Four Blind Mice

Chapter One Hundred

As it turned out, Jamilla was a life-send after the shootings in Georgia.

She called every day, often two or three times, and we talked until she could tell I was healing some. Sampson was the one who'd been physically wounded, and he was healing now too, but I was the one who seemed hurt the most. There had been too much killing, for too long, in my life.

Early one morning Dr. Kayla Coles arrived at the house on Fifth Street. She marched right into the kitchen where Nana and I were eating breakfast.

“What's that?” she pointed an accusatory finger and asked with an arched eyebrow.

“It's decaf. Just terrible. A memory of real coffee, and a bad one at that, ”Nana told her with a straight face.

“No, I'm talking about Alex's plate. What are you eating?”

I pointed out the ingredients for her. "These are two eggs, over-easy. What's left of two hot sausage patties.

Home fries, slightly burned. The remains of a homemade sticky bun. Mmm mmm good."

“You made this for him?” She looked at Nana in horror.

“No, Alex made it for himself. He's been cooking most of the breakfasts since my fainting spell. He's treating himself this morning because his big murder case is finally over. And he's feeling better.”

“Then I take it you don't always eat like this?”

I smiled at her. “No, Doctor. I don't usually eat eggs, sausage, sticky buns and greasy potatoes. I was almost killed down in Georgia, and I'm celebrating that I wasn't. I guess that I prefer death by breakfast. Care to join us?”

She laughed out loud. “I thought you'd never ask. I smelled something heavenly when I opened the car door. I followed it all the way to the kitchen.”

Kayla Coles asked a few questions about the case while she ate a single egg, orange juice, just a bite of a sticky bun. I glossed over most of the details of the case, but I gave her a feel for the three killers and what they had done, and what I knew about why, which wasn't enough, but that's the way it goes sometimes.

“Where's John Sampson now?” she wanted to know.

“Mantoloking, New Jersey,” I said. “He's recovering from his wounds, among other things. He has a nurse. A live-in, I hear.”

“She's his girlfriend,” said Nana. “That's what he really needed anyway.”

After breakfast Dr. Coles gave Nana a physical right there in the house. She took her temperature, pulse, blood pressure, listened to her chest with a stethoscope, then did a P and A. She checked for fluid buildup in Nana's ankles, the tops of her feet and hands, under her eyes. She looked into Nana's eyes and ears, tested her reflexes, looked at the color of her lips and nail beds. I knew all the elements of the test and possibly could have done the exam myself, but Nana liked getting visits from Kayla Coles.

I couldn't take my eyes off Nana during the checkup. She just sat there, and she seemed like a little girl to me. She never said a word, never complained.

When Kayla was finished, Nana finally spoke up. “Am I still alive? I haven't passed, have I? Like that scary movie with what'shisname Willis.”

“Bruce Willis... Yes, you're still with us, Nana. You're doing beautifully.”

Nana took a deep breath and sighed out loud. “Then I guess tomorrow's the big day. Go in for my catheter ablation, my radio-frequency ablation, whatever it is.”

Dr. Coles nodded. “You'll be in and out of the hospital in a snap. I promise you that.”

Nana narrowed her eyes. “You keep your promises?”

“Always,” said Kayla Coles.