Page 107 of Booked for Murder

“I’ll make sure the nurses know I approve of your various indulgences in exchange for your good behavior.”

“I’ve never gotten to negotiate anything with a doctor before. I could almost like this, except the catheter keeps pricking, I hate it, and wish you would remove it.”

“Unfortunately, it needs to stay. You’re on intravenous antibiotics until your next operation.”

“Operations suck.”

“I could cut your foot off instead.”

“Operations still suck, but I will accept them if they do not involve the amputation of my foot.”

“Excellent. Now that you’re awake, I’ll leave you in the care of the other staff here and go home. I’ll be back tomorrow unless there are any complications with your recovery so I can monitor how your foot is healing. With a little luck, you’ll be headed home in the next three or four days.”

I could work with three or four days—maybe. Being bedridden sucked, I hated everything about being stuck in a hospital bed and at the mercy of those around me, and I’d start going mad by the end of the day, but I would tolerate the situation the best I could.

Three or four days wasn’t that long. I’d survive.

“I’ll behave,” I promised.

“Good. Before I leave, I’ll notify your family that visitation is opened, but if any of them bother you, tell one of the nurses, and they’ll take care of it.”

“Okay. Thank you, Dr. Mansfield.”

“You’re welcome. Try your best to rest, but if you can’t, relax as much as you can. You’ll be out of here before you know it.”

The police had a field day questioning me. They took my statement, listened to my accounting of the incident, during which I confessed I wasn’t really sure who had gotten shot first, although I thought she’d been shot first, as I didn’t comprehend any pain until after she’d fallen. The session took less than an hour, with local police and the FBI taking turns grilling me over what I remembered.

I thought they’d confiscate everything I’d purchased, but they lost interest in me after confirming what I’d told them five times over.

All in all, I found the whole thing to be a puzzling affair.

Thirty minutes after my favorite Chinese restaurant opened, Bradley, his parents, and my parents invaded my room. I locked onto the takeout bag, held out my hands, and waggled my fingers. “They fed me the scariest pancakes I’ve ever seen in my life this morning. In good news for them, I had the presence of mind to get sick in the trash can rather than on one of them. If I’m going to get sick again, I will do so because I ate something I like. I had three whole bites before I expelled that horror show. It tasted beyond rancid. I may refuse to eat hospital food altogether if it tries to rise up and kill me again.”

With a soft chuckle, Bradley set the bag down, picked one of the containers and set it on the hospital tray within my reach. “Mother made me put somewhat healthy things into the container rather than just meat. I’m sorry. I did try, but I was overridden.”

“Well, that wasn’t very nice,” I complained, peeking inside the container to discover some token vegetables and rice occupied a corner. I admired the restaurant’s dedication to my happiness; they’d slapped the extras on top of my orange chicken to appease Mrs. Hampton without sacrificing any of my treasured food. “I will even eat a few bites of the crappy vegetable stuff so my doctor isn’t offended, as she’d probably side with your mother.”

Bradley offered me a pair of chopsticks, and I attacked my food without a single care if it rose up and tried to kill me later. Unlike the vicious pancakes, the orange chicken stayed where it belonged. While I tamed my unhappy stomach, my parents dragged in plastic chairs from the hallway and sat by the door, safely out of my reach.

Right. I bit when I got excessively hungry—or I had as a child. “I probably won’t nip. I’ve been offered food.”

“One can never be too careful,” my father replied with a smile. “How are you feeling?”

“I was cruelly betrayed by really awful pancakes this morning. Otherwise, I’m horribly bored, although I do like this e-reader I found in the depths of my purse. Thank you to whomever brought me books and chocolate. That chocolate likely saved me from starvation following the pancake assault.”

Bradley’s mother raised her hand. “I’m responsible for the chocolate.”

“Thank you for the chocolate, and thank you for doing the lawyering so I wasn’t charged with mutilation of a corpse or whatever they’d charge me for taking a corpse’s blood and making better use of it. I’m on drugs right now, so please do not hold anything I say against me later,” I added, as one of the morning nurses had taken the time to explain my current combination of medications might result in my mouth going on an adventure without the input of my brain.

At least the hospital staff seemed prepared to handle me at my worst and didn’t seem to mind the possibility I might be a menace for a few days.

“You’re welcome. It was very simple. I simply asked if they really wanted to shame Senator Maybelle’s final moments by pressing charges against someone who saved at least one life following the shooting. I may have promised I would make certain Senator Maybelle’s legacy was her greed in death.”

“That is startlingly ruthless,” I muttered.

“I have my moments, and I was a little annoyed they’d barred visitation. Then to find out her family was going to push the issue? They saw things my way, especially when I explained how Senator Maybelle’s reputation would be irrevocably damaged.”

Wonderful. I’d be sleeping with one eye open for a while, at least until the family of the deceased senator either forgot I existed or accepted her blood did her no good after death. I pointed at Bradley. “If the beeps didn’t make him panic, visitation wouldn’t have been barred.”