Sleight of Hand by Robin Hathaway Read Free Book Online

arrest,” I said, lying.
    â€œAnybody I know?”
    â€œNo. An out-of-towner. But he’s going to be okay,” I said. “Gotta run. Tell Maggie I’m sorry.” I ran up the steps to my room.
    As I passed the massive mirror over my bureau (the only motel furnishing I hadn’t replaced), I was shocked by my appearance. The operation had taken more out of me than I’d realized. And the
encounter with Paul had reminded me that I was still locked in my glass box, separated from my friends by this transparent but impenetrable barrier created by the secret I had to keep. Max’s threats still hung over me, and I couldn’t trust him completely until I knew he had nothing to do with that body down the road.
    Brrring.
    Phone.
    Let it ring. But it might be a patient. It might be Max. I picked up.
    â€œHey!” Tom.
    â€œHey.”
    â€œFree tonight?”
    â€œSorry. I’m beat. It’s been a rough day.” I repeated the out-of-towner story.
    â€œHow about tomorrow? We have to make up that archery lesson.”
    â€œOh, right. Tomorrow would be good.” I had to keep up some appearance of normalcy during the next two weeks. I couldn’t hold Max’s hand the whole time. (Poor choice of words!)
    â€œWhat time?”
    â€œUh … around three o’clock?”
    â€œGreat. At my place. See you then.”
    I hung up and casually tucked my newly acquired revolver into my underwear drawer.

CHAPTER 12
    When I pulled up to the farmhouse that evening, the house was dark except for one square of light near the side door—the parlor window. Lolly drew me into the dim hallway. “Daddy’s upset,” she whispered.
    â€œWhat’s the matter?” I hurried into the parlor, visualizing my patient tossing and turning with a raging fever, his hand swollen to twice its size.
    He was lying pale and still on the sofa, eyes closed.
    My god, is he dead? I wondered.
    I grabbed his good wrist and felt for a pulse. It was normal. His eyelids flew open. His startled expression was replaced by relief before his sullen mask fell into place. “What’s the matter?” His tone was surly.
    â€œThat’s what I want to know. Lolly told me you were upset.”
    He cast his daughter a grim look.
    â€œYou were upset, Daddy,” she said.
    â€œI just remembered I have a job due tomorrow,” he said. “Three hundred programs for a school play.”
    â€œOne color?”
    â€œYeah. Black on orange. An autumn theme. But how am I going
to do it?” He glared at his bandaged hand. “I can farm the rest of the jobs out, but there’s no time—”
    â€œI’ll take care of it.”
    He stared.
    â€œMy father’s a printer, remember? I worked with him. I can run a one-color job on a Multi blindfolded.”
    â€œI wouldn’t try that.”
    Was there a glimmer of humor? Probably my imagination. “Sit up,” I ordered. “I have to take off the sling and check your dressing.”
    A trace of blood had oozed through the gauze, but nothing to worry about. I touched his bound fingers gently. “Does that hurt?”
    He shook his head. If there had been any inflammation, his fingers would have been tender and he would have flinched. So far, so good. I readjusted his arm in the sling.
    â€œAre you having much pain?”
    â€œNo.”
    It was hard to tell if he was being macho or telling the truth. Men! “Did you have anything to eat?”
    â€œHe said he wasn’t hungry,” Lolly broke in.
    â€œI think you should sleep in your own bed tonight,” I said. “Not on this thing.” I cast a disparaging glance at the stiff Victorian sofa. “It’s important that you get plenty of rest.”
    â€œOkay.”
    My god, he was docile. What had happened? “And if you want to wash, cover your hand and arm up to the elbow with something waterproof—like a plastic bag, The