Janet Evanovich - Notorious Nineteen

“Maybe later.”

The man was ninety if he was a day. Sparse white hair, splotchy skin showing several scars where cancer had been cut out, some drool escaping from the corner of his mouth.

“Excuse me,” I said to the drooler. “Your hand is on my leg.”

“What?”

“Your hand. It’s on my leg, and I’d like it removed.”

“Can’t hear you,” he said. “Got a hearing problem in that ear.”

I leaned in and caught the attention of the woman sitting on the man’s other side. “Are you with this guy?” I asked.

“I’m his wife,” she said.

“He has his hand on my leg.”

She reached for a roll. “Better you than me.”

I rapped the drooler on his hand with my spoon, and the hand was withdrawn.

“Problem solved,” I said to Ranger.

“Too bad,” he said. “I haven’t shot anyone all day. I was hoping for later.”

“Tell me about the cryptic messages.”

“A few words written on plain white paper and sent through the mail. Things like Your death won’t come easy , and I will grant you salvation through pain . The last message received was It will start soon .”

“That’s creepy. Have you reported this to the police?”

“Not yet. No real crime has been committed.”

The man next to me had his hand back on my leg.

“Itsy bitsy spider climbed up the waterspout,” he said, his fingers walking their way up to the waterspout.

“Your wish is going to come true,” I said to Ranger. “Shoot him.”

He stood and pulled my chair out. “Change seats with me.”

I took Ranger’s seat and looked around. Everything seemed normal enough. No obviously deranged Special Forces guerrilla guys lurking about. Waiters were serving the entrée and pouring wine. The meal consisted of a chunk of steak, mashed potatoes, green beans and carrots. Straight from the massive casino kitchen. In deference to the fact that the owner was in the room the chef had ordered up a sprig of parsley and an artistic swirl of gravy on each plate.

I had a few bites of steak and some green beans. I tasted the potatoes, but couldn’t get excited about them.

“Waiting for dessert?” Ranger asked.

“I had a ton of hors d’oeuvres. And the mashed potatoes taste funny.”

Ranger was watching Kinsey, who’d already cleaned his plate and was looking uncomfortable and flushed practically to purple.

“Does Kinsey have high blood pressure?” I asked. “He’s sweating, and his face is the color of the pinot noir.”

“Stay here,” Ranger said, scraping his chair back. “Keep your eye on the room.”

By the time Ranger reached him, Kinsey had slumped in his chair and his face was deathly white. Ranger got him to his feet and moved him through a side door and out of the room. No one paid attention. People were eating and talking. Amanda followed Ranger.

I kept watch for five minutes, and when Ranger didn’t return I went to the side door. Kinsey was on the floor in the hall, doubled over in a fetal position. Amanda was on her knees beside him. A man in a suit was also on his knees beside Kinsey.

“What’s wrong?” I asked Ranger.

“Stomach cramps and nausea.”

I didn’t feel all that great either, but I wasn’t sick enough to curl up on the floor. I walked a short distance and found a chair. I was light-headed and sweating, and I was working hard at convincing myself I wasn’t going to throw up. I realized I was losing the no throwing up argument, managed to find the ladies’ room in time, and sent a bunch of Swedish meatballs and cocktail wieners into the casino sewage system. Ten minutes later I was back in the hall, and paramedics were strapping Kinsey onto a gurney.

“How’s he doing?” I asked Ranger.

“They’re taking him to the hospital to run some tests. The house doctor thinks it might be appendicitis.” He slid an arm around me. “You’re almost as white as Kinsey.”

“I need air. I took one look at Kinsey on the carpet and got sick.”

Ranger got me as far as the parking garage, and I threw up again.

“Jeez,” I said. “I’m really sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Let’s get you into the car, and we’ll follow Kinsey to the hospital and get you checked out.”

“I don’t want to go to the hospital.”

“Babe, you’re green.”

“Yeah, maybe I shouldn’t have eaten all those cocktail wieners.”

Ranger stopped and stood hands on hips when he got to the Porsche. A circle with what looked like a double cross sliced by a line had been spray-painted onto the driver’s side door. Just below it was a skull and crossbones.

“What is that?” I asked.

“It’s the insignia from my unit. And it’s the sign for poison. It’s a message.”

I had my arms wrapped across my stomach and I was doubled over. “Oh boy,” I said. “This isn’t good.”

Ranger coaxed me into the car. “Stomach pains?”

“Yeah. Is appendicitis catching?”

“No. You haven’t got appendicitis. We changed seats, and you got the plate that was intended for me. If I’m reading the message correctly, you and Kinsey were poisoned.”

Something halfway between a sob and a groan escaped from my mouth. “I don’t want to be poisoned. Am I going to die?”

“Not on my watch,” Ranger said. “Hang on. I’m taking you to the medical center.”

He chirped his tires and flew out of the garage and onto the street. He drove two blocks, and I clapped my hand over my mouth. “Pull over! I’m going to be sick. I’m going to be sick! ”

“You’re going to have to be sick in the car. I’m not stopping.”

I had lots of junk in my car. Fast food bags and cookie boxes. Ranger had nothing. Ranger’s car was pristine. Ranger had nothing to contain the last remnants of meatball that were about to leave my stomach. So I did what any woman would do in an emergency. I threw up in my evening purse, all over Ranger’s gun.

“Good catch,” Ranger said. And he put his foot to the floor.

They were off-loading Kinsey when Ranger pulled into the ER drive-through. Amanda and her father were standing to the side. Ranger helped me out of the car, I put my hand on the rear quarter panel to steady myself and retched. Nothing left in my stomach to come up.

Ranger eased me into a wheelchair and corralled Amanda’s father.

“I think Kinsey and Stephanie might have been poisoned,” Ranger said. “Have the medical people work on that assumption. I’m going back to the casino to see if I can find the source.”

Ranger kissed me on the forehead. “Don’t let them remove your appendix.”

My stomach was sore but not cramping, and I was weak but no longer nauseous. I went through the routine of talking to nurses, an intern, and finally a resident. I had my blood pressure checked, and a blood test taken. I accepted an icky drink to settle my stomach, but I refused more invasive tests. I was feeling better as time went on. Amanda came to check on me at regular intervals and to report on Kinsey.

An ER’s waiting room isn’t wonderful at the best of times, and this wasn’t the best of anything. In the short time I was there I watched a gunshot victim roll through, a guy get wheeled in with a broken leg and a bloody foot wrapped in a T-shirt, and a very old woman complaining of chest pains being brought in by an equally old man. I was overjoyed when Ranger finally walked through the door.

“You’re looking better,” he said, standing in front of me.

“I’m feeling better.”

“And Kinsey?”

“He seems to be okay, but they’re keeping him overnight as a precaution. What did you find?”

“I spoke to the waiter who served you and Kinsey. The plated meals come up from the kitchen on large three-tier rolling carts. Special diet and allergy plates are marked with a name and a seat number. Kinsey and I had plates with an allergy marker.”