Page 73 of Booked for Murder

“How long has your family been working on this transition, Bradley?”

“A while.”

“As in before the first of the murders a while?”

“Possibly.”

I took that to mean yes. “You think you might be one of the targets of an accusation, don’t you?”

Bradley shrugged. “It’s possible. With the accident and the timing, the family was eliminated fairly quickly. It’s hard to commit a murder when you’re out west and the murder is in the New York area. The whole family went out west for the first two weeks after the accident, then we made a lot of trips out whenever we needed to handle paperwork.”

“We or you?” I asked, wondering how much of my dreams—or memories—from my latest visit to the hospital were real.

“Mostly me, although I tended to have some form of adult supervision. Mom was particularly clingy for a while, and we tended to take turns making sure they followed our instructions with you. My mother didn’t trust the one doctor in the slightest.”

“Dr. Avers,” I guessed.

“Yeah. He was a bit of a dick.”

“Care to elaborate on that one? I mean, I wasn’t all that fond of him, but I suspect we have different reasons for that.”

“He didn’t want to keep you on life support, and he was against your transplant operation, too. He viewed it as a waste. Fortunately, he wasn’t the doctor overseeing the majority of your care, so he didn’t get the final say in those matters. Honestly, I always viewed your decision to vanish as good sense, because with him on the team? I may have made the same decision, although I would have run home rather than wherever it was you hid out over the years.”

“I’ve lived at that apartment for my entire stay in New York, with the exception of a week or two where I was setting up for my rating test.”

“I want to be mad at you for doing it, but I can’t help but admire that you pulled it off. You were right under my nose the entire time.”

I shrugged. “I understand how the New York system works, which gave me the best odds of pulling it off. And it wasn’t like I was shirking. We just defined things a little differently. You told me you expected me back in my prime, and well, I’ve been working on it. I’m just slow.”

“You’re not slow. You’re so far ahead of the initial prognosis it’s ridiculous. I really had just wanted to motivate you, not drive you off.”

What an idiot. “I’m plenty motivated.”

“I have noticed that.”

“You really have a firing range in your yard?”

“Accessible through the basement. The basement isn’t accessible by wheelchair, though, and we didn’t install an elevator into it. The elevator would have been an additional entry point into the basement.”

“And when you’re building a bunker, you don’t want additional entry points.”

“Right.”

“Chuck the wheelchair down the steps. I’ll hop down on one foot.”

“We’re not chucking your wheelchair down the steps, and I’m not allowing you to possibly damage your foot further. You’ve had one operation on your foot this week. Let’s avoid a second.”

“You totally should chuck the wheelchair down the stairs. I hate the damned thing.”

“Ren will carry the wheelchair down, and I’ll carry you.”

In order to carry me down the steps, Bradley would have needed to do extensive weightlifting, as I had a few too many inches for my comfort, although I sorely lacked in muscles. “I’m heavy.”

“You weigh a little more than the standard feather, but I can handle you.”

I stared out the window so I wouldn’t have to look him in the eyes. “I weigh a lot more than the standard feather, Bradley.”

“My mother weighs more.”