Read Online The False-Hearted Teddy by John J. Lamb - Free Book Online
Authors: John J. Lamb
Tags: Mystery
Ads: Link
corner and nodded. Then, he seemed to suddenly realize who I was and shook his hand free as his face contorted with rage. “You didn’t know what you were doing. If my wife dies, I’m going to sue you for every penny you own.”
I was about to tell him what part of my anatomy he could kiss when Ash pushed past me, her eyes incandes-cent with wrath. “You’re a real piece of manhood, Tony.
Your wife could be dying and you’re standing here trying to figure out a way to make some money from it? You have exactly five seconds to shut your cake-hole and get the hell out of this room before I do a clog dance on your skull. Now, git!”
Tony was about to deliver a spiteful reply when he saw something in Ash’s gaze that obviously caused him to conclude that discretion was indeed the better part of valor.
He turned and scuttled through the door. Meanwhile, the room was in an uproar and the old lady was at the podium frantically shouting into the microphone that everyone should calm down, but all she accomplished was adding one more amplified voice to the tumult.
Ash leaned close and whispered in a troubled voice,
“This is going to sound crazy, but I think Jennifer was . . .
oh, I don’t know. Never mind.”
“Does this have something to do with that face you made when you gave her the rescue breaths?”
Ash nodded. “I smelled the fumes of something coming out of her lungs and it definitely wasn’t medication.
Mama has asthma and I know what the inhaler stuff smells like.”
“So, what did it smell like?”
“I don’t know. It had a kind of weird chemical aroma . . . like solvent or something.”
52
John J. Lamb
“So what you started to say was, that you think Jennifer may have been poisoned.”
“Do I sound completely fifty-one fifty?” Ash asked, using the California cop slang she’d picked up from me over the years to describe someone crazy enough to be committed to a mental institution.
“No, and just to make certain, I think we’d better find the inhaler.”
We looked on the floor around the VIP table but couldn’t find the cylinder. Then, speculating that someone might have kicked the inhaler, we expanded our search area but still met with negative results. The inhaler was gone.
I went up to the podium and asked the old lady to give me a shot at restoring order. She gestured helplessly at the microphone as if to say, “It’s all yours.” It’s a paradox, but one of the ways to settle down a noisy crowd is to begin speaking in a low but authoritative tone, which is what I did. After only a few seconds, people began to quiet in order to hear what I had to say and once the room was silent, I said, “Folks, there’s been a medical emergency and we need to help the paramedics. We can’t find Jennifer’s inhaler and they’re going to need it at the hospital to figure out how best to treat her. Did anyone pick it up?”
I heard some scattered “no’s” and saw people shaking their heads. From the back I heard a woman ask, “Is Jennifer going to be all right?”
“We don’t know,” I replied, which was crowding the truth a bit. The fact was that unless they had some sort of miraculous “Lazarus-come-forth” quality treatment at Mercy Medical Center, Jennifer was going to be DOA.
However, no good could come from telling the crowd that and we needed to find a vital piece of potential evidence.
I continued, “That’s why this is so important. Did anyone see someone pick up the inhaler?”
Again, no one knew anything. I handed the microphone The False-Hearted Teddy
53
to the old lady and said, “Thanks. You can take it from here.”
The organizer told everyone to resume their seats so that breakfast could be served and many of the artisans complied. After all, as far as they knew, Jennifer had simply succumbed to a particularly violent asthma attack.
However, Ash and I strongly suspected otherwise.
I noticed the security guard standing near the door and waved him over.
I was about to tell him what part of my anatomy he could kiss when Ash pushed past me, her eyes incandes-cent with wrath. “You’re a real piece of manhood, Tony.
Your wife could be dying and you’re standing here trying to figure out a way to make some money from it? You have exactly five seconds to shut your cake-hole and get the hell out of this room before I do a clog dance on your skull. Now, git!”
Tony was about to deliver a spiteful reply when he saw something in Ash’s gaze that obviously caused him to conclude that discretion was indeed the better part of valor.
He turned and scuttled through the door. Meanwhile, the room was in an uproar and the old lady was at the podium frantically shouting into the microphone that everyone should calm down, but all she accomplished was adding one more amplified voice to the tumult.
Ash leaned close and whispered in a troubled voice,
“This is going to sound crazy, but I think Jennifer was . . .
oh, I don’t know. Never mind.”
“Does this have something to do with that face you made when you gave her the rescue breaths?”
Ash nodded. “I smelled the fumes of something coming out of her lungs and it definitely wasn’t medication.
Mama has asthma and I know what the inhaler stuff smells like.”
“So, what did it smell like?”
“I don’t know. It had a kind of weird chemical aroma . . . like solvent or something.”
52
John J. Lamb
“So what you started to say was, that you think Jennifer may have been poisoned.”
“Do I sound completely fifty-one fifty?” Ash asked, using the California cop slang she’d picked up from me over the years to describe someone crazy enough to be committed to a mental institution.
“No, and just to make certain, I think we’d better find the inhaler.”
We looked on the floor around the VIP table but couldn’t find the cylinder. Then, speculating that someone might have kicked the inhaler, we expanded our search area but still met with negative results. The inhaler was gone.
I went up to the podium and asked the old lady to give me a shot at restoring order. She gestured helplessly at the microphone as if to say, “It’s all yours.” It’s a paradox, but one of the ways to settle down a noisy crowd is to begin speaking in a low but authoritative tone, which is what I did. After only a few seconds, people began to quiet in order to hear what I had to say and once the room was silent, I said, “Folks, there’s been a medical emergency and we need to help the paramedics. We can’t find Jennifer’s inhaler and they’re going to need it at the hospital to figure out how best to treat her. Did anyone pick it up?”
I heard some scattered “no’s” and saw people shaking their heads. From the back I heard a woman ask, “Is Jennifer going to be all right?”
“We don’t know,” I replied, which was crowding the truth a bit. The fact was that unless they had some sort of miraculous “Lazarus-come-forth” quality treatment at Mercy Medical Center, Jennifer was going to be DOA.
However, no good could come from telling the crowd that and we needed to find a vital piece of potential evidence.
I continued, “That’s why this is so important. Did anyone see someone pick up the inhaler?”
Again, no one knew anything. I handed the microphone The False-Hearted Teddy
53
to the old lady and said, “Thanks. You can take it from here.”
The organizer told everyone to resume their seats so that breakfast could be served and many of the artisans complied. After all, as far as they knew, Jennifer had simply succumbed to a particularly violent asthma attack.
However, Ash and I strongly suspected otherwise.
I noticed the security guard standing near the door and waved him over.
Similar Books
