Too Sweet to Die by T. Doyle (the false prince .TXT) 📗

Ray sat back, his gaze sliding from Joe to me and back to Joe. “So, if you were in residency, then she was in college. The age difference is what, eight years?”

“Six. I saved time and married my trophy wife first.” Joe squeezed my shoulder.

Ray laughed, and then he pointed at me. “And you keep giving me crap.”

“Trust me, he was totally immature when we met.” I leaned into Joe. “And twenty-six years later, I’m still in love with him.”

“Crazy about you, too, babe.” Joe kissed the top of my head.

The waitress appeared, gave us the usual spiel, and we ordered our usual pizza. The Popeye with shrimp. It had spinach, garlic, white cheese sauce, and shrimp, and required an hour on the elliptical every day for the following week—but so worth it.

“I’ll have the Meatza and water.” Ray handed her the menu.

“You sharing that pizza?” Kristi asked.

“If I have to.” Ray cast a sideways glance at Kristi. “Come on, you know you want cold pizza for breakfast.”

“Fine.” Kristi handed the waitress her menu. “I’ll have a small Greek.”

Ray waited until the waitress left before he leaned over to Kristi. “I’m a big Scot, want me for dessert?”

Kristi groaned. “So much cheese, you’re making me lactose intolerant.”

Ray laughed, the sound hearty and pure. “But I made you smile.”

Kristi peered at him over her beer. “So do cat memes.”

Ray cringed. “That hurts.”

“You’ll survive.” She shot me a look, amused and teasing.

Yep, they were definitely flirting.

“Anyway…” I cleared my throat. “How common is it for an insulin pump to malfunction?”

“I tried to look it up,” Joe said. “The data isn’t reported publicly.”

“It was probably user error,” Kristi said.

I played with the condensation on my glass. “I don’t believe that. Oscar was too careful.”

Joe patted my thigh. “Hilda Collins died a few days ago. Any more news on that?”

Kristi gave a quick shake of her head. “She’s not my case, but I overheard her death looks like complications from her diabetes, like she missed her dose and slipped into a coma. Did you know her, Joe?”

“I replaced her hip a while back.” He raised an eyebrow. “And that makes the second diabetes related death.”

“Ray’s mom thinks Parker Collins murdered Hilda for the inheritance.” I said.

Joe tapped the table. “That’s kind of weak. It’s not like they had a ton of money. They were comfortable but they didn’t buy expensive cars or have a second home.”

Kristi leaned forward. “I saw Parker driving a brand-new Audi A7. That’s a seventy-thousand-dollar car.”

“Jeez. I wonder what happened to the Camry?” Marabel was looking for a good used car for her oldest kid.

The waitress dropped off breadsticks and water.

Ray took a breadstick, bit into it, the crumbs falling into his beard. “Jackie’s not driving the Camry. She was in a Lexus when I pulled up next to her at the Dollar General yesterday. And it’s very coincidental that two people died from insulin dosage errors. Can’t you check the bodies, somehow, see if Oscar got Hilda’s prescription or something?”

Kristi shook her head. “No, it’s impossible to tell. And Hilda’s body is scheduled to be cremated.”

Joe dipped a breadstick in marinara sauce. “We think Oscar was murdered. But Oscar and Hilda aren’t related. I can’t imagine how they’re connected.”

“Why would anyone want them dead?” Kristi asked.

“Maybe someone took Hilda’s insulin and overdosed Oscar with it,” Ray said. “Or maybe someone switched Hilda’s insulin with water, and she thought she was taking her insulin, but instead she ended up in a coma. Parker’s a pharmacist, he could have switched out the doses.”

My heart beat faster. Ray’s suggestion made sense. “What if this was about Hilda all along?”

Ray sat back, and tapped his fingers on the table. “It’s plausible, but why cover Hilda’s murder with Oscar’s?” Ray scanned the room, and then shook his head. “It doesn’t make sense. Parker could make more money selling fentanyl or medical marijuana. He could make a fortune selling ephedrine to the right buyer,” Ray whispered.

“True.” Joe wiped his fingers on a napkin. “And Parker could take a second mortgage on Hilda’s house if he was devious. Hilda was alert and aware, but I guarantee you if he asked her to sign a paper, she would have.”

“Oscar had no enemies,” I argued. “Everyone he worked with loved him. He was organized, professional, and I refuse to believe he accidentally overdosed himself.”

“I know, love.” Joe’s soft words did little to ease my frustration. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“It doesn’t make sense, yet.” Ray pointed at me. “If you give me the cabin keys, I’ll dust for fingerprints around the TV and doors. Guy probably wore gloves, but it’s worth a shot.”

“That’d be great.” I fumbled through my purse for my keys and then took the key off the key ring.

Ray took the key and turned to Kristi. “You sure you can’t slow down Mrs. Collins’s shake and bake date? Take some tissue samples for later?”

Kristi’s eyebrows rocketed up. “What tissue samples would you like me to take?”

“I don’t know. How do you prove death by insulin or not enough insulin?” Ray asked.

“That’s the problem, you really can’t.” Kristi unwrapped her silverware and put her napkin on her lap. She straightened the knife and fork. “Besides, samples were taken and stored in the freezer, but they all point to the cause of death, which is related to the lack or overdose of insulin. The thing is, no one can rule out human error.”

“Twice? In one town?” I sounded like a skeptic at a psychic convention.

“Twice.” Kristi picked up a breadstick and broke off the end. “But I agree, it’s strangely coincidental.”

Ray grunted, his mouth opened to say something, but he slammed it shut.

The waitress plopped down our pizzas. “Can I get you anything else?”

“No, thank you.” I smoothed a napkin over my lap.

In between slices, Ray slid side glances at Kristi. And he kept the pizza sauce off his beard and shirt.  “Kristi, are you glad you returned to Forest Forks?”

“Yeah. The town’s changed, it's barely perceptible,