Coma Girl: part 3 (Kindle Single) by Stephanie Bond Read Free Book Online Page A

embarrassed or ashamed. Is it your boss, Mr. Palmer? If it is, that’s gonna be one hairy baby.”
    Really, Roberta?
    “Is it someone you met online for a hookup? I think not, since you and I both watched the YouTube video about what you can catch from one unprotected date-site wiener—ugh. Herpes? MRSA? Zika?”
    Right. A girl might as well ride the door handle of a porta-john.
    “Is he married?”
    No, but you’re getting warmer.
    Suddenly she snapped her fingers. “It’s hat guy! I found that hat in the living room a week or so before your accident and you said you didn’t know whose it was. You little liar. You lie like the carpet you sell, Marigold Kemp.”
    She was right. I lied.
    “What was on that hat? Some NBA team logo. The Houston Rockets?”
    The San Antonio Spurs.
    “Golden State Warriors?”
    The San Antonio Spurs.
    “New York Knicks?’
    The San Antonio Spurs.
    “Well, anyway, it’s still hanging on the rack in the entryway. I bet if I can find a guy to claim the hat, he’s the one.”
    A big if.
    “I’m gonna get a cute detective outfit and get right on that case. Roberta Hazzard, P.I.—how does that sound?”
    Pretty good, actually.
    “And every detective needs a prop—Colombo had his cigar, and Kojak had his lollipop. Mine will be a bear claw. Grrrr . Okay, I gotta run.”
    Her footsteps headed toward the door, then she stopped.
    “By the way, remember that cute reporter I told you about? He contacted me again, wants to have lunch, said he would pay me a co-writing fee for a story about our friendship, said it might even lead to a book deal—imagine that. I told him I don’t think so. But it sure sounds exciting. Later, Coma Girl.”
    A story about our friendship? More likely, he wants the inside scoop on the father of my child. Which makes me wonder if this reporter is the driving force behind Roberta’s ‘detective’ work?
     
     

September 18, Sunday
     
     
    “WELL, WELL, WELL,” Jack Terry said when he strolled in. “Marigold, you know how to keep a secret.”
    Inside I was squirming a little. I’m not sure why this man’s opinion of me mattered. If not for the accident, our lives wouldn’t have intersected. I didn’t mind what the world at large thought of me, but I didn’t want the detective to think ill of me, to think I was just another careless young woman who’d gotten liquored-up and slept with the first guy who crawled into her bed.
    Well… okay, so the liquored-up part is true… and Duncan is the first guy who’d crawled into my bed. But… but… but…
    Never mind. I have no moral ground to stand on.
    “So that’s why your sister wanted to go through your phone—your family doesn’t know who the father is. Your family doesn’t know much about your life, do they?”
    It doesn’t take a detective to figure that out, Detective.
    “I’ve never seen so many balloons and flowers… is one of them from the father?” He gave a little laugh. “This one is from Elton John, so I’m going to say no. I heard your sister made the announcement on a national show, so I guess this is what she wanted to happen.”
    He made a rueful noise.
    “I got a call from the A.D.A.—she feels a little blindsided. But maybe that was part of the plan, too? You at least got her attention.”
    It’s Sidney’s plan… and it sounds as if it’s working.
    “I brought you a bandana.”
    Really?
    “It has little teddy bears on it,” he said, sounding sheepish. “I’m not good at this stuff, but I thought it was cute. I’ll tie it on the bedrail next to the rosary. You don’t have to wear it, or even keep it. I’m sure you have nicer stuff.”
    But not from a nicer guy.
    Since Friday I’ve been thinking about Duncan nonstop. Sidney said the ratings for the show were through the roof, and the segment has been viewed online almost ten million times. I have a new hashtag, ComaGirlBaby, and my story is on the top fold of every national newspaper, next to election coverage.