Quiet in Her Bones Singh, Nalini (the top 100 crime novels of all time .txt) 📖

“I suppose it’s what women put up with to live in these nice houses,” commented Lexi. “Poor Alice getting beaten up, Diana having to deal with Calvin’s ­philan—­”

“Yoohoo!” Trixi trilled. “Come on Lexi, there’s Veda. She must be home today. Have a good appointment, Aarav.”

I frowned over Lexi’s words as I drove away. What had she been about to say?

“Philan” was a relatively uncommon pair of syllables. Not many words began that way. In the context of bitchy gossip about what women “put up with” to live in the Cul-­de-­Sac, I could think of only one: “philandering.”

Except I just couldn’t see it.

When the hell would Calvin have the time? Unless he hooked up with fellow hospital and clinic staff. Trouble was, I couldn’t imagine staid and stiff Calvin doing the wild thing with ­anyone—­I figured he barely did it with Diana.

Trixi and Lexi also weren’t exactly the most trustworthy sources of information.

An image popped into my mind in the wake of that thought. That photo Alice had taken of my mother seated on a sofa with Calvin. Her looking up at him, him looking down, both of them laughing, with Diana in the background, a faint smile on her face.

It struck me that I’d never before seen Calvin laugh like that.

What I’d taken as a moment of humor between two good friends suddenly took on a different meaning. “No fucking way in hell.” My mother would’ve never done that to Diana.

“Loyalty is a gift, Ari beta.” Her nails brushed my jaw as she smiled. “Don’t squander it. Ek sachcha dost to heere se bhi keemti hai.”

One true friend is worth more than diamonds.

Diana was the most loyal friend Nina Rai had ever had. My mother would’ve chopped off her fingers before laying them on Calvin.

But the photo continued to haunt me as I walked into the neurological clinic.

Once inside, however, I didn’t have time to think. The ­well-­oiled system spun into action. Soon, a machine was looking into my skull.

Afterward, I was shown into Dr. Binchy’s office. “You have the results yet?” I asked after taking my seat.

“No, a specialist is going over them now.” He steepled his fingers on his desk. “I’m more worried about the results from the extra blood tests I ordered before you left the hospital. I had to be out of the clinic on personal business yesterday, so I only saw the report this morning.”

I thought of those extra pinpricks on the inside of my left elbow, the slight residual soreness that had only been noticeable for an hour or so. “Why the extra tests in the first place?”

“Because during the initial round of tests, I was looking only for the levels of prescribed medications in your blood. It wasn’t until our discussion that I realized we might be dealing with more than carelessness in sticking to your medical regime.”

“What’re you saying?”

“Aarav, I was very careful not to prescribe you any opioids. Not only can they be addictive, I’m of the camp of physicians who believe they make migraines worse and can even trigger them.”

“I’m not doing drugs, Doc.”

He pushed across a sheet of lab results. “Your blood says otherwise. The levels are significant enough that I’m not surprised you’ve been passing out from the pain of the migraines. Add in your other meds and the results are apt to be highly ­unpredictable—­and at this point, I’m not even sure I’ve thought to test for everything you might be taking. Regardless, your body can’t deal with this kind of cocktail.”

The results made no sense to me. I’d been a drunk, but these days, a bottle of Coke paired with handfuls of candy was my drug of choice. “Could someone have made a mistake and given me the wrong meds? I’ve just been taking them without really looking at them.”

Dr. Binchy’s expression was carefully noncommittal. “No pharmacist is going to make that kind of a mistake.”

He was calling me a liar.

Rather than a hot burst of anger, I felt a strange prickling on my nape. If it wasn’t a mistake, then someone had to be giving me the drugs. “I’m being poisoned.”

Dr. Binchy’s pupils blew up. “Aarav, how long have you been suffering from paranoia?”

My skin burned. “It’s not paranoia if it’s true.” Shoving the lab results back across his desk, I said, “You can see that in the results!”

“Okay.” He rubbed his jaw. “Why don’t you wait here while I go talk to the technician?”

I began thinking about the look in his eyes the instant he left the room. He wasn’t going to talk to the technician. He was going to call someone who’d have me fucking committed. Getting up, I opened the door and walked down the ­plush-­carpeted corridor as fast as the crutches would allow.

The receptionist smiled at me. “Already finished, Mr. Rai?”

“Yeah. Can you email me the invoice?”

“Oh, there’s no invoice. You’re still being referred through the public system.”

I wanted to get the hell out of there, but I smiled at her before making my way out. My cellphone rang five minutes after I’d begun driving, Dr. Binchy’s name flashing on the screen. I used the car’s ­hands-­free system to answer. “Sorry, Doc. Family emergency.”

“Aarav, we really need to talk.”

“So you can tell me I’m secretly doing drugs and losing my mind?”

“Can you hear yourself? That is not a rational statement.”

“Doc, you’ve only known me since I took a knock on the head. I’m an asshole in normal life.”

“This is ­serious—­you shouldn’t be driving given what we found in your blood. If you don’t listen, I’m going to have to alert the authorities.”

“Do that and you break patient confidentiality.” I actually didn’t know if that applied in a situation like this, but I knew it’d cause Dr. Binchy to think twice. “If it makes you feel better, I have a driver.” No way for him to confirm that for a lie now that I was gone from his parking lot.

“I know you’re feeling confrontational,” he replied, “but there are