Read Online Deadly Dye and a Soy Chai: a Danger Cove Hair Salon Mystery (Danger Cove Mysteries Book 5) by Traci Andrighetti, Elizabeth Ashby - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Traci Andrighetti, Elizabeth Ashby
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stool to the examining table and pressed the fleshy areas around my knee.
I estimated that I had about two minutes before he realized that I wasn't injured, but I couldn't figure out how to bring up Bertha.
"No sign of swelling," he observed as he reached for a rubber hammer. "Let's test your reflexes."
He tapped my knee, and my foot kicked forward like a traitor.
Dr. Windom placed his hands on his thighs and pursed his lips. "I don't see any indication of a dislocation or a sprain. What were you doing when you reinjured it?"
This was my chance. "Well, as you may have read in the paper this morning, something awful happened at my salon last night. We found one of our clients, Margaret Appleby, unconscious, and I tweaked my knee trying to administer aid."
He nodded and looked down. "She was a longtime patient of mine. I just saw her a few weeks ago."
Now this was news. If Margaret was seeing an orthopedist, maybe she had been ill. But I had to find out whether it was terminal. "The whole thing was such a shock," I said. "I mean, she seemed to be in excellent health for a woman her age."
"It is a shame." He checked a box on my diagnosis form. "I'd expected her to make it to a hundred."
Bingo. If Dr. Windom thought she was good for another twenty years, then I could probably rule out an illness-related suicide.
"Speaking of health," he began, looking at me over his bifocals, "I think you're just experiencing some normal aches and pains. But if you'd like, I could have one of my technicians x-ray your ACL."
I wasn't sure whether my insurance would cover the full cost of an X-ray, but I needed to buy more time. "That would be great."
"Fine. Just give me a minute to write up the order."
While he filled out the paperwork, I looked at the pale-blue of my gown and thought of Margaret. "You know, I'm kind of surprised that Margaret was a patient here."
"Oh? Why's that?" he asked without looking up from the forms.
"Well, I heard that Bertha Braun used to work for you and that Margaret and Bertha were in a pretty nasty feud."
"Is that right," he said in a distracted tone.
"Yeah. Apparently, Bertha threatened her." I paused for effect. "More than once."
He put his pen down and removed his glasses. "If I didn't know better, young lady, I'd say you were trying to pump me for information."
I was so embarrassed that I stopped breathing.
Dr. Windom rose to his feet and tucked his glasses inside the pocket of his lab coat. "You'll have to go back into the waiting room, so you'll need to change into your street clothes. A nurse will call you for the X-ray."
"Thanks," I said, still half holding my breath.
He stared at me for a moment and then left the room.
I let out a long exhale. If he'd waited any longer, I would have turned as blue as Margaret. Well, not that blue. But clearly, I wasn't going to get any more information from Dr. Windom. I just hoped that the X-ray tech would be more forthcoming.
I hopped from the examining table and pulled on my clothes. When I returned to the lobby, I froze. There was only one available seat, and it was right next to that gossip Donna Bocca. I grabbed a magazine and held it up as though I were reading it as I sat down.
"Look who's trying not to show her face around town," Donna needled. "Tell me—are you here because you hurt yourself watching Zac Taylor manhandle those sex statues? Or did it happen when you doused Margaret Appleby with a fatal dose of hair dye?"
I kept my gaze glued to the magazine and said nothing.
"Just can't tear yourself away from Orthopedics Today , can you?"
I dropped the magazine and turned to face her. I wanted to dislike Donna, but I couldn't. She reminded me of a cross between Pumbaa from The Lion King and my Italian great-aunts on my father's side—a wide nose, a stubby body, and a mustache. "For your information, I never touched Margaret."
"Then it had to be one of your hairdressers. Which one was it? That flighty O'Connell girl? Or that crazy
I estimated that I had about two minutes before he realized that I wasn't injured, but I couldn't figure out how to bring up Bertha.
"No sign of swelling," he observed as he reached for a rubber hammer. "Let's test your reflexes."
He tapped my knee, and my foot kicked forward like a traitor.
Dr. Windom placed his hands on his thighs and pursed his lips. "I don't see any indication of a dislocation or a sprain. What were you doing when you reinjured it?"
This was my chance. "Well, as you may have read in the paper this morning, something awful happened at my salon last night. We found one of our clients, Margaret Appleby, unconscious, and I tweaked my knee trying to administer aid."
He nodded and looked down. "She was a longtime patient of mine. I just saw her a few weeks ago."
Now this was news. If Margaret was seeing an orthopedist, maybe she had been ill. But I had to find out whether it was terminal. "The whole thing was such a shock," I said. "I mean, she seemed to be in excellent health for a woman her age."
"It is a shame." He checked a box on my diagnosis form. "I'd expected her to make it to a hundred."
Bingo. If Dr. Windom thought she was good for another twenty years, then I could probably rule out an illness-related suicide.
"Speaking of health," he began, looking at me over his bifocals, "I think you're just experiencing some normal aches and pains. But if you'd like, I could have one of my technicians x-ray your ACL."
I wasn't sure whether my insurance would cover the full cost of an X-ray, but I needed to buy more time. "That would be great."
"Fine. Just give me a minute to write up the order."
While he filled out the paperwork, I looked at the pale-blue of my gown and thought of Margaret. "You know, I'm kind of surprised that Margaret was a patient here."
"Oh? Why's that?" he asked without looking up from the forms.
"Well, I heard that Bertha Braun used to work for you and that Margaret and Bertha were in a pretty nasty feud."
"Is that right," he said in a distracted tone.
"Yeah. Apparently, Bertha threatened her." I paused for effect. "More than once."
He put his pen down and removed his glasses. "If I didn't know better, young lady, I'd say you were trying to pump me for information."
I was so embarrassed that I stopped breathing.
Dr. Windom rose to his feet and tucked his glasses inside the pocket of his lab coat. "You'll have to go back into the waiting room, so you'll need to change into your street clothes. A nurse will call you for the X-ray."
"Thanks," I said, still half holding my breath.
He stared at me for a moment and then left the room.
I let out a long exhale. If he'd waited any longer, I would have turned as blue as Margaret. Well, not that blue. But clearly, I wasn't going to get any more information from Dr. Windom. I just hoped that the X-ray tech would be more forthcoming.
I hopped from the examining table and pulled on my clothes. When I returned to the lobby, I froze. There was only one available seat, and it was right next to that gossip Donna Bocca. I grabbed a magazine and held it up as though I were reading it as I sat down.
"Look who's trying not to show her face around town," Donna needled. "Tell me—are you here because you hurt yourself watching Zac Taylor manhandle those sex statues? Or did it happen when you doused Margaret Appleby with a fatal dose of hair dye?"
I kept my gaze glued to the magazine and said nothing.
"Just can't tear yourself away from Orthopedics Today , can you?"
I dropped the magazine and turned to face her. I wanted to dislike Donna, but I couldn't. She reminded me of a cross between Pumbaa from The Lion King and my Italian great-aunts on my father's side—a wide nose, a stubby body, and a mustache. "For your information, I never touched Margaret."
"Then it had to be one of your hairdressers. Which one was it? That flighty O'Connell girl? Or that crazy
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