Murder Takes A Bow - A Betty Crawford Mystery (The Betty Crawford Mysteries) (5 page)

"Fine." Betty loved that word. She could use it as an acronym for Fucked up, Insecure, Neurotic and Emotional, and other people never had a clue. "Aunt Laura?"

"Yes?"

Betty rushed forward before she could back out of asking. "Well, I was just wondering. At the doctor’s they had me fill out one of those family history surveys, and I realized I didn’t know the answers to any of their questions. Has anyone in our family ever been sick? I mean, with serious stuff. Heart disease, diabetes… anything like that?"

Aunt Laura laughed. Full out table rocking laughed. Coffee sloshed all over the table. "A Crawford, sick? Honey, we’re as healthy as they come!"

Betty’s stomach flipped. "No one? No cancer or seizures or anything?"

"Not a one." Aunt Laura stood and mopped up the mess with a cloth from her apron. "You don’t have a thing to worry about."

Betty sighed and let Aunt Laura believe it was in relief. The bite of danish felt like lead in her stomach. The pamphlet had said you could inherit risk for diabetes, or it could be brought on by an unhealthy lifestyle. If it wasn’t inherited… She had made herself sick. And here she was, doing the exact same things that had given her this disease.

The restaurant should let her rename their cheese danish. She’d call it " the Delicious Danish of Death."

Then again, that might not help boost sales.

CHAPTER 6

With the guilt of the danish hanging over her head, Betty was goaded into action. After she extracted herself from Aunt Laura with as much grace as possible ("You know, I’m feeling a little tired. It’s been a long day. I think I’m going to go home and take a nap."), she gritted her teeth and headed to CVS to fill her prescriptions. She blasted La Vie Boheme all the way, singing at the top of her lungs. "To living with living with living with, not dying from disease."

Jonathan Larson was a genius. So what if he was writing about AIDS? The words fit.

Clarise had given her this CD for higher school graduation.

Betty shook off that train of thought. She couldn’t afford to dwell on the morning’s events at the moment. If she was going to live with this disease, then she had to start now. She’d think about Clarise once this step had been taken.

Betty pulled into the CVS lot and parked the car right near the entrance. Taking a deep breath, Betty dug into her purse, sifting through it until she came to the prescriptions her doctor had given her. She looked at them for a moment.

This was it. She would walk through those doors, get the prescriptions filled, and the pharmacist would know. Someone else would know she was sick. Would they think it was because she was stupid? Or lazy and fat? Would they look down on her, wondering how she could have done this to herself?

How could she have done this to herself?

RAP! RAP! RAP!

Betty startled and jumped, twisting to look out her driver’s side window. Mike, an elderly gentleman who went to her church, peered back at her. She pressed her hand against her heart, hoping to slow it’s thudding, and leaned over to roll down her window.

"Afternoon Betty," he drawled. His breath smelled like tuna fish. "I just saw you in there and I had to tell you—I don’t believe Clarise did it. Not for one moment."

"Me either," she said.

"You’ll tell her I said that next time you talk to her?"

"Of course Mike. She’ll be glad to hear it." She’d be more than glad. Clarise still felt like the townspeople saw her as an outsider. If people like Mike were sticking up for her, it meant she’d finally been accepted as one of their own, and that would mean the world to Clarise. If it wouldn’t be entirely awkward, Betty would hug Mike.

"That new cop, Bill Owens? He’s an idiot. The old chief would’ve known better than to cause a scene like that."

"I’m sure he’s doing his best," Betty said. She wasn’t about to trash Bill, not when he was still figuring out his footing in this town. If he was going to catch the real murderer the people of Lofton would have to trust him. "It’ll be cleared up soon."

Mike shook his head. "If the old chief—"

"Bill’s a good cop," she interrupted, as much to convince herself as Mike. "I’ve known him for years." Mike raised his eyebrows.

"How’s that?"

"College," she answered shortly. "He’ll find the real killer."

"Well," Mike said, straightening his back, "long as it’s not Clarise."

"It won’t be," Betty said firmly.

Clarise would go free.

CHAPTER 7

Inside the CVS, Betty refused to make eye contact with any of the customers. She made a beeline for the pharmacy, prescription clutched in her hand. If she was going to do this, she had to act now. Before she chickened out and put it off for another day. Because once she put it off once, it would be all too easy to put it off again, and again, and then where would she be?

There was a person in front of her at the pharmacy counter, so Betty turned to an insect repellent display, forcing herself to become absorbed in reading the active ingredients labels. Personally, she always preferred the repellents with DEET. Call her paranoid, but she wasn’t too crazy about ticks and the lyme disease they tended to spread. Still, DEET stank to high heaven! Maybe she’d stick to a natural product this year, and just suffer through wearing long pants when she went on a hike.

"Thanks Jenny. I’ll see you in a month."

"Have a good day Mr. Green."

Out of the corner of her eye, Betty saw the customer leave the counter with his white bag. She checked to make sure there was no one else near the counter, and stepped up to the "Drop Off Counter." Jenny, a petite girl with blond hair and a bounce in her voice, greeted her.

