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WINSTON GOT TO KRISTY’S place safe and sound. He saw his Accord parked in the driveway. “Good old Grayskull,” he whispered, giving the He-Man-nicknamed automobile a gentle pat on the trunk before ringing the doorbell.
Kristy welcomed him in with a loving hug. “How’s my hero?”
“Tired . . . and glad to be alive.”
“What do you mean?” In the foyer, she held Winston at arm’s length and examined him. “Are you hurt?”
“No, I jumped out of the way of danger,” he said even as Kristy shook her head over the scratches on his legs from jumping into the bushes. They stung, but he wouldn’t admit it.
He explained to her about how a crazy driver had tried to mow him down. Inserting some humor, he claimed he’d superheroed his way out by flying into the shrubbery.
After he finished his story, he heard a giant pop from farther inside the apartment. He flung his arm across Kristy to protect her.
Then he understood the noise. He noticed Marcy on the couch blowing up balloons—and sometimes bursting them.
The whole living room was covered in purple and white balloons. In fact, Winston couldn’t even spot the carpet underneath all of the air-filled latex spheres.
“What exactly are you doing?” he asked Marcy.
She took in a huge inhale and filled up a white balloon. “Duh. Recreating your arch, Sherlock.”
Ah, the curve of balloons that had graced the entryway to the wedding. “Where’s the helium?” he asked.
“All I could find at this hour was . . . ” She pointed to the bags of latex balloons balancing on the couch arm.
Marcy was going to blow all those up by herself? “Wow, that’s a lot of work. Thanks, sis,” he said, settling onto the couch.
Kristy came over with a first aid kit. She adjusted the cushions around Winston and said, “Rest.” She dabbed his wounds with antibiotic ointment before bandaging them up. “Let me grab you a Coke.”
When she left, Marcy said, “I overheard you talking. What’s this about you almost getting run over?”
“An unidentified driver back at the Chans’ motel.” He grabbed an uninflated balloon from an open bag.
Marcy’s eyes narrowed as she considered her brother. “Were you snooping around again?”
He held his hands up. The balloon hung loose between his fingers. “Investigating is the more accurate term.”
“But didn’t the old patriarch have a heart attack?”
Kristy returned with his drink right as Winston answered, “Yes . . . but Fort also died in the hospital.”
“He did?” Marcy gasped. Guess she hadn’t heard the news because his sister let go out of the balloon she was blowing up. Whoosh. It rocketed out of her hand.
“Again, I wish I’d noticed his symptoms sooner at the restaurant,” Kristy said. Her face had gone pale, and she started tilting the glass in her hand, so Winston placed it on the nearby coffee table.
He hugged Kristy and murmured in her ear.
“Two deaths in the same family.” Marcy took an uninflated balloon and twisted it in her hands. “What an unlikely coincidence.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Winston said.
Kristy’s eyes widened at Winston. “It’s too dangerous. Perhaps you shouldn’t investigate anymore. Let the police handle things.” She snuggled next to him on the couch and rested her head on his shoulder.
Winston blew up a purple balloon and didn’t answer her. Should he quit? But someone was already onto him.
He was next on the hit list, and he didn’t even know the identity of the culprit. He had to continue searching to protect himself and—he glanced at Kristy and Marcy—the women closest to his heart.
He tied the balloon and handed it to his sister. “I might’ve have found something interesting in their motel room that could shed light on Ming’s sudden death.”
Marcy abandoned the balloons and leaned forward. “What did you discover?” Winston knew she’d been a great asset during the Magnolia case, and he realized how alive she’d acted as she helped him investigate.
He pulled out his cell phone and found the picture of the weekly pillbox. “Ming’s medicine.”
Kristy asked for the phone. She zoomed in on the image.
“What do you see?” Winston asked.
She looked at it for a few moments. With her brow scrunched, she said, “This doesn’t make much sense.”
Marcy piped up. “Is something off?”
“Weird,” Kristy said. “I’m familiar with this medication, and these bright red pills are duplicates of a powerful drug.” She pointed at a time slot filled with pills of the same color.
Winston squinted to read the small letters on the tablets. They all bore the same name.
Looking over his shoulder, Marcy said, “Three of the exact tablets in one day? What’s wrong with that?”
“These aren’t common pills,” Kristy said. “They’re powerful prescription blood thinners meant to be taken on a precise schedule. Patients have to take one a day.”
Winston scratched his head. “How come Ming has three in that plastic compartment then?”
Kristy nodded. “I think they got moved, and he ended up skipping a few doses. But without the medicine, blood clots could form—and lead to a severe heart attack.”