Page 53 of Booked for Murder

“Thirty-seven inches. You might have some trouble finding one meant for women, so check for men’s cane’s first. I’m a little taller than average. Most women want thirty-six inches, and that extra inch matters. I don’t need a broken back to go with my foot. I can make do with thirty-six inches if you can’t find the right size cane.”

“We’ll get the right size. Anything specific you need?”

“It just needs to support my weight.” I showed Bradley the bottom of my cane, which had gone through several rubber tips over the years. “That rubber tip is important, or else wet sidewalks become a peril.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

Bradley’s mother came out of the bathroom with a grip on Mickey’s ear, and my fellow librarian grimaced at her rough handling. “Pain works to distract him from fainting,” she announced. “It was a drop, not the end of the world. All right, maybe I should have warned you about how I take insulin, but it wasn’t that bad. I was told you were scared of blood, not needles. How was I supposed to know you’re also scared of needles?” Without any sign of being bothered by the situation, she dragged Mickey over to Beatrice. “The ear works the best. Just grab in a firm hold and twist. Brought him right out of his pre-faint and gave him something to worry about.”

“That’s not the sort of exposure therapy I had in mind, Mom.”

“Oh, stop your whining, Bradley. It worked. We don’t have months to work him up to watching Janette work. Just twist his ear a bit. It didn’t hurt you as a child, and it won’t hurt him, a full-grown man. It’s a lot easier to cope with the pained groaning, moaning, and squirming than it is to drag an unconscious body around.” Bradley’s mother released Mickey’s ear and patted his head. “You’ll be all right. Now, why don’t we all head on home so Janette can have a long talk with her parents before we get to serious work tomorrow. We all have jobs to do, and we’re not going to get everything done if we’re all here gossiping like hens. March!”

To my amazement, everyone obeyed without protest or complaint.

Thirteen

A cat can’t talk to you properly.

Change always came when I least expected it, and so much had happened in two days I struggled to cope with everything. My parents stayed on my couch while everyone else packed their belongings and left. Papers covered my coffee table, and I wondered where they’d all come from. I supposed Mickey or Meridian had brought them and dumped the work on my lap.

My stove wouldn’t appreciate being used to destroy even more evidence of what I was up to.

“Before you guilt yourself sick, neither one of us believed you’d offed yourself like the doctors claimed. You were born stubborn, and a little lady like you doesn’t quit just because of a gimp foot,” my father said, continuing to earn my cat’s affections through use of the brush. “I figured you’d gone somewhere you felt safe, doing something you liked, working on a way to handle the cards you’d been dealt. Your mother had bet on you becoming a nurse like you’d dreamed about growing up. I figured you’d become a teacher since you’d have a hard time hiding your magic while working as a nurse. A librarian? That hadn’t occurred to either one of us, but it suits you. From the day you could babble, you were always trying to help out.”

“But I usually made a mess of things when trying,” I replied, limping to my couch and sitting beside my father. As always, I hurt, but the prescription bottles on my kitchen counter would give me something I hadn’t enjoyed in a long time: sound sleep. “Still, I’m sorry. I should have figured out a way to send word.”

“Now, any other time, that might have earned you a round with the switch.”

“No,” my mother announced, glaring at my father. “There are far more effective ways to punish her.”

“Your methods constitute as cruel and unusual punishment. Mine just sting for a few minutes and might leave a bruise.”

Uh oh. When my father determined something went overboard to that degree, my mother had something truly dire planned for me. “Please, no cruel and unusual punishment. I’ll do my best to behave.”

“It’s not that bad,” my mother protested.

My father snorted. “It’s that bad.”

Uh oh. While my parents had fought from time to time, they’d done their best to avoid fighting in front of me, even after I’d entered the contract with the Hampton family. “Dad, you go first, please. Why is it that bad?”

“Your mother wants grandchildren, and while a cat will temporarily appease her, she believes being lonely isn’t healthy, and if you’ve been hiding out, you’re obviously lonely.”

“I’m not lonely, Dad. I have a cat. How could I possibly be lonely with a cat?”

“A cat can’t talk to you properly.”

“Lies and blasphemy.”

“There’s the issue of your for life contract,” my mother stated, and her tone promised I would not like what she’d say next. With a smile worthy of the devil, she continued, “As such, I have come up with an acceptable proposal.”

I risked maiming and pet my cat. Thanks to my father’s tireless work with the brush, Ajani accepted my attention, and she even invited herself onto my lap for more attention from me. “Proposal?”

“Yes. Proposal.”

“What type of proposal are we discussing here?”

“The kind where I take you to a boutique, dress you up, and make you someone else’s problem for the rest of your life. At some interval, you’ll surely provide me with one or more grandchildren, as you love kids and have wanted one or ten ever since the day we foolishly gave you the talk and informed you boys brought babies along with them,” my mother announced.