Too Sweet to Die T. Doyle (tharntype novel english .TXT) 📖

“Can I help you?” He wore a white lab coat with a yellow shirt and brown tie. Not the most dapper of dressers, but he did have a pleasant face. I couldn’t picture him responsible for anyone’s death.

“I have dry eyes, and I was wondering which one of these drops would you recommend?” I pushed the three boxes closer and revealed the magazine title. Parker’s eyes widened, and his smile turned sincere.

After what felt like thirty minutes, Parker had given me a graduate-level review of eye anatomy and function, suggestions for dietary changes, and vitamins. Parker Collins may be odd, but he was probably brilliant. I was also very glad I’d refrained from the hemorrhoid questions.

“Thank you so much for your time.” I paid for the eye drops, magazine, and pretzels.

“That’s what I’m here for.”

“I was sorry to hear about your mother.” I gave him my motherly-concerned look.

“Thank you. It was a shock. I still can’t believe her insulin pump malfunctioned. Tyler Rigby thinks we could sue, but I’m more concerned about the other people using the same pump. I contacted the company and they said they would send out a recall notice. I’m relieved the company took the risk of malfunction seriously.”

“They certainly should take it seriously,” I said. “Did Tyler get involved because of Oscar?”

“No.” Parker frowned and he tilted his head. “He’s… was Mom’s lawyer.”

“I thought because Oscar worked for him and had issues with his pump, too.”

“Really? I thought Oscar…” He waved the thought away.

“Do a lot of people in town use the same insulin pump?” I could check the medical records at work, although that might get me fired.

“No. Most diabetics can control the disease with diet.” Parker’s eyes narrowed and I wondered if he’d heard about Joe’s peanut oil purchase. Sheesh. Suddenly the whole diet and vitamin conversation made more sense.

Heat crept up my face. “Well, thanks for the advice. I should grab some lunch. Salad. Salad for lunch before I go to work.” I would never survive as a spy.

“You’re welcome. Charlie? Who’s the magazine for?” Parker pointed to my bag.

“Drew. He’s really into an online game.”

Curiosity twinkled in Parker’s eyes. “Which one?”

“League of Legends.”

“That’s very popular. It takes logic and teamwork to win the battles.” Parker leaned on his elbows on the counter. I felt another lecture coming on but maybe I could steer it toward recent car purchases.

“Do you play?” I asked.

“Yes. Jackie and I love it. We LARP, live-action-role-play, every weekend we can with a group from Louisville. The Con-community is like our second family.” He seemed to grow an inch, and there was color in his cheeks.

I imagined him dressed up, and if I squinted his shirt could be gold with a bronze tie. “Really? What’s your favorite game?” I asked.

The door chimed behind me and Parker deflated into a meek and polite pharmacist again. Conversation over.

“Charlie, you’re not bothering Parker with questions about Oscar’s death, are you?” Tom’s voice chided me.

Parker’s face turned pink. He looked dismayed and didn’t answer Tom.

“Thanks again.” I held up the bag and turned to face Tom. I tipped my chin at Tom. “Why are you hiding behind the Funyuns?”

“I’m not.” Tom stood taller, and before he could give me the cop-glare, I shot him the look Delilah taught me yesterday.

He seemed to falter.

I stepped around him. “I still think it was murder.” I pushed the door open and walked jauntily toward my car. Because running would look bad.

Tom just ruined my chances of talking to Parker about the murders again. Which meant now I needed to talk to Tyler and see if he’d encouraged Parker to sue the company.

At work, the anagram anarchist struck again. Today’s message read: inVaSive news gully. Maybe the sign anarchist used to write horoscopes because I was reading into the sign, like somehow, he knew I spent the morning investigating. Which was ridiculous.

My new hairdo whipped the residents of Sunnyview into a frenzy. Not actually, but I did have a lot more walker-traffic in front of the nurses’ station and many compliments. It went a long way easing my guilt about cheating on my old stylist, Carole.

A grimacing Marabel joined me at the station.

I patted my hair and ran my tongue over my teeth checking for errant pieces of pretzel.

“The police are coming by later to investigate the…” Marabel crowded closer. “Misplaced medical marijuana,” she whispered.

“It was stolen?” I’d really hoped Nora had misinterpreted the situation.

Marabel’s head vibrated a no, and her eyes and lips flat-lined. “Shh. I’m not sure and the General Manager said I had to call the…” She mouthed police. She glanced down the hall and back to me. “They should be here in a few minutes. I’m putting you in charge of the floor while I show them around, okay?”

“You bet.” My cheeks, still fatigued from smiling so much earlier, couldn’t muster a half-hearted grin. A headache of epic proportions was headed her way. “Good luck.”

She sighed, her shoulders slumped and she headed back to her office.

I checked in with my patients. Mrs. Almond was watching the World War II movie, The Best Years of Our Lives, and crying.

“Mrs. Almond, are you okay?” I handed her a box of tissues.

“Yes.” She wiped her face. “Those were hard times.”

“You must have been very young.” I poured her a glass of water.

She nodded. “I was in school when Pearl Harbor was attacked. I still remember it like yesterday. Just like you’ll always remember 9/11.” She grabbed another tissue and blew her nose. “My boyfriend joined the home guard. You could do that at sixteen, back then.”

She reached out for my hand. “I’ve never told anyone this before and it weighs on my mind.”

“Do you want to tell me or I could call your minister?” I held her cold hand, not liking the greyish cast to her skin.

“Just you. Please.”

“Of course.” I pulled up her covers and took