You Owe Me a Murder(63)

“Is he going to be okay?” I croaked.

“Do you know what he’s allergic to?”

“Shellfish,” I said.

“How about latex?” I shook my head. “Any medications?”

“No. I mean, I don’t think so. He’s allergic to lots of stuff—?cats, mold, grass, strawberries—?but shellfish is the only thing that, you know, that . . .” I looked at Alex lying there, unresponsive.

“We’re taking him to Cromwell Hospital,” the guy told me over his shoulder as both paramedics heaved the gurney into the back of the ambulance. He stayed with Alex while the other guy jumped into the front. I had so many more questions, but the guy in the back was already shutting the door, and the WHOOP WHOOP of the siren drowned out my thoughts.

It felt as if my bones had melted, and I dropped into the closest chair.

“Here, here, take this.” The waitress handed me a glass of water. I tried to drink it but my hand was shaking so badly I spilled more than I drank. “He stop breathing, but they do CPR. He breathing again.”

He’d stopped breathing? Oh god.

The cook stood in front of me. “No shrimps in the dish.” His hands twisted the stained towel that was tucked into the strings of his apron.

“There had to be—?he’s allergic,” I pointed out.

“No shrimps,” the cook insisted, although he looked ready to cry. “Look!” He picked up the plate of pad thai and dumped it onto the plastic tablecloth. He separated out the noodles, squares of tofu, and bean sprouts. Tears ran down his cheeks. “No shrimps.”

I touched the pile of noodles. The food was still warm. I pressed my fingers to my lips and tasted the sour spicy mix.

That bitch.

I pushed the thought out of my head. I wasn’t going to think about her now. I was going to stay focused on Alex.

Tasha burst through the door, looking around wildly before spotting me. “What happened?”

“Alex had an allergic reaction.”

“No shrimps!” the cook insisted again.

“Why didn’t he have his pen on him?” Tasha asked, burying her hands in her thick Afro as if she were going to pull it from the roots. “He knows he’s supposed to have it.” She pounded a fist on the table, making the glasses jump.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I ran to his room to get the spare.” I held it out limply.

“Why would he leave it in his room?” Tasha took the pen from me.

“He thought he had one in his bag, but it wasn’t there. It must have fallen out at some point. I don’t know.”

“Jesus wept.” Tasha sat next to me and drank my glass of water in one long gulp. “I can’t call another parent. I can’t.” Her voice was flat. She stared forward as if she didn’t see me anymore. As if she didn’t even see the restaurant.

“He’s going to be okay, isn’t he?” I knew Tasha had no more idea than I did what was happening, but I needed her to tell me everything would be fine.

My words seemed to shake her back to herself. “Of course he’ll be okay,” Tasha said. “He’ll be fine,” she said, louder and more certain. “Did they say what hospital they were taking him to?”

My mind went blank.

“Cromwell,” the waitress offered.

Tasha pulled up from the table. “Okay, I’m going there to check on him. I’ll call you as soon as I know something.”

“I’m going with you.” I scrambled to pick up my bag. I pulled out some money to pay for the meal but the waitress backed up quickly, shaking her head as if I were offering her a viper.

“You should go back to Metford.”

I stared at Tasha. “I’m going to the hospital. If you don’t take me, then I’ll figure out where it is on my own. You can’t stop me.”

She must have seen something in my eyes, because she backed down. “All right. Let’s go.”





Twenty-Eight


August 28


3 Days Remaining


It was just before midnight by the time I got back to Metford. Tasha had paid for a cab, which was good because if I’d had to take the Tube, I don’t think I would have been able to manage it. As it was, the cab driver had had to clear his throat before I realized that he’d stopped in front of the building and was waiting for me to get out.

The rest of our group was waiting up, sitting in the lobby. Sophie looked as though she’d been crying. They stood when I came in.

“He’s okay,” I said.

“What happened?” Jamal looked angry, as if he wanted someone to do some explaining.

I told them about Alex’s allergic reaction, how serious it had been.

Kendra mumbled something to Jazmin, Kendra’s eyes darting over to me. Jazmin waved her off. My hands balled into fists. Kendra thought I was to blame.

“Someone should sue that Thai place—?they basically tried to kill Alex!” Jazmin said.

I shrugged. “The cook was positive he didn’t put any shrimp into the dish. The doctor thought it was likely cross contamination. If the chef used the same knife to cut up shrimp and then cut up Alex’s tofu, that might have been enough to cause the problem.” Again, I shoved away an image of Nicki.