Getting Rich (A Chef Landry Mystery) (10 page)

“Next time I’ll ask her to hold still while I take a picture,” I snapped back.

Crawford sneered. Before leaving, he gave me one last parting shot. “You and your girlfriend better not be stupid. I don’t want you to get involved with this case in any way. You hear me? Butt out. If you go out and play detective again, don’t be surprised if you end up dead.”

So he believed me too. But that didn’t mean he gave a damn.

A minute later they were gone and I just knew they’d forgotten about this case the minute they’d stepped out of the room. If I had to depend on those two to keep me safe, I was as good as dead.

call me crazy but i like my legs to match

I was moved to a semi-private room. In the bed next to mine was a middle-aged woman who spent her time making one phone call after another. I almost felt sorry for whoever she was speaking to. When she wasn’t complaining about her gallbladder operation, she was complaining about how painful her kidney stones had been. When she ran out of people to call, she turned to me. Luckily, Toni chose that moment to peek in from the doorway.

“Oh, you’re awake. Good.” She strode in, looking beautiful as usual. Today she wore a zebra-striped dress that hugged her figure almost indecently. Her gorgeous alpaca coat was draped over one arm.

I pushed myself up on one elbow and signaled her to close the privacy curtain around the bed. She did, and pulled a chair.

“Here’s your purse by the way.” She handed it to me. “Jake found it on the sidewalk after the ambulance left.”

“Thanks.” Until now, I hadn’t even realized it was missing. I looked inside, relieved to find my wallet complete with all my overextended credit cards and, more important, my cell phone. I snatched it up and checked the battery—dead. Figured. I dropped it back in my purse. “Have you checked on Jackie and the puppies?”

“Yes, yes. I told you I would.” Her face lit up. “That little Trouble is the cutest thing. I can’t wait to take him home.”

“He’s twelve weeks old and ready to go now.”

Her forehead furrowed. “Uh, is he fully trained?”

“Paper-trained only.”

She wrinkled her nose. “No rush. I’ll let you keep him till he is.”

“Toni, even when they’re fully trained, dogs sometimes have accidents. What are you going to do if your little cutie-pie pees on your white carpet?” She looked horrified for a second, and before she could answer, I continued. “You can’t adopt him and just bring him back when you decide he’s too much trouble. Dogs have feelings too, you know.”

She shook her head vehemently. “Don’t worry. I’ve had all the carpets removed and replaced with travertine floors.”

I was shocked. “You have?” After witnessing her reaction the first time she saw the soiled wee-wee pads, I’d been convinced she would bow out of taking Trouble. “You didn’t tell me that.”

“I don’t have to tell you everything I do.” She was thoughtful for a second. “I guess that means I shouldn’t have area rugs either.”

I changed the subject before she launched into a full analysis of the decorating challenge owning a dog presented. I wasn’t worried. I’d never known anyone to drop a bundle as readily as she did. Toni didn’t think twice about redecorating, and did it regularly. Every time I visited, she had something new to show me.

I took in her fresh makeup and tight dress. “You look dressed to kill. Do you have a date tonight? Speaking of which, did you tell Steven yet?”

“Not yet.” She put a finger to her mouth and threw a furtive glance toward the doorway. “Charles just stopped by the shop downstairs. He should be here any second. Please don’t say anything in front of him. I don’t want anybody to know about my personal affairs.”

“But things are good between you and Steven, right?”

She grinned. “Better than good. They’re great.”

I kept my face impassive but I was dying to know.

“Any chance you two will get married?” I whispered.

“Married? Are you crazy? Like I always say, ‘Marriage is a lot like a tub of hot water.’” I waited for the punch line. She cocked a hip. “‘By the time you get into it, it’s not so hot.’”

I burst out laughing.

At the sound of the door opening, I turned to see Charles carrying a huge flower arrangement—hydrangea, ladies’ mantle and spray roses.

“Jennifer wanted to visit too, but there was too much to do at work. She sends her best.”

“Oh, Charles, they’re beautiful. Thank you,” I said, trying to sit up. I grimaced as a bolt of pain shot up my leg.

