Perri O’Shaughnessy - Breach Of Promise

“He would have calmed down all over and gone on with the show.”

“This is what I don’t understand. If he knew he was so dangerously allergic to peanuts, why wasn’t he more careful? Why did he eat them?”

“Obviously, he had no idea he was eating peanuts.” Clauson read from his notes. “Last meal was lunch in the jury room. Vegetable chow mein, egg rolls, and fortune cookie. Didn’t make it far into the cookie part. Only a trace in the stomach.”

“They put peanuts in chow mein?”

“Nope.”

“In the egg rolls?”

“Nope.”

“The cookie?”

“Nope.”

“I assume you talked to the caterer?”

“A restaurant on Ski Run Boulevard. Owner swears there were no peanuts in the food. Wright called there before to check with them and ask them particularly not to use any in his meal.”

“I don’t get it.”

If eyes as colorless as apricot pits could be said to twinkle, Clauson’s did. “I said the same thing to myself a few days ago. Then I went home. I go home at night, not much is happening. Tube, bed, let the cat out. I’m a bachelor. Women don’t like my work.”

“Yeah?”

“Used to smoke like a fiend. Not as good as a wife, but Mr. Butts kept me company of a sort.”

Clauson chewed his gum ruminatively. Paul waited for him to get to his point.

“Took a course at the college on cooking Asian food to meet some women. Didn’t find a wife, but learned to cook.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Decided to make myself some Szechuan chicken and homemade egg rolls.”

“Yes?”

“Looked at the bottle in my hand. Peanut oil. Lots of people cooking Chinese use peanut oil when they pinch the egg rolls shut.”

“But… isn’t it the protein in the peanuts that causes the reaction?”

“Oil will do it for some people.”

“Ah-hah!”

“What I said,” said Clauson.

“Did you ask the cook?”

“Swears she didn’t.”

“You think she’s lying.”

Clauson’s shoulders shook slightly, as if he had been tickled. “Gotta be. The food wasn’t bad enough to kill otherwise.” He chuckled at his joke, then looked sober. “Here’s negligence that caused a death, but nobody’s gonna pursue it. Guy with a time bomb in his system like that should have always brought his own lunch.”

“You think they’re afraid they’ll be sued.”

“That’s right, but I’m satisfied I know what happened. Done in by egg rolls.”

“You sure the cook was lying?” Paul said

Clauson sighed. Paul had apparently tried his patience just a bit. “There’s no question about the cause of death. You take the history of the patient before making a diagnosis. He’s been allergic since he was about three.”

“But this time he died.”

“That was almost a predictable outcome of another exposure. Just a couple of months ago, he took a trip to the hospital after eating ice cream that listed almonds in the ingredients, but had sneaked in peanuts as filler and flavoring without changing the labeling. Now that was a hard source to trace. This one is obvious, whether or not the restaurant takes responsibility.”

Paul had had his fifteen minutes. Doc Clauson jumped up, saying he had to go.

“Enjoyed talking with you,” he said. “Nobody takes much interest in death by natural causes, even interesting causes, except maybe the insurance people, and they’re only interested in how much they’re going to owe the grieving family.”

“It’s fascinating stuff, how many paths lead to death,” said Paul. “Oh, Doc,” he said, as Clauson put a hand on the door, “just one more thing.”

Clauson had to check his notes one last time for an address.

Nina waited for Paul on her favorite bench in the yard outside the courthouse where she could soak up sun, listening to the wind lifting the branches of the trees around her, insects buzzing, and the distant din of the highway a mile away. Closing fluorescent-scarred eyes, she drifted in dark, mindless bliss for several minutes.

“Waiting, waiting,” a voice said. The teddy bear had come back, the one Paul had given her when he proposed a long time ago, the one that spoke with his voice. But how could he be here? He lived in her front closet with her ski boots, his nagging tone for the time being smothered under a down jacket. “Wake up, sleepyhead.” A hand, not a furry paw, took hold of her side and shook.

“I’m not sleeping!” To her surprise, although her feet remained on the ground, her cheek had found its way to the cool, hard surface of the bench.

“If you say so, Ladyship.” Paul helped her to her feet. She straightened her jacket and turned her skirt back to face front.

“I must have dozed off. And don’t call me that.”

“Yes, you did and I’ll consider it,” said Paul. “Now how about lunch? It’s through the looking glass you know, napping before the meal.”

“I didn’t sleep much this weekend,” said Nina. “Now why do you suppose?”

“Better things to do,” said Paul, maneuvering himself into the driver’s seat. “You’ve finally got your head screwed on straight.”

Nina laughed at that.

“Hmmm. Exactly how hungry are you?”

“I have time for a quickie,” said Nina.

“I rise to a challenge,” said Paul, starting the engine to his van, whose roaring start soon settled into a purr.

“Food, I mean.”

“Oh, well.” He drove down the hill toward town.

“Where are we going?” asked Nina. “It’s so beautiful. Let’s eat outside.”

“I’m thinking Chinese,” said Paul.

“Anywhere with an outdoor patio?”

“I don’t think so. That’s not the Chinese way.”

“How do you know?”

“They hardly ever have windows. Some feng shui rule, I bet.”

Nina took her brush out and ran it through her tumbled hair. “You like Chinese food?” she said, wincing as she snagged a rat.

“Let’s just say, this food has an unusual provenance.”

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“Another secret unveiled. Damn,” said Paul, pulling up in front of a storefront with a large parking lot in front of it. “Next thing, you’ll be finding out how many women I’ve loved and lost.”

“How many?”

“None,” he said, pausing and then adding, “so beautiful as you.”

“See Paul dodge,” said Nina, giving him a kiss. “But it’s okay. Your two ex-wives are persecution enough for me in the dark of night.”

The restaurant’s low, flat building had a fire-engine-red-lacquered sign, flanked by black tiles arching over pink walls trimmed with gold paint, the whole of which somehow created the impression of a grand Oriental pavilion.

“What’s this place?” asked Nina, climbing out of the van. “Looks like more than a restaurant.”

“It is. They rent rooms, too. Welcome to the Inn of Five Happinesses,” said Paul. He hurried ahead to pull the brass knob. The door opened, and the pleasant aromas of fresh food and spices wrapped around them.

Once seated, Nina ignored the menu. “I always have the same thing,” she said. “Cashew chicken.”

“Have something else if you want," said Paul. “No one’s forcing you.”

“No. I’m just telling you. I want cashew chicken.”

“Not in an experimental mood. Got you," said Paul, looking up with interest as a smooth-faced Asian man appeared silently beside him, notepad ready. “Okay. One cashew chicken. One vegetable chow mein. A dozen egg rolls. Steamed rice. Tea for two.”

The waiter dipped his head slightly and turned away.

“You must be awfully hungry," said Nina. “You plan to eat a dozen?”

“There’s always a doggy bag," said Paul.

“Hitchcock won’t eat that stuff.”