Page 84 of Booked for Murder

“I’m not looking forward to it, either. I got a lecture. If I’m going to make you go through therapy, I have to go through it, too.”

“We could run away.”

Bradley sat in the armchair nearby. “I’m listening.”

“Canada is nice.”

“But winter there is awful. Winter in New York is bad enough. I don’t want to move somewhere I have to deal with even more snow, Janette.”

I scowled. “That’s true. There is a lot of snow there.”

“Not only is there a lot of snow, I’d have to keep a special garage just for my nice cars, as they have to be safely hidden from the snow. I’m friends with someone north of the border, and he has blankets for his cars. There are lines, and I’m pretty sure that crosses my lines. Maybe after we figure out who is killing these politicians, we can argue about living somewhere we have to wrap our cars in blankets. The why seems obvious to me. The legislation, if passed, would completely change how society works—and it’s done in such a way that middle class voters might not realize how much everyone is getting screwed.”

“Except your family doesn’t really get screwed.”

“That’s only because of a great deal of luck and the alignment of many stars. I’d wanted you under contract, and I’d fought with my parents over that for months before they’d even talk to me about it.”

I hadn’t heard that side of things. I’d crossed paths with him at one of the schools I’d attended thanks to my rating and the rarity of my abilities, although I couldn’t remember having done anything to capture his attention. “Really?”

“Before you, my security was almost non-existent. My parents have little security, too. They’ve upped their security in recent years, but you were a complete change in our household. It was the only way my parents could think of to justify a for life contract, especially considering your specific abilities. Your natural talent with firearms and your love of cars came as unexpected surprises. Making you my primary driver was a logical move, all things considered. After the contract was signed, they discovered how much they like your parents, so it worked out well from top to bottom.”

Well, it had for them. My foot disagreed with the whole situation, and the damned thing throbbed. “I am not looking forward to a long drive anywhere.”

“Does your foot hurt?”

I regarded my cast with narrowed eyes. “Don’t give me a knife and some motivation right now. I might be tempted to cut it off.”

“Breakfast can come with painkillers, although we’ll have to keep an eye on you to make sure you don’t start having trouble breathing again.”

I expected somebody would be hovering until I escaped the cast and made it back into a boot. “And what were the odds of not having someone lurking over my shoulder in the first place?”

“Approximately zero. I’ll go get my mother, who has volunteered to be your personal servant for the day, as Jezabella wanted to see the first murder site before heading over to your parents’ place.”

However much I hated it, I would need help with the basics for another few weeks. Fighting it would only lead to misery. Not only would my stench offend the noses of those unfortunate enough to have to put up with me, I gave it a few hours before my skin began crawling with the need for a bath of any sort. “I appreciate that, and I am not above asking for help at this stage in my day.”

“Just hang in there for a few more weeks. Everything’ll be a lot better by then.”

I hoped so, because I had no idea how much more I could take before I snapped.

Thanks to a prolonged stay in the hospital, the idea of having someone help me for the basics only bothered me a little. Bradley’s mother, however, struggled with the reality of caring for me, until I set her straight, told her to stop treating me like a china doll, and treat the whole thing like an unpleasant chore. Comparing myself to cleaning a toilet landed me in trouble and earned me a scolding, but things went smoother after she realized tiptoeing around the reality of my situation hurt rather than helped.

While my foot fermented in the cast, the rest of me met my standards of cleanliness.

Cleanliness made the rest of my situation bearable, especially when my hair could go from fine to itchy grease weasel with a severe case of rabies in five seconds flat.

As warned, Bradley’s mother drove us to my parents’ house, but she made us leave Ajani at her house. My cat did not complain about my cruel abandonment, taking over Bradley’s bed as her throne. I muttered curses the entire trip to the car, and I managed to wheel myself half the way before I ran out of steam and Bradley took over. I opted to sit in the backseat so I wouldn’t be hovered over any more than I’d already suffered through, pleased to discover even the back had sufficient leg room for my cast. When the rest of my life had taken a sharp left turn into chaos, the little things mattered.

Breakfast consisted of the greasiest fast food money could buy, and Bradley devoured his share as though he feared his mother would go back on her decision to provide him with meat in the morning. The old habit of checking his food for dairy kicked in, although I had nothing to worry about.

While sausages sometimes had cheese, his didn’t, and he ignored the other foods in his meal that might, which were donated to my cavern of an empty stomach. The extra pancakes and biscuits went a long way towards convincing me I wanted to stick around, although I feared the ploy might be a cruel trick to lull me into a sense of security.

“Carnivores,” Bradley’s mother complained.

I decided to take the nice approach, and aware of why she had turned vegan, I asked, “The butter doesn’t have the protein you’re allergic to in it, right?”

“It doesn’t, which is why I have opted to completely slather my pancakes in its delicious essence, as I realistically cannot have the syrup. Technically, I’m cheating having the pancakes at all, but I have my insulin with me, and if I have to use extra, this is me not caring. In good news, eggs don’t bother me much. The butter almost makes up for it.”

As the inheritor of her share of the syrup, I wouldn’t complain. “And since Bradley can’t have dairy, you usually don’t have it because you don’t want to deal with him being sick all the time because he likes it more than he should.”