Trouble in a Big Box (A Kelly O'Connell Mystery) Read Online Free Page B

intake of breath must have been heard in the next block—or by the guy in the Mustang. I looked again but couldn’t make out much about the driver except a baseball gimme cap.
    “How long has it been there?”
    “Since I got to work at eight-thirty.”
    “You get the plate this time?”
    “Nope. But you’re going to when you leave out the back emergency door.”
    “Oh, okay.” Then I switched the topic. “How was breakfast with José?”
    “Dreamy. I may be takin ’ that man home to Mama. He’s just perfect, kind of quiet. Suits me, since I’m kind of noisy.”
    I laughed. I’d be delighted if Keisha found a young man—as long as she kept working for me. Somehow I still wasn’t taking this brown Mustang seriously. It just didn’t make sense that someone would follow me. Maybe they were following Keisha? Maybe it was José’s old girlfriend. After all I couldn’t tell gender from the glimpse I got. “Whoever it is will get tired of staring at us. We’re boring,” I said. I riffled through messages, asking Keisha to return a few phone calls—to which she replied in exaggerated tones, “Yes, ma’am, yes ma’am”—and left for the hospital by the back door. When I stopped at Magnolia to check the Mustang’s license plate, I saw only an empty parking place.
    José had been replaced by another officer I didn’t recognize, a young man with just a bit of fuzz on his upper lip where he was trying to grow a moustache.
    “You can’t go in there, ma’am.” He blocked the door.
    I moved to push him aside. “Of course I can. I’m his wife.”
    “No, ma’am. Doctor’s orders.”
    Doctor’s orders? Had something catastrophic happened to Mike? My stomach lurched, and my heart skipped a beat. “What’s happened?”
    “They’re getting him up to walk. They said absolutely no interruptions. I don’t care if the president came to give him a medal, I can’t let him in there. You neither.” The young man was a tad nervous about his job.
    “Okay, I’ll wait.” I began to pace the hall, back and forth in front of the door to Mike’s room.
    “Care to sit, ma’am?” he offered me his chair.
    “Thanks.” I seated myself but found I was still so restless that my right foot bounced in a crazy rhythm I didn’t understand and my fingers drummed on my purse. Finally, with an awkward smile at the young officer, I got up and started pacing again.
    It was hours—maybe twenty minutes—before the door opened and two women in scrubs came out, laughing of all things. “Told you so,” one said.
    “Well, I’m glad we were both in there,” replied the other.
    “Excuse me,” I’m sure my voice was harsh and rude. “That’s my husband. Can you tell me if he’s all right?”
    They looked a bit guilty, and one said gently, “He will be. He just fainted. Nothing serious.”
    Nothing serious! Mike Shandy never fainted in his life. Planting myself in front of the two, I demanded to know what happened.
    One of the women shrugged. “We’re PTs , and we came to get him on his feet. It happens all the time.”
    “What?” I demanded. “That people faint? Isn’t that a sign you shouldn’t get them up?”
    “No,” she said. “It’s a sign that he’s a macho man. We told him to wait for us to help him, but he insisted he could get up by himself. He did—and then he puked and fainted, in that order.”
    The second woman said, “An aide will be here in a minute to clean him up. You might want to save him more embarrassment and wait until she’s through. Besides, he’s having a rough day. They’ll set his arm this afternoon. Shouldn’t be too bad.”
    Shouldn’t be too bad—only because it was his arm and not hers they were going to set. But insisting on getting up by himself sounded like Mike Shandy , and I almost grinned in spite of myself. I went down the hall to a lounge area and began making some business calls.
    About fifteen minutes later, an aide came to tell me that Mike was ready to see