“Are you suggesting that I’m stupid?” His fist came down hard on the stainless steel surface of the island, and a large bottle of vanilla extract fell over and broke.
Dani jumped as the dark liquid splashed on the front of her T-shirt. “No. It’s just difficult to explain why I quit.” She hurried to clean up the broken glass and oozing liquid. “Heck. I haven’t even told my father yet. But cooking makes me happy. My HR job, not so much.”
“I see.” Detective Mikeloff seemed to be appeased by Dani’s apprehension and he squared his shoulders. “You’re just a Martha Stewart wannabe.”
“It took me a while to see that a high salary and corporate success aren’t everything.” Dani knew it sounded corny, but it was the truth. “Providing nourishment for people’s stomachs and their souls is a lot more important. Food doesn’t ask you to make difficult decisions between right and wrong. It just asks you to enjoy.”
Detective Mikeloff snorted, then lobbed another grenade. “Is that why you killed Regina Bourne? She got in the way of your plans to feed the world?”
“No!” Dani yelped, her knees started shaking. “You’re saying Regina was murdered?”
“Don’t act so surprised.” His tone was harsh. “Why else would I be here?”
“But how—” Dani controlled her voice with an effort. “I mean…”
Tippi released Ivy and clamped her hand across Dani’s mouth. “Either you tell us the whole story, or Dani’s not saying another word until she speaks to her lawyer.”
“You’re going to hide behind the skirts of a college girl?” Detective Mikeloff’s stare frosted with resentment. When Dani nodded, he unclenched his teeth and said, “I’m sure the old biddy who called the ambulance for the vic has already talked to the newspapers…” The detective trailed off, then as if some switch had been thrown in his brain, his eyes took on a disturbing gleam, and with an air of professionalism that had been absent up until now, he stated, “Miss Bourne was found in a lounge chair by her pool. It appears that sometime between noon and one on Sunday, she’d had an orgy with the leftovers from her party, as well as several boxes of snack cakes, then passed out. When the housekeeper couldn’t revive Miss Bourne, she called 911, and Miss Bourne was pronounced dead shortly after her arrival at the hospital.”
“Although that’s awful, how do you know it was murder?” Dani bit her lip. “Couldn’t it have been natural causes?”
“Anytime someone as young as Miss Bourne dies without being under a doctor’s care, an autopsy is performed,” Detective Mikeloff snapped.
“Oh.” Dani blinked.
“Especially since while the housekeeper was waiting for the ambulance, she found a syringe on the driveway. She gave it to one of the paramedics and traces of insulin were found. With that information, and the assurance of the housekeeper that Miss Bourne was not diabetic, the medical examiner was asked to make Miss Bourne’s autopsy a priority.” He flipped several pages in his notebook, and when he found what he was looking for, he read, “The ME performed a serum C-peptide analysis that showed an inappropriate ratio of insulin and C-peptide molecule concentration. When there is a large disparity between serum insulin versus C-peptide concentration, insulin OD is suspected unless another physiological pathology like an insulin-producing tumor is found. There was no such pathology, which led the ME to the conclusion that nothing except a deliberate act could have resulted in such an extraordinarