Suture Self

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I hate to drink in front of you, but I spent ten hours sitting on my butt for that damned insurance stakeout.”

“Never mind.” Judith sighed with a martyred air that

would have made her Aunt Deb proud. “I’m used to

sacrifice and self-denial. After a month in this stupid

wheelchair and taking all those pain pills, I suppose I

should be looking forward to surgery and getting back

to a normal life. How’d the stakeout go?”

“It didn’t,” Joe replied, dumping ice cubes into a

glass. “The guy didn’t budge from his sofa except to go

to the can. Then he used a walker. Maybe he’s legit.

The insurance company expected him to play a set of

tennis or jump over high hurdles or do the rumba. I

hate these alleged insurance-fraud assignments.”

“They pay well,” Judith pointed out, giving the

amber liquid in Joe’s glass a longing look.

“Oh, yeah,” Joe agreed, sitting down at the kitchen

table. “We can use the money with the B&B shut down