Johnson stared at the floor and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, I know.” He looked dejected.
Nick would have laughed but he knew his partner, Detective Adam Johnson, was serious. This really wasn’t like him. “Hey,” Nick said, “What’s up?”
Johnson shook his head slowly, still looking down. “I’m in trouble,” he said simply.
Now Nick was really concerned. Jovial, laid-back, devil-may-care Johnson was never in any trouble that he couldn’t see himself out of within a very brief period of time. “Seriously? What sort of trouble?” Now that Nick thought about it, he hadn’t even seen Johnson eating, which was a sure sign that something was wrong.
“It’s this bet I have,” Johnson began.
Nick’s heart sank. Gambling? He would never have pegged Johnson as a gambler. Nick said quietly, “Do you need money, Adam?” Nick never called his partner by his first name, but the situation seemed so grave, he thought it was the right thing to say.
Johnson’s head popped up again. “Well, now that you mention it…,” he had a tiny twinkle in his eye, but it disappeared as he became lost in thought again.
“Okay, out with it!” Nick ordered.
Johnson sighed. “Fine. You’ll find out soon enough. I’ve got a bet with the wife.”
Nick relaxed with relief. At least it wasn’t money. Or not serious money, at any rate. “And?” he said.
“And I’m losing.”
“So what’s the bet?”
Johnson shook his head with dismay again. “All right, here’s the whole story. She made me go to the doctor for my snoring. She said it’s like a freight train and she can’t sleep. I bought her earplugs, but let’s just say that that didn’t go over well. So, I went to the doctor. He said I have sleep apnea. And high blood pressure. And I needed to lose weight. Otherwise, I’ll have to wear some contraption when I sleep in case I don’t breathe enough, and I’ll have to go on some kind of blood pressure medication.”
The gravity of the situation was beginning to dawn on Nick. Johnson really loved his food. “So you’re on a diet?” he asked, trying not to smile.
“Yeah, you could say that. Plus, the wife and I made a bet. See, that was my big mistake. She said that I couldn’t lose ten pounds in a month. She even gave me a back-up. I can either lose the ten pounds, or I can walk 300,000 steps. She gave me this,” he took a little device off his belt. “It’s a pedometer. She writes down how many steps I do every night.” Johnson replaced it on his belt. “So far it’s been a week. I haven’t lost a pound, and I’ve only walked 37,562,” he glanced at the device, “No, make that 63, steps.”
Nick was laughing now. “Do I dare ask what happens if you lose?”
Johnson looked at the floor again and shoved his hands in his pockets. He said something that Nick couldn’t hear.
“What’s that?”
Johnson straightened up, eyed his partner squarely, and said, “A week for both of us at the La Dolce Vita Spa and Weight Loss Center. The former would be for her, the latter for me.”
Nick began laughing harder. Johnson’s wife was an adorable, petite Italian woman who commanded his life outside of his work. Johnson loved every second of it and everything about her. She was devoted to him as well. Nick had never known there to be any strife between them. “Is Maria upset with you?” he asked.
“No,” Johnson said almost mournfully. “I think she’s secretly hoping that I’ll lose so she can go!”
Nick realized that, like Maria, he also assumed that Johnson would lose. Now he wondered what his end of the bet was. “What do you get if you win?”
Johnson instantly perked up. He stood straighter and a smile spread across his face like a ray of sunshine. “A week in Florida to see the Red Sox in spring training every day, including VIP tickets! And she gets me beer and sausages whenever I want them!” Johnson looked giddy. He rattled out the words so fast that Nick could barely understand them.
It was a grave situation, indeed.
A thought occurred to Johnson. “Hey! How ‘bout if you wear this for a little while!” He started to take the pedometer off his belt again.
“Oh, no! No way! I’m not going to help you cheat!”
“Oh, c’mon! Just through lunch! I don’t think it works right on me anyway. It doesn’t count my steps right! Watch!” He walked down the aisle counting, then came back. “Ok, I said before I’d done something-something-63, right? So I just did fifteen steps It should be 78 now, right?” He looked down at the device, then back up at Nick. “Oh. It says 78. Okay, fine. It did work this time. But I swear…”
Nick shook his head and turned back to the wine selection. “Yeah, Johnson, I’d say you’re in trouble. Right now, though, why don’t you go outside and walk to the end of the block and back again. By the time you’re at the door, I’ll be done here. That should add maybe another hundred or so steps?”
Johnson sighed deeply and turned toward the door. “Yeah, okay. This place is kinda boring anyway.”
If you would like to read more of the Dulcie Chambers Museum Mysteries, please visit the author’s website (kerryjcharles.com) for more information or request copies at your local bookstore or library. Ebook versions are also available from major suppliers online.
Reviews from thoughtful readers are always welcome on any website or media outlet.
Thank you!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Kerry J Charles has worked as a researcher, writer, and editor for NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC, the Smithsonian Institution, Harvard University and several major textbook publishers. She holds four degrees including a Master’s in Geospatial Engineering and a Master’s in Art History from Harvard University. She has carried out research in many of the world's art museums as a freelance writer and scholar.
A swimmer, scuba diver, golfer, and boating enthusiast, Charles enjoys seeing the world from above and below sea level as well as from the tee box. Her life experiences inspire her writing and she is always seeking out new travels and adventures. She returned to her roots in coastal Maine while writing the Dulcie Chambers Museum Mysteries.
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