“Are you hurting?” Toni asked, leaning away, as if my broken ankle was suddenly contagious.

“The medicine is wearing off. I think it’s time for another of those feel-good shots.”

“I’ll go grab a nurse.” Charles shoved the flowers at Toni and took off. Some people just didn’t do hospitals well and I suspected he was one of them.

She handed me the card, which read,
Get well soon
,
love from everyone at Skinny’s on Queen.

“Aw, that’s sweet.”

“It was the staff’s idea,” she said, placing the arrangement on my bedside table, angling it this way and that until it was just perfect. “So what’s the news about your ankle?”

“The surgeon scheduled my operation for first thing tomorrow morning.” I groaned. “I’m not looking forward to it.” I hesitated. “Do you think you could call Mitchell for me, just—you know—to let him know I was in an accident?”

She gave me a knowing smile. “You mean, so he can come running back to you.”

“Don’t be silly. I wouldn’t expect him to do drop everything. It’s just that he’s my boyfriend and should be notified.”

“Okay, give me his number.”

I wrote his cell phone number on the back of the card envelope and handed it to her, wishing she’d call him right this second.

“I’ll let you know when I reach him,” she said, putting an end to that thought.

“How come you two aren’t at the restaurant? Is it totally quiet at work today?”

“Are you kidding? After yesterday’s television interview, we’re stars. The place is hopping. Thank goodness we have Jennifer now, otherwise we’d never make it. I was thinking of trying to find a temp to pitch in until you’re back on your feet.”

“It’s an idea,” I said.

She looked at her watch. “We can’t stay more than a few minutes, but I had to come in and tell you the good news in person.” She waited until she had my full attention and continued. “I spoke to the editor of the lifestyles section at the
Toronto Daily
, and she wants to do an article about us.”

“So Charles was right,” I said, trying to focus on something other than the throbbing that was rapidly taking over my ankle. “But I don’t get it. Why would a newspaper want to interview us?”

She threw up her hands in a “who knows” or “who cares” gesture. “The important thing is that we’re interesting enough to warrant an article. I’m telling you, since our TV interview, we’re famous. And guess what else?”

The pain seemed to be increasing by the second, and I was not in a guessing mood. “Just tell me.”

“She mentioned possibly giving us a regular column where we could publish a skinny recipe of the week.”

“Are you serious?” I was already imagining all the publicity, not to mention the credibility, a column like that would bring us. We couldn’t pay for that kind of advertising. “She’s offering it to us for free? I hope you said yes.”

Her eyes widened. “What are you talking about, for free? People get paid to write columns. I don’t think it would have been a lot of money—probably no more than a token amount. But we’re so busy we can barely come up with one new recipe a week for our restaurant menu. If we took on the responsibility of a column, we’d have to come up with two, maybe three.” She planted a hand on one hip. “Unless you think we should just give away our menu recipes, so people can make them at home themselves. Then they won’t even have to come to us anymore.”

“Are you serious? People would kill for this kind of opportunity. This will be as good for us as the TV interview has been. We can’t pass it up. We’ll just have to come up with different recipes for the column. We’ll hire more staff if we have to.” Anticipating her next objection, I continued. “And if there’s not enough working space in the restaurant, we can use the kitchen in my house, and if that isn’t enough, we’ll use your condo too. If you turned them down, I swear I’ll...I’ll...I don’t know what I’ll do but I’ll think of something.”

She gave me a wide smile. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I didn’t turn it down.” I looked her straight in the eye. “I wouldn’t turn down an offer without running it by you.”

I didn’t believe her for a second. “Tell me the truth, Toni. You said no, didn’t you?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it. Looking down at her nails, she smoothed the tip of a perfectly manicured finger with her thumb. “Well...maybe I did sort of mention that we were so busy I doubted we could take on such a time-consuming project. But it’s not like, final, or anything. She told me to think about it.” Grinning, she added, “It won’t hurt to make them wait. It will only make them feel lucky to have us.”

I bolted upright, only to collapse on the bed from the pain. “Toni,” I said through gritted teeth. “If you don’t call them back this minute, I swear I’ll never speak to you again.”

