewed on mine, aware of the near-blistering heat of my supper and the fire about to ignite in his mouth. “You really need training wheels for this level of spice, Bradley. There’s pride, and then there’s stupidity, and you just went down the path of utter stupidity.”

With watering eyes, he choked down the piece, and he wheezed. “What is wrong with you?” he gasped out. “You enjoy this?”

I gestured to his milk. “Drink that, and the bathroom is that way. Don’t drink water. It’ll make it worse. I’ll feed you some rice after you’re done dying, but I’m taking your lunch as payment for putting up with you and nursing you back to health before kicking you out of my apartment.”

“Mercy,” he wheezed.

Any other day, any other man, and I might’ve taken pity on him. Instead, I raised a brow and enjoyed the show.

He conquered two more pieces of chicken before the spice won and he chugged three glasses of milk and a handful of sugar to make the heat tolerable.

When he finally retreated to the bathroom in complete defeat, I picked up my cane and went outside to retrieve his bodyguard to make sure Bradley emerged from his adventure with orange chicken with nothing more than damaged pride.

Eight