“I’ll do my best not to tell you what you ought to do,” he said earnestly.
“I appreciate that.”
“And Grace?”
“Yes?”
“May I buy another cinnamon roll if you’ve got one?”
She smiled warmly. “I always have cinnamon rolls. I make extra every day to take over to Rose’s Diner. So, even if there aren’t any in the front case, I always have more in the back. And it’s on the house. It’s the least I can do if you’re going to watch the bakery for me all night.”
She boxed up four of the sticky rolls and handed them to him.
He took the box and winked at Lily who was watching him with interest. “You take care of your mama, Miss Lily.”
“I will.”
“Good girl.”
He left, and it was quiet for a moment. Then Lily said, “Mommy?”
“Yes?”
“That man is nice.”
“He is, isn’t he?”
“Uhh huh. Mommy?”
“Yes?”
Lily said, with the philosophical aplomb of a four-year-old, “I think he likes you.”
Grace gulped and had no idea how to respond to that. She finally choked out, “Eat your cookie.”
“I already ate my cookie.”
“Eat another one.”
4
Hank’s exam room smelled like rubbing alcohol and lemon furniture polish, a combination which Reno actually found pleasant.
Instead of buying or leasing both a house and office space in Cobbler Cove, Hank had opted to buy a big old Edwardian house a block off Main Street in the center of town and turn the front room downstairs into his doctor’s office. The big foyer acted as his waiting room.
Although Hank had converted the parlor into a combination examining room and office, he’d left all the original wood trim intact, along with a pair of beautiful Queen Anne chairs in front of the big bay window. The wall of built-in bookshelves and glass-fronted cabinets were where Hank stored medical doodads: gauze pads, syringes, bottles of alcohol, and the like.
Reno knew, because he was family and had free run of the house, that Hank had also installed a locked refrigerator in the walk-in-pantry off the kitchen where he stored prescription medications and controlled substances. Reno also knew the linen closet between the parlor and the dining room was where Hank stored a portable x-ray machine and an ultrasound machine.
Reno sat on the exam table with his bad leg stretched out on the table. Hank examined the knee, working his fingers along the joint line with professorial focus.
“Still getting swelling at night?” Hank asked.
“It’s better than last week, but yeah.”
“How’s the pain on a scale of one to ten?”
“I’d give it a three most of the time.”
