thirty

“DeDee wasn’t saying ‘Giuseppe’!” I said to Nigel after we’d left and we were back in the car. “She was saying ‘EpiPen’!”

“Yeah. I got that,” he said. “And you’re throwing out those damn shoes the second we get home. What the hell are they made of anyway?”

“Steel, naturally.”

“Naturally.”

“Well, you have to admit,” I said, “this certainly changes things.”

“Are we talking about your shoes or Melanie’s death?” Nigel asked, as he pulled onto the highway. A trucker honked his horn and waved at Skippy.

“Melanie’s death,” I answered. “Someone must have tampered with the EpiPen knowing that Melanie was going to need it.”

Nigel shook his head in disgust. “That’s what DeDee must have seen and was trying to tell me. And I helpfully shouted it out for everyone to hear.”

I reached over and squeezed his hand. “This is not your fault, Nigel,” I said firmly. “You had no idea what DeDee was saying, let alone that it could endanger her.”

Nigel fell silent and concentrated on driving. After a minute he asked, “Do you think whoever tampered with the pen was the father of Melanie’s baby?”

“It’s possible,” I answered.

“Sara was really trying to sell us the idea that Melanie and John were going to get back together,” Nigel said. “Do you think there’s any truth to that?”

“I’m not sure,” I admitted. “There’s certainly nothing on the tapes to support that, but that isn’t proof. I do think Sara is hiding something. When I first asked her about Melanie being ill, she claimed it was too long ago to remember. And yet in the next breath she was telling us about the ingredients in a salad dressing.”

“I caught that,” Nigel said. “Do you think she’s hiding the identity of the father? Could he be the source of her wise investments?”

“I think it’s a distinct possibility.”