Free Royal Pains : Sick Rich (9781101559536) by D. P. Lyle

balance.
    Dieter parked next to the HankMed van and Boris climbed from the backseat.
    â€œHow is your patient doing?” he asked me.
    It never failed to amaze me how Boris seemed to know things. Like he had a fly on every wall in the Hamptons. Who knows, maybe he did.
    â€œYou heard about that,” I said, more a statement than a question.
    He shrugged.
    â€œHe’s in surgery, so we’ll see.”
    He turned to Jill. “And you, Miss Casey? I imagine you’re quite busy with your health fair preparations, no?”
    â€œThere’s a lot to do.”
    â€œAnd your fund-raising? Has it gone well?”
    â€œVery. We’re ahead of our goal.”
    â€œExcellent.” He hesitated for a beat. “Perhaps I could help? If it isn’t too late.”
    â€œIt’s never too late for donations.” She stopped suddenly, eyes wide. “I’m sorry. I assumed that’s what you meant?”
    Boris gave a curt nod. “That’s exactly what I meant. I’ll have Dieter bring a check around.”
    â€œThat’s very kind of you.”
    â€œAnonymous, no?”
    â€œYou can count on it.”
    â€œI do.” He nodded toward the bottle of wine. “And perhaps a second bottle of wine.”
    â€œThat’s not necessary,” I said.
    He casually waved a hand. “Something that will go with the excellent meal Evan is preparing.”
    Boris nodded again, turned, and walked toward the front door. Dieter gave a half bow and followed.
    I watched them go while wondering how Boris could know what Evan was making. If he did, that is. But if he didn’t, how would he know which wine to select?
    Boris the enigma.
    Even I didn’t know what Evan had planned. I wasn’t sure Evan did. I think more often than not he simply opened the fridge and threw together whatever was in there. Usually not much. But somehow he always seemed to make it work.
    My brother the chef.
    â€œWhat was that all about?” Jill asked.
    â€œI guess he wants us to have an expensive wine with our dinner.”
    â€œNot that. I was talking about his offer to donate money to the health fair.”
    â€œIt’s just Boris being Boris,” I said. “You know he’s always giving money in situations like this.”
    â€œI know. But I didn’t ask him for money.”
    â€œMaybe Evan did.”
    â€œMaybe. Anyway it’s very generous of him to offer.”
    â€œLike I said, Boris being Boris.”
    â€œHave you talked to Boris recently?” I asked Evan as I walked into the kitchen.
    Evan stood at the stove, spoon in his hand, wearing a dark green apron that said KISS THE COOK in white lettering.
    â€œNo. Why?”
    â€œHe just offered Jill a donation for the fair and I thought maybe you had talked with him about it.”
    â€œNope.”
    â€œSo how did he know we were gathering donations?” Jill asked.
    â€œBecause Boris knows everything,” Evan said.
    I shrugged. “It does seem that way.”
    â€œHe’d make a good spy,” Evan said. “Like me.”
    I let the editorial comment slide and said, “Maybe Boris is a spy.”
    Evan stopped and stared at me. “You think so? That would be so cool.” He looked at Divya. “Make a note to ask him.”
    â€œI think not,” Divya said.
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œBecause what Boris is or isn’t is none of your concern.”
    â€œBut us spies have to stick together.”
    My brother’s delusions know no bounds. I started to point that out but instead said, “I think most real spies don’t advertise the fact that they’re spies.”
    â€œUnlike you,” Divya said to Evan.
    Evan shook his head but somehow managed to stifle any retort.
    Jill placed the wine on the table. “What are you making? It smells delicious.”
    Evan ran through the menu.
    While Divya and I were seeing our follow-ups, Evan had finally