“You poured wine,” I say. “I saw the empty bottle. So you drank the whole—”
“No, it was already opened. There was about half left. I poured it, and I drank it in the living room while I worked on a puzzle. I had dinner plans, so I was relaxing with my puzzle and wine—”
His head spins my way. “The wine. It was in the wine, wasn’t it? Someone wanted to embarrass me and dosed my wine.”
“Any idea who’d do that?” Anders says. “Or should we just question the entire town?”
I give him a look. Then I say to Roy, “Yes, it’s possible that someone added your mushrooms to the wine.”
His face screws up. “My what?”
I show him the baggie, and I’m treated to Roy’s views on drugs, which boil down to Yeah, I’ve snorted coke for chicks, but I don’t smoke that hippie-dippie marijuana shit, and I sure as hell don’t smoke magic mushrooms. Then he peers at the bag and says, “You sure those are the smoking ones? They look like the kind I put in my risotto.” Then he again glares at Anders—who has, again, said and d
one nothing—and says, “Yeah, I make risotto. I make a mean quiche, too. You got a problem with that?”
“I believe the only person who has a problem with that—or the wine—is you,” Anders says. “Also, you don’t smoke mushrooms.”
Roy sniffs. “You’d know, wouldn’t you? You’re like that asshole out there.” He hooks his thumb toward the porch where Kenny is. “You think if you spend enough time in the gym, no one will notice you’re a little soft. A little ‘sensitive.’”
“Yep, I am very sensitive,” Anders says. “And now I’ll go smoke mushrooms and pump iron until I feel better.” He gets to his feet. “You done with this gem, Case?”
“I am.”
“Then come on, Macho Man. Let’s get you back home. You’re going to have the pleasure of my company tonight. The clinic is too small for you and Kenny, so you’re getting my home care.”
Roy looks down at his hospital gown. “I need my clothes.”
“Nah, you don’t. You can even leave the gown behind. It’s a warm night, and you won’t be showing off anything anyone hasn’t seen.”
* * *
I help April bring Kenny back in.
“You can’t keep him here,” she says as we reposition the bed.
Kenny clears his throat. “I have a name.”
“Which you know, and I know, and Casey knows, and since there is no one else here, everyone knows who I mean.”
“Yes,” Kenny says, his voice slow, patient. “But when you talk about someone who is present, you should use their name. Otherwise, it seems like I’m an object, like you’re saying, ‘You can’t keep that pile of trash here.’”
April actually flushes. “I didn’t say that.”
“I’m kidding. And I wouldn’t call you on it with anyone but Casey around.”
She frowns. “Why not?”
“Because it would be rude. Now, I understand that you need your workspace, April, so yes, I am in your way and need to be relocated.”
“I didn’t mean that. I meant that you won’t want to be here long-term.”
“Ah, then say that.”
“Am I supposed to analyze everything I say for how it could be interpreted?”
“Yes. Kind of. At least pause to consider it.”
She throws up her hands and walks into the next room. When the door shuts, I murmur, “I’m sorry. She’s difficult. I know that.”