Strange Medicine (Dr. Maxwell Thornton Murder Mysteries #1)(9)

“What?” he screeched, his eyes wide. “How would I come into contact with that?”

I shrugged and pushed my glasses up on my head. “I don’t know. Have you been hiking?”

He scowled. “No.”

“Well, I’m positive.” I went to my cabinets and pulled a tube of ointment out. “Using that cream your friend gave you made it worse. Itch Relief has diphenhydramine in it. That’s a topical antihistamine, and it will irritate poison ivy.” I held up the tube of cream I’d retrieved from my cupboard. “This will soothe it.”

“I can’t believe it. I used something that made it worse?”

“Yep.” I felt a little guilty I hadn’t bothered to look at his rash the other day. But I’d been so overwhelmed, I’d dropped the ball. “Use this and the rash should clear up. Be sure and wash any clothes you’ve worn since the rash appeared. That includes your bedding.”

“Holy shit.” He groaned.

“You should be feeling better very soon.” I moved back to my desk. “Maybe try to figure out where you could have been that you picked it up in the first place.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I’ll be sure and do that.” He stood. “Hey, since I have your ear…”

My stomach sank.

“Do you have life insurance?”

I laughed uneasily. “What?”

“I sell insurance part-time. I was wondering if you have life insurance?”

“Uhhh.”

“Or home insurance.” He looked around the room. “I know you don’t own this house, but you should still have renters insurance. Especially since you have expensive equipment in here.” He eyed the ultrasound machine in the corner. “Maybe I can hook you up with both life insurance and renters insurance.”

I grimaced. “I have both already.”

“Yeah, but we’re neighbors. You could throw me a bone.”

Heat crept up my neck. I hated being put on the spot like this. “Maybe when the policies are up for renewal, we can talk.” Ned didn’t strike me as the brightest bulb, and I wasn’t sure I wanted him handling my insurance needs. Neighbor or no neighbor.

“Oh, okay.” He snapped his fingers. “Do you have a car?”

“No.”

His mouth drooped. “Darn.”

“Sorry.” I moved to the door, trying to give a hint that it was time to leave.

He followed. “I also sell Sunbeam organic cleaning products. If you buy ten cases, you can qualify to sell the stuff wholesale.” He raised his brows. “Think about that. You could get all your cleaning supplies wholesale by selling to yourself.”

I clenched my jaw. “I have my hands full being the only doctor in town,” I said pointedly.

“Right.” He didn’t move.

“Speaking of which… I have a lot of other patients to see today.”

“Oh, sure. Sorry.”

He left the room, and I let out a tense breath and wiped down the chair he’d sat in and the knob he’d touched. The last thing I needed was to get poison ivy myself. The rest of the day continued with a parade of hypochondriacs, looky-loos, and actual sick people. The town only had a little over a thousand people in it, but I got the feeling they had all made appointments for my first day in business.

I worked until eight o’clock, trying to make my first day count. As I said good night to my last patient, Girdy slumped on her desk and let out a groan.

“Holy moly. That was intense.” She pushed the hair off her face and laughed.

I was so tired, I sat in one of the chairs across from her. Usually I would have retreated to my office, but she didn’t annoy me as much as most people. “I think only 15 percent of them were actually sick.”

“I guess everybody wanted to see you.”

I scowled. “I don’t understand this town’s fascination with me.”

“Everybody wants to see for themselves.”

“See what?”

“What you’re like.”

I sighed. “I’m just a regular person.”

She chuckled. “As soon as they realize that, they’ll leave you alone.”

“Please tell me tomorrow isn’t quite this booked.”

She scanned her computer screen. “Pretty much.”

“God,” I moaned, rubbing my eyes.

“Do you want me to make you some dinner?” She stood and closed her laptop.

“No. I’m more than capable.” I got to my feet and walked toward my office, peeling off my white coat.

“I don’t mind,” she called after me. “I make a pretty mean spaghetti.”

I laughed weakly. “I don’t have any real food in the house.”

She grimaced. “But you carried in a bunch of bags the other day.”

“I bought coffee, canned soup, beer, and half-and-half.” I sighed and leaned on the doorjamb. “Oh, and toilet paper.”

“That’s so depressing.” She approached. “Don’t you ever eat real, home-cooked meals?”

“I like canned soup. It’s quick and hearty.”

She snorted. “You sound like a commercial.”

I shrugged.