Woolsey lay down her spoon.
“What I have to say is for your ears only. Understood?”
I nodded.
“Murray Snow was a good man. Married, three kids, great father. Never thought about leaving his wife.” She took a breath. “He and I were involved at the time of his death.”
“How old was he?”
“Forty-eight. Found unconscious in his office. Flatlined almost immediately at the ER.”
“Was there an autopsy?”
Woolsey shook her head.
“Murray’s family has a history of cardiac problems. Brother died at fifty-four, father at fifty-two, grandfather at forty-seven. Everyone assumed Murray had had the big one. Body was released and embalmed within twenty-four hours. James Park handled everything.”
“The funeral operator who replaced Snow as coroner?”
Woolsey nodded.
“It’s not really that unusual for Lancaster County. Murray had a bum ticker, his wife was pretty hysterical, and the family wanted things wrapped up as quickly as possible.”
“And there was no coroner.”
She snorted a laugh. “Right.”
“Seems pretty fast.”
“Pretty damn fast.”
Woolsey’s eyes shifted up the counter, then returned to me.
“Something didn’t ring true to me. Or maybe I was just feeling guilty. Or lonely. I’m not sure why, but I dropped by the ER, asked if there was anything I could send for tox screening. Sure enough, they’d drawn blood and still had the sample.”
Woolsey paused while the waitress refilled Calvin’s mug.
“Tests indicated Snow had large quantities of ephedrine in his system.”
I waited.
“Murray suffered from allergies. I mean
“Ephedrine is bad for people with weak hearts?”
Woolsey nodded. “Hypertension, angina, thyroid problems, heart disease. Murray knew that.”
Leaning toward me, she lowered her voice.
“Murray was looking into something shortly before his death.”
“What?”
“I don’t know. He started to tell me once, stopped, and never talked about it again. Two months later he died.”
Something I couldn’t define eclipsed her face.
“I think it involved that headless set of bones.”
“Why didn’t you open an investigation?”
“I tried. No one took me seriously. Everyone expected Murray to die young of a heart attack. He did. No mystery. End of story.”
“The ephedrine?”
“Everyone also knew about his allergies. Sheriff didn’t want to hear a conspiracy theory.”
“That’s what he called it?”
“Said next I’d be talking about grassy knolls and second shooters.”
Before I could speak, my cell phone warbled. I checked the number.
“It’s Detective Slidell.”
Woolsey snatched the tickets tucked under our plates.
“I’ll get this and meet you outside.”
“Thanks.”
Winding through the tables behind Woolsey, I clicked on.
“That you, Doc?” I could barely hear Slidell.
“Hold on.”
Woolsey queued up at the register. I stepped out to the parking lot. The morning was hot and breathless, the