"Welcome to CVS pharmacy. How can I help you today?"

Betty pushed her crinkled prescription across the counter. "I’d like to have this filled."

"Do you have your insurance card?"

"No." She didn't want to explain that she was back on her parent's insurance but didn't know how to avoid it. She gritted her teeth once more and smiled. "My parents’ information is on file."

Jenny didn’t bat an eyelash. No matter how closely Betty looked, she couldn’t detect a hint that Jenny was looking down on her for still being dependent. "Can I take your name and address?" Once her information was all typed in, Jenny smiled. "You're all set. This is a good plan." Then she looked at the prescription. "Miss Crawford," she said slowly. "Are you aware of the cost of your prescription?"

Betty pressed shaking hands on the counter. "I just found out I needed it today. I don’t really know anything about it."

"Is your prescription for diabetes?"

At Betty’s affirmative answer, Jenny grinned. "Well, there’s good news and bad news. The bad news is, this prescription would cost you sixty dollars a month even with your insurance policy."

I can't afford that! Betty thought, her mind reeling.

"And the good news?" she forced out, keeping her voice as light as possible.

"Metformin is a generic version of the drug your doctor prescribed and it costs much less. If you give me your doctor’s number, I’ll call to get a switch approved." She smiled at Betty. "My sister uses it. She has Type Two diabetes, and the generic really does work just as well as the brand name."

Oh, thank God. Betty thought. If she had to pay the brand name price, she’d have to ask her parents for help. And, while she may be living with them, Betty hated the thought of not being able to pay her own way. It was bad enough that she couldn’t pay rent or contribute more than a few dollars a month and the cost of her own food. The thought of asking for them to give her anything else made her Catholic guilt complex rise up and gnaw at her insides.

She fished in her purse for her mobile phone and wrote the information for her doctor’s office on the scrap of paper Jenny provided.

"Great," Jenny said. "I’ll just call this over right now. If you want to wait a bit, it’ll be about fifteen minutes before this is ready."

Fifteen minutes. Betty eyed the chairs next to the pharmacy. No. There was no way she could sit still that long without starting to brood, and she refused to brood herself into depression today. She had too much to do. She determinedly fixed her mind on pacing up and down the aisles, making her way towards the center aisle. It was always the most fun to poke around in that aisle, where CVS always kept their seasonal items. It was full of singing stuffed animals and brightly colored products that, if nothing else, were amusing to look at. This week, the shelves were stocked with bulbs to plant and the beginnings of beach items: sun block and shovels and bright yellow buckets for making sand castles.

And on the other end of the aisle, towards the front of the store, was the candy section.

Great, Betty. Of all the aisles in the store, you beeline to the sugar. Toffee and gummy worms jumped out at her, just begging to be taken off the shelves. They were the perfect driving snack. Spring themed M&M dispensers lined the top shelf, and a few leftover chocolate Easter bunnies had been pushed into a corner and labeled with a 50% off sale sign.

It was torture, but Betty couldn’t stop staring at the shelves. She had bought at least one item from this shelf every week for as long as she could remember living in Lofton, starting with her first allowance. Was that what had caused her diabetes? Was something on this shelf what had crossed the final line?

Her eye was caught by candy at one end of display. All the hanging bags had blue "no sugar added" labels. She’d always passed over everything with that label. After all, what was the point of candy that didn’t have any sugar in it? Now, she reached out and picked up a bag of no sugar added hard candies.

She didn’t have to stop buying things from the candy aisle quite yet.

And anything was worth a try once.

Betty headed back to the pharmacy with the bag of candy in hand. No sooner had she reached the "Pick Up" window then Jenny came over, white bag in her hand.

"Here you go. Your doctor’s office cleared it no problem. Do you need help with your monitor?"

Betty looked at her, bewildered. "I guess" she asked, feeling stupid. She thought back to her doctor's appointment. Dr. Brackett had mentioned something about testing her blood sugar. It had seemed complicated. She almost took the bag and headed off without asking. She didn’t want to seem stupid, and she really didn’t want to stay in the CVS any longer than necessary. But Jenny hadn’t been condescending at all. If she was going to start managing her disease, she might as well start off on the right foot.

"Ummm…" she said in eloquent summary of her internal debate.

Jenny smiled. "Did you just get diagnosed?" Betty nodded. "That’s okay, my sister was the same way. If you want, I can walk you through it."

"That would be wonderful," Betty said. And it was.

Jenny took her over to a display of blood glucose monitors. "There are a lot of different kinds of monitors and your doctor says you have to check your blood sugar a few times a day, so you’ll want one that’s portable and easy to use." She picked up a box and showed it to Betty. "Your doctor prescribed this and it's the same one my sister uses." She handed Betty a LifeScan One Touch monitor. "It comes with some test strips and a lancet pen to use to get the drop of blood. She likes the flag feature—it helps her remember what she was doing right before she took the test, which really helped her learn how her blood sugar reacts to certain foods and activities. If you’re busy and disorganized—"

Betty interrupted her. "I am. Very." And she still had no idea how to use the cursed thing.