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First Round

“Your meds, Mr. Price?” asked Amy from the fireplace. She couldn’t have faked a smile at him even if her life depended on it.

He turned to her, frowning. “Come again?”

“I need your meds.”

“I need them back by noon to take them.”

Amy held his eyes for a heartbeat and turned to me. “The bag, Fran, please?”

I hurried across the room to give it to her. And stayed as close to the heater as I could without falling into the fireplace. Man, I loved to feel the flames after being outside on such a cold morning.

Price breathed deep, annoyed. His voice thundered across the whole house. “Isaac! Our prescriptions!”

The wingman trotted down the stairs like an obedient poodle a moment later, carrying a belt pouch overflowing with pill bottles. He handed it out to Price, who nodded to Amy.

“Let’s go one by one,” she said, taking out a bunch of small glass dropper bottles from her bag and lining them up on the mantelpiece.

The wing— Enough of calling him that. Isaac grabbed a random orange bot
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