“Promises, promises.” Then seeing that I was still in pain, she added, “Okay. I’ll call them back the minute I get back. In the meantime, try to rest.”

“Not when you get to back to work. Now.”

“Okay, okay.”

As if on cue, the nurse—a gray-haired woman built like a refrigerator—marched in, brandishing a hypodermic needle. Behind her, I glimpsed Charles peeking in from behind the doorframe, looking a bit greenish.

The nurse turned to Toni. “Sorry, love, our patient needs her privacy right now.” She closed the door firmly. “Time for your injection,” she singsonged.

I’d never been so happy to get a needle in my life. I turned on my side and offered up my butt. I felt a quick pinprick, and then, “There, that should make you feel better in no time.” She opened the door and gestured my friends back in.

Whatever that medication was, it was magical. Five minutes later, the pain was almost entirely gone. But along with the relief came an almost overwhelmingly pleasant grogginess. My mind floated in a fog.

After a few minutes of struggling to keep my end of the conversation, Toni took notice. “You look exhausted. Charles and I should get back to work and let you sleep.” They said goodbye, and left.

I must have fallen asleep instantly because the next thing I knew, another nurse—this one tall and sinewy—was leaning over me. “I have to start your IV. You’ll be going into surgery in about an hour.”

Could it be morning already? I looked out the window, confused. Outside was dim—either early evening or very early morning. I thought of Mitchell, wondering what he was doing right now. Had Toni even called him? “What time is it?”

“Five-thirty. I’m here to prep you. Your surgery is scheduled for seven.”

“I slept almost thirteen hours?”

“Uh-huh,” she nodded. “It’s not unusual after an accident. Shock is a wonderful soporific, better than any sleeping pill.” She attached a saline bag to an IV pole, inserted a needle in the crook of my elbow—
ouch
—unwrapped my ankle—
ouch ouch
—and shaved my leg from my knee to my toes.

“While you’re at it, could you shave my other leg too? Call me crazy but I like my legs to match.”

She looked surprised for a second, and then, realizing I was just teasing, she chuckled, picked up the discarded bandages and left. Soon, she reappeared followed by a beefy attendant.

“One, two three, up,” he said, and together they lifted me to a gurney and rolled me into a hallway at the end of a long lineup of beds.

A nice-looking man—fiftyish—appeared at my side. “Hi, I’m Dr. Marlow, your anesthetist.” He plunged a needle into the catheter. “You’ll feel a bit groggy, but you won’t be fully anesthetized until just before the surgery.”

Soon, I became vaguely aware of being wheeled into a bright room, and of lights shining down on me. Somebody in a surgical gown appeared over me. “Can you count backwards from one hundred for me?” It was Dr. Marlow. I hadn’t recognized him behind the mask.

“One hundred, ninety-nine, ninety-eight...ninety...”

The next thing I knew, a nurse was leaning over me. “Take a deep breath.” I did. “And another.”

I blinked. “Am I going into surgery now?”

She patted my hand. “Your surgery is over, and everything went very well. We’ll have you back in your room in a little while.” I raised myself onto my elbows, looking down at my ankle. It was encased in something that looked like thick gauze.

“I’m afraid your leg is still in a splint. Your ankle is pretty swollen right now, so you’ll be getting a proper cast when it goes down. We’ll keep it raised, and that should help with the swelling.”

I couldn’t help asking, even though I already knew what she would say. “Will I be able to walk once I get the cast?”

“The doctor will answer all your questions. He’ll be by to see you in a few minutes.”

She no sooner said this than the surgeon, a tall thin man with graying hair and kind eyes, appeared at her side. “So,” he said jovially. “How are we doing here?”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling a bit queasy.”

He chuckled. “Normal after anesthesia. You’ll feel better in about an hour.” He grew serious. “You have nothing to worry about. The surgery went very well. Your soft tissues were in excellent condition. You’ll have to wear a cast for six to eight weeks. During this time you’ll have to stay off that foot entirely. But the good news is that you’ll be like new when it’s healed.” He grinned. “Pardon the pun.” At my lack of response, he added, “Okay, so I’m not very good at comedy. But I’m an excellent surgeon.”