Fry Me a Liver
Page 21
But then I smiled. The smile became a chuckle and then the chuckle became a laugh.
Only in the world of Gwen Katz could a case involving coffee be cracked by Detective Bean.
Chapter 22
We gathered in the hospital room, displeasing the floor nurses and doctors. But they looked the other way because, unorthodox as it was, the big group hug was turning out to be just what the patient needed.
Luke and Dani, Raylene and A.J. Two, and I all met in A.J.’s room at noon. My waitperson had woken up during the night and one of the first things she asked for, after water and a bedpan, was that her closest friends come by to give her some good, loving energy. She mentioned all of us by name. She was going to be okay.
“I gotta be,” she wheezed when we’d begun to gather. “While I was knocked out . . . I realized I didn’t like . . . Louis Dunn . . . or Tootsie Pearl. I’m gonna vote . . . for Moss Post.”
“Me too,” I told her.
Thom was wheeled in after we arrived, pushed by Newt. If crying was good energy, then we had it to spare; the gathering was as healing for us as it was for the patient. About the only thing missing was Tiny Tim wandering in, propped on a little crutch, saying, “God bless us, every one!”
Thinking of Tiny Tim made me think of Kane Iger. Detective Bean told me that the analysis of my jeans matched the coffee bean traces from the explosion; there would be long weeks of psych evaluation before the district attorney decided what to do with the man.
It was all depressing and tragic, especially the call from Benjamin and Grace early that morning. They’d seen Candy’s report on, yes, the Bank Bomber and my role in nabbing him. Benjamin apologized again for everything that had happened and I forgave him—especially after he said they’d decided not to open a deli after all and canceled the property purchase he was going to make here for that purpose.
I was happy to see them go.
Thom walked us through a little prayer and, though I’m usually more than a little cynical about that sort of thing, I went along. It actually felt good. Not because of the prayer per se, but because of what I said at the top of my little narrative.
These were the people I needed and who needed me.
This was family.
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Copyright © 2015 by Jeff Rovin
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ISBN: 978-0-7582-8203-3
ISBN-10: 0-7582-8203-6
First Kensington Mass Market Edition: January 2015
eISBN-13: 978-0-7582-8204-0
eISBN-10: 0-7582-8204-4
First Kensington Electronic Edition: January 2015