“Yeah, I know. It lessens. Don’t worry about it, my headache’s nearly gone now. Who got us, Laura?”
“I don’t know. It had to be in the coffee. Both of us drank it, you more than me, if I remember correctly.”
I saw a shadowy movement off to my right and jerked around to see Detective Minton Castanga standing just inside the hospital room doorway.
I felt Laura tense, readying for battle, beneath my hand.
“He was here before but I was out of it. I don’t like him. Send him away, Mac.”
“I can’t. But don’t worry, Laura. This guy isn’t bad. He’s a cop, Detective Castanga, from the Salem PD. He’s here to find out who dropped us both in our tracks. Detective, this is Laura Scott.”
I straightened and turned to face him. “She just woke up again,” I said. “Come on over and she can talk to both of us at once.”
Detective Castanga stood on the other side of Laura’s bed. He studied her silently for a moment, then said in that soft, endless drawl, “It’s true I was here earlier. I stood right where I’m standing now, looking at you. I tried to imagine what you’d look like awake. I was off on all counts.” He smiled then. “I’m glad you made it, Ms. Scott. You really do need to talk to me this time.”
There was no expression whatsoever now on Laura’s face. She was still pale, but her eyes were bright, focused. I couldn’t begin to tell what she was thinking. She merely nodded her head very slightly and said finally, “All right, Detective.”
“Agent MacDougal told me he believed that both of you were alone at your condo, except for the bird and the cat. Is this correct?”
“That’s right. As far as I know, no one was lurking in a closet. If they were, they were certainly very quiet.”
“You’re right about the phenobarbital being in the coffee. It very probably came from an old prescription bottle in your medicine cabinet.”
“No, I don’t keep stuff like that. Oh, that’s right, you’re thinking about my uncle George.”
“That’s right. Why did you still have the pills?”
She shrugged. The covers slipped down just a bit. Without thinking, I pulled them back up and patted her cheek. She leaned her cheek against my hand.
“I don’t know,” she said. “They were just there. I’ve heard that phenobarbital is good if you really have a hard time going to sleep. I suppose I kept them just in case of insomnia. Not very bright of me, I suppose.”
Suddenly, in the blink of an eye, Detective Castanga’s Mr. Cool and Nice Guy was gone, and in his place was a hard-nosed son of a bitch whose voice and very stance were cold and sarcastic. “So, Ms. Scott, let me see if I get this right. Someone came into your house, rifled through your medicine cabinet, came up with the phenobarbital, stirred the stuff into your coffee, all without you ever seeing him or her?”
“I guess there’s no other conclusion, Detective.”
“Oh, yes there is. Seems just as likely to me that you’re the one doing the drugging and that you tried to cover yourself by drinking a bit yourself.”
I gave him a sharp look, but he was focused on Laura.
“From your tone I take it you want me to confess to feeding Mac the drug, then drugging myself. Or maybe you want us both to tell you it was a suicide pact between two lovers? Tell me, Detective, why would I want to kill Mac?”
“Because he knew something about you and he was going to take you down.” His voice was like nails now. He leaned down, right in her face. I would give him three more seconds of this bullshit.
“Sorry, Detective. I just don’t have any fatal secrets like that,” Laura said, and I could tell she was getting pissed. The three seconds were up. I was on the verge of interrupting this interrogation when she added in a voice as cold and sneering as Detective Castanga’s, “Get out of my face, Detective. My head hurts. I’m cold and I still feel groggy. My stomach feels like it’s caved in on itself, and you’re treating me like I’m a failed murderer who ended up really fouling things up. Go away. I have nothing more to say to you. Go do your job and stop squandering precious time.”