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“Just bourbon and red wine,” Holly said, “but not enough to be illegal.”
“That’s not our department; I was just concerned with the apparent needle mark on your neck and your propensity for becoming unconscious.”
“Okay,” she said. “What’s your name?”
“Josh Harmon,” he said, offering her his hand. “At your service.”
Holly shook his hand. “I hope I didn’t cause you to overstay your shift.”
“Nah, you’re my last call, then I’m out of here.”
“When am I out of here?” she asked.
“Let’s get you some breakfast and decaf. If, after that, you’re not suffering the aftereffects of some drug, we’ll give you the boot.”
“Please do; I’m feeling pretty good, except for the headache.”
“I’ll prescribe a painkiller.”
“Aspirin will do.”
“I’d like you to take it easy for a couple of days,” he said. “No running, no exercise. Just lie around the house and watch TV.”
“I can do that,” Holly said. “Where’s Daisy?” she asked Ham.
“In the car.”
A nurse came in with a breakfast tray and set it before her.
Holly sipped the coffee. “This is awful,” she said.
“We make it that way especially, because we don’t want you to like it here too much,” Dr. Harmon explained.
“It’s working,” Holly said, wolfing down some eggs. She finished her breakfast in record time.
“Before I go, I just want to do a little exam,” Dr. Harmon said. He held a finger before her eyes. “Follow this,” he said, moving it slowly back and forth. He finished the neurological exam. “Why are you taking up a bed?” he asked. “Get out of here.”
“Yes, sir,” Holly said, throwing off the covers and exposing more of herself than she had intended.
“I’d better get out of here while I can,” Harmon said. “I’ll call you later today and see how you’re doing.”
“You have my number?”
“Your dad was kind enough.” He gave her a little wave and was gone.
Ginny put her clothes on the bed. “I’ll bet that call isn’t going to be entirely medically oriented,” she said.
“I’ll go shoot him,” Ham said.
Later in the day, Holly woke from a nap and tried to remember what she had been dreaming. Something about being stopped by a cop. Her headache was gone, but her hair looked awful. They had apparently washed the blood out at the hospital, but they hadn’t exactly styled it when they were done. She got into a shower, then dried her hair properly. She put some antibiotic cream on her scalp wound and covered it with her hair. It looked perfectly normal.
She was hungry, so she dressed and went downstairs for a sandwich. She had just finished it when the phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Hi, it’s Josh Harmon, your friendly ham-handed stitcher-upper. How are you feeling?”
“Pretty good, actually,” she replied, “and I want to thank you for not taking any more hair than you did.”
