Ringold fingered his chin. “No. I guess not. But why break it yourself?”
“I didn’t. Honest, I just wanted to get hold of one of those bottles and turn it in to the lab. When I get out of here, do I have to be receptionist?”
Ringold stood up. “Happy birthday. I’m giving that detail to Carl Case for a while.”
“I don’t know how to—”
“Are you trying to thank me? You’re going into traffic for six months. By then you’ll appreciate being a receptionist again. And you’ll be quicker to ask permission to chase wild geese.”
Jamison was still groaning when he heard Corrine’s soft voice at his elbow say, “Darling, does it hurt that bad?”