Claire DeWitt and the Bohemian Highway by Sara Gran Read Free Book Online Page A

from her neck of the woods. I suspected Nick still loved her. The kid was ten now and whenever his mom wasn’t looking he hopped on the bus from Nob Hill to Chinatown. I was rooting for him.
    Mei wore a pretty black dress and a little too much makeup and black clog-ish shoes like waitresses wear. She stood behind the counter with her chin in her hand. She never seemed like she was working but I’d heard she was a genius.
    “Hey, Claire,” she said. She was born here and spoke English better than Chinese. “Nick wants to see you.”
    “So I heard,” I said.
    “Sorry to hear about your friend,” she said. “Anything we can do?”
    “Nah,” I said. “Thanks. How you been?”
    “Good,” she said. “Slow day.”
    “Nick gonna be a while?” I asked.
    “A bit,” she said. “He’s in with Henry.”
    That was the kid.
    “Do me a favor,” I said.
    “Yeah?” she said.
    “Gimme that can of oil under the register.”
    Mei smiled and found the can of oil and gave it to me. The door squeaked like hell, and I bet so did the big paper cutter they used to wrap up their packets of herbs. I tested it and I was right. God forbid a Chang get his hands dirty. I was like their Schneider. I oiled the paper cutter and then got up on a chair to get the door hinges. They needed a whole new entryway with better security, but that wouldn’t happen unless I did it for them. I figured some Saturday I could re-hang the door, at least.
    Mei went to the back and called out to the senior Chang in Chinese, “Claire’s here, she fixed your door. Come say thank you.”
    The old man came out smiling. He shuffled his feet and walked about one step per hour. He was older than old. I’d never seen anyone smile as much as him.
    “Claire DeWitt,” he said in Chinese. “Always a pleasure. I had a dream about Constance last night.”
    “What’d she say?” I asked. My heart strained a little: I was hoping for a secret message, a little affection, maybe the solution to the Case of the Kali Yuga.
    “Poppies!” he said. “I’m helping Mei treat a woman with tuberculosis. Constance said to try poppies.”
    He laughed some more, but then he stopped and looked at me. Really looked, the way only a Chinese doctor does.
    “What happened?” he said. He wasn’t smiling now.
    I looked away. “Someone died,” I said. “But I’m fine.”
    He shook his head and gave me that look you get from people who feel sorry for you.
    Nick came out with his little boy next to him.
    “Hey,” I said to Nick. “Hey, kid.”
    Nick smiled. “Say hi to Claire,” he said to the boy. But the boy was shy and squirmed, turning his head toward his dad. Everyone laughed.
    Mei volunteered to drive the kid home and Nick took me into his exam room. I sat up on an exam table and he started taking my pulses.
    “Who died?” he asked.
    “This guy,” I said. I didn’t want to talk about it anymore. Nick got it and dropped the topic.
    “Your liver is still overheated,” he said. “Are you taking your herbs?”
    “No,” I said. “They taste bad. And they make me feel weird.”
    “Right,” he said. “Because you hate feeling weird. Look up.”
    I rolled my eyes up and he looked at them. When he was done he looked at my tongue.
    “What’s up?” he said. “Your lungs are overheated and toxic. Your liver is bad as always. And your heart is weak.”
    “Nothing’s up,” I said. “I’ll start taking the herbs.”
    He looked at me again. “You really don’t want to talk about it?” he said.
    “There’s nothing to talk about,” I said. “This guy died. It’s a new case.”
    Nick raised an eyebrow.
    “When you want to talk about it,” he said, “I’m around.”
    He wrote me a new prescription for herbs, which a different intern filled at the counter, leaves and twigs and seashells I was supposed to boil in a tea. If I were smart I would have married Nick. We had a little thing after Carrie. Would have given up detective work and been an