Pushing Murder by Eleanor Boylan Read Free Book Online Page A

closet.”
    â€œNot till we know if you need it, Clara. Get back under the covers. I suppose you know you’re still a target till we find out what happened to Dan.”
    â€œI just know one thing: Dan’s grandparents were friends of mine, and if anything serious—”
    â€œClara, he’s a detective for heaven’s sake. You know this is all in a day’s work.”
    â€œI don’t care. He has a nice wife and a little boy Hen’s age.”
    â€œYou sound mawkish and unprofessional.”
    Kit came through the door followed by Disapproving Nurse pushing a wheelchair. Kit said, “Look what I found! Where’s your robe?”
    They helped me into it, and with D.N. on one side and Kit on the other, I emerged gingerly from the bed. D.N. said, “Put your weight on the good leg,” and I revolved and sank triumphantly into place.
    â€œOnward and upward,” said Sadd.
    â€œDownward, actually,” I said, “to Emergency.”
    â€œEmergency?” D.N. looked aghast.
    Why had I opened my mouth? “Well, a friend of mine is being treated there. I hoped I could—”
    â€œMrs. Gamadge, I’m sure the doctor only meant for you to take a turn up and down the hall.”
    â€œPerfectly right. Up and down the hall,” I said. She patted my shoulder and departed. “But she didn’t say which hall,” I added, and Kit began to laugh. Sadd said, “Jesuitical reasoning if ever I heard it.”
    â€œIs there an elevator somewhere out of sight?” I asked.
    â€œRight around the corner,” said Kit. She asked Sadd to push because she wanted her hands free.
    It was an odd feeling of emergence into the world again. My room had been a cocoon for what seemed ages, and the hall felt like another country. I gazed from left to right into rooms where poor, recumbent souls gazed back. We passed people pushing intravenous apparatus on casters and people hobbling on crutches; we stopped for a bed rolling out of a room bearing a white-faced, wide-eyed girl. I thought grimly that at least none of them had to fear an unguarded door, a threatening presence. Kit walked beside me, her vigilant, sweeping glance taking in everything.
    We turned at the end of the hall where a little corner waiting room boasted a Christmas tree. Two other occupants of wheelchairs and their visitors looked at us as we stopped before the elevator.
    Kit said, “We don’t get in here with anybody else. If somebody makes a run for it as the door starts to close, we get out.”
    No one did, and down we went. The door opened, and we emerged to confront Dan, a badly ripped parka over his shoulders, his right arm in a cast from palm to elbow, and evidence of a struggle on his face and in his hair.
    He looked astonished, then aghast. “Turn right around and get back in that elevator!”
    â€œNo, siree.” I grabbed his good hand. “I’m out of my cage, and I love it. Where can we go for a drink?”
    Dan laughed. “There’s a waiting room at the end of this hall. However, much as I could use a drink—”
    â€œThere’s a packie across the street,” said Sadd. “I’m getting to know this neighborhood.”
    â€œWhat’s a packie?” asked Kit, her eyes on the stream of passersby.
    Sadd sighed. “What children. Doesn’t anybody call liquor stores that anymore?”
    â€œLook!” Over the flow of moving heads I saw a sign with an arrow: TO CHAPEL . I pointed to it. “There lies salvation.”
    Sadd looked startled. “Drinks in the chapel?”
    â€œOf course not. In the library next to it that Janet told us about.”
    â€œI’ll make it wine,” said Sadd. “That will be more appropriate for chapel precincts.” He took off.
    Dan and Kit, who had not for a minute relaxed their vigilance, began to laugh. Dan said, “I wish Gramps and Mr. Gamadge were