Free Untimely Death by Elizabeth J. Duncan Page A

had dropped off last night. She wriggled higher in the narrow bed with side rails to a sitting position, pulled the pillows up behind her, and then looked expectantly at Phil. He showed her the tote bag. “Yours?”
    Lauren reached out for it. “Yeah.”
    “I’d like you to check and see if anything’s missing.”
    Lauren opened it, scrabbled around examining the contents, and pulled out a zebra-patterned makeup bag. “Oh, thank God. I need this. You have no idea what it’s been like.”
    She set it beside her on the bed and then went back to rummaging around in the tote bag. “No, everything seems to be here.”
    She picked up the makeup bag, unzipped it, and took out a lipstick and compact.
    Phil pulled the visitor’s chair closer to the bed and sat down. “Feel up to answering a few questions?” he asked as he flipped open his notebook.
    “I already said yes. What would you like to know?” She clicked the clasp on the compact and examined herface in the mirror, turning it this way and that, to catch the light from the window that overlooked the front of the redbrick building.
    “Apparently you’ve had an acetaminophen overdose. Most commonly found in the medication Tylenol. Do you remember taking Tylenol? Could you have exceeded the recommended dosage?”
    Lauren shook her head. “I never take Tylenol. I don’t even own any.” She frowned. “The doctor asked me that question, too, and I was really surprised when he told me they’d found that drug in my system. Well, I know I didn’t take it myself, so someone must have slipped it to me somehow. Trying to poison me, maybe. That’s all I can think of.”
    “Okay. Now the nurse told me that someone with,” he checked his notes, “acetaminophen toxicity can start feeling and showing symptoms anywhere from twenty-four to forty-eight hours after ingesting it. Can you think of any situation you were in up to two days before you felt ill during which time someone could have given you an excessive amount of the drug? Were you given any food or drink you didn’t prepare yourself?”
    “No, I don’t remember anything like that.”
    “Well, I’ll leave you to think about it. People sometimes find it helpful to check their schedules to remind them where they were and what they were doing. See if you can come up with who you were with and what youwere doing during that time period. Also think about anyone who might have wanted to harm you.”
    Lauren shook her head. “ Nooo ,” she said slowly, with an ingratiating smile. “Why would anyone want to harm me?”
    Phil, who had been briefed on Lauren’s background, did not think it necessary to mention that the wife of a married man who is having an affair often harbors negative feelings toward the woman her husband is sleeping with.
    He handed her his card, which she dropped into her tote bag without looking at it. “Well, if you do remember anything, no matter how trivial it might seem to you, please contact me. Thanks for your time today, and I hope you feel better soon.”
    “Oh, I’m feeling much better now,” she said. “I’m anxious to get back to the theater. They said I might be discharged this afternoon.”
    She pulled a tube of foundation out of her makeup kit, squeezed a drop onto the end of her finger, and began dabbing at her face. It couldn’t have been clearer that, as far as she was concerned, this interview was over. Phil got the message.
    As he walked down the hall toward the elevator, he spotted a familiar figure hovering around the nurses’ station. The fluorescent lighting meant he couldn’t make out the details of the person, but he didn’t need to. The unmistakable silhouette of a fedora with a belted raincoat could belong to none other than Fletcher Macmillan,general reporter for the Hudson Valley Echo , who, for want of staff, also served as its arts editor. He reviewed local art and photography exhibits, books by local authors, concerts, theater productions, and