Free V Is for Vengeance by Sue Grafton Page B

threes.”
    “There was something else bad?”
    “I’m afraid so. I received a call from my doctor with the results of my latest blood tests. My blood sugar’s elevated. The doctor said fifty percent of people in the same range end up with diabetes in five years.”
    From somewhere under the bar he pulled out a piece of paper and placed it in front of me, pointing at the relevant column. Normal for glucose was 65–99. His was 106. I had no idea if that put him in the danger zone, but he seemed to think so.
    I said, “Wow. What’s the doctor suggesting?”
    “Nothing. He did mention that stress hormones are sometimes responsible for an inappropriate elevation of blood glucose. I went straight to my Merck Manual and looked it up.” He gazed upward, apparently quoting directly. “‘Diabetic amyotrophy is found characteristically in elderly men, producing a predominant muscle weakness around the hip and upper leg.’”
    “And you have that?”
    “I’ve been experiencing a weakness off and on this past month, which is why I went to see him in the first place. After a thorough examination, he was at a loss. He had absolutely no idea what was wrong with me.” He leaned forward. “I saw him write ‘etiology unknown’ on my chart. It was chilling. My Merck says the absence of a precise diagnostic marker for diabetes mellitus ‘continues to be a problem.’ ‘Onset tends to be abrupt in children,’ it says, ‘ Insidious in older patients.’ I shudder to think of the word ‘insidious’ applied to me.”
    “But surely there’s something you can do for yourself. What about dietary changes?”
    “He gave me a pamphlet, which I haven’t had the heart to read. In addition to muscle weakness, I’ve been having stomach problems.”
    “Henry mentioned that last night.”
    He lifted his brows. “Of course, abdominal tenderness is another indicator for diabetes, as is fruity breath.” He cupped his hands around his mouth and blew. I thought he’d offer me a sniff, which I was prepared to decline. “Fortunately, it hasn’t come to that, but I am urinating more frequently. I’m up half the night.”
    “Don’t tell me about the stream,” I said, hastily. “I thought that was related to your prostate.”
    “That was my first thought as well. Now I’m not so sure.”
    Mentally, I squinted, trying to judge the truth value of his claim. I knew he believed it, but was there foundation in fact? One of these days, despite his tendency to dramatize, William was going to be afflicted with something real. “Do you have a family history of diabetes?” I asked.
    “How would I know? There are only five of us left. The sibs and I take after our mother’s side of the family. Her maiden name was Til-mann, hardy German stock. Our grandmother on our father’s side was a Mauritz by birth. There were five other brothers and sisters who carried her genetic line. They all died within days of each other in the influenza epidemic of 1917. Who knows what health problems they’d have developed had they lived?”
    “What’s Rosie think about all this?”
    “She has her head in the sand as usual, convinced nothing’s wrong. It’s right there in the Merck . . . every word of it . . . under ‘Endocrine Disorders,’ page 1289. On the facing page, there’s talk of ‘Precocious Puberty,’ which I was mercifully spared.”
    “I’m not sure you should consult medical texts on your own. Most of the terminology makes no sense to the average person.”
    “I was a Latin scholar as a youth. As praesens ova cras pullis sunt meliora .”
    He fixed me with a look to see if I was following. My face must have been blank because he went on to translate. “‘Eggs today are better than chickens tomorrow.’”
    I let that one pass. “But what if you’re misinterpreting? I mean, the doctor didn’t actually say you were diabetic, did he?”
    “He’s probably giving me time to adjust. Most doctors don’t want to burden a patient