Free Double Black Diamond (Mercy Watts Mysteries) by A.W. Hartoin

ankle. Even close up, it appeared to be fine.  
    “Do you think it’s broken?” asked Nancy, wringing her hands.  
    Hysterical mothers are a day-to-day occurrence in Pediatrics, but I’d never seen one like Nancy. You’d have thought Pete had been in a head-on collision.  
    “Well,” I said, “it looks good—”
    Pete’s eyes got big and he shook his head.  
    “What?” said Nancy, sharply.  
    “Good and…sore,” I said. “He’ll have to keep it elevated and rest.”
    “Are you sure it’s not broken?”
    “I don’t think so.”  
    Calvin dropped onto the sofa and picked up the remote. “I told you it’s not broken.”  
    “You never take anything seriously. Mercy works in the ER,” said Nancy.  
    “I’m a radiologist, for goodness sake,” said Calvin. “I think I know a broken bone when I see one.”  
    “Do you have an x-ray machine with you? I don’t think so.” Nancy stuck a thermometer in Pete’s mouth. “Would you like some dinner? I made your favorite. Tacos.”
    That’s tacos? It can’t be.
    But it was. Nancy’s secret recipe included half-cooked hamburger, which gave the tacos an unexpected rubberiness. “I think hamburger should be left a little al dente. Don’t you agree, Mercy?”  
    Al dente hamburger? Uh, no.  
    Then there was the sauce, ketchup with melted American cheese and anchovies. No, you didn’t read that wrong. Anchovies. I’ve had better tacos that gave me food poisoning. But the tacos were nothing compared to the alternative. Nancy, the wife of a successful radiologist and teacher of high school physics, was a frugal woman at heart. She had food from home in case someone wanted a sandwich instead. She’d packed deli meat and cheese in her suitcase. No ice. Just meat and cheese in a ziplock. Since we were at the airport for over four hours, in the air for two, and driving for another two, you can imagine the state of that food. The cheese slices had melted together in an odd surrealist way and the turkey had a strange tint to it. I was not having a sandwich. The weird fishy beef ketchup thing was better, if only because food poisoning from the ham would stop me from getting the oil from Rory in the morning.
    As it turned out, I need not have worried.  

    I was up before seven o’clock, not because I wanted to, but because Wallace woke at five and proceeded to scratch on my door until I broke down and let her in. Then she barked until I put her on the bed. She slept in her upside-down donut, stinking up the joint until I got up. Pete of the oh-so-injured ankle slept on the reclining chair in the living room so his ankle could be elevated. Nancy slept on the sofa. I use the term sleep loosely. I think she was watching her baby boy’s every breath.  
    When I tiptoed out she waved to me and held her finger to her lips. It was kind of sweet how she loved Pete. My mother would probably scoff and tell me I was fine. Mom wasn’t much of a babier. It took at least a hospitalization to get some sympathy out of her. Myrtle and Millicent were the ones who were big on sympathy, but even they didn’t watch me sleep.  
    I slipped into the bathroom, showered, and got ready all without Wallace scratching on the door. When I stepped out I found out why. Wallace was leashed up, wearing a new purple hoodie with snowflakes. At first I didn’t know what was wrong with her. She stood frozen with her snout pointed at the door with one front paw and one hind paw lifted up and sticking straight out from her pudgy body. I looked at Nancy, who was poised above Pete’s sleeping face with the thermometer.
    “Can you walk her for me, please?” she whispered.  
    Hell, no.
    “Sure.” I grabbed my ski coat and put on my pee boots. Wallace hadn’t moved. It was weird, but I liked the silence. I picked up her leash and went out. Wallace came out behind me, not with her usual scamper and bark, but silent with a bizarre march. Her legs were stiff and each step went out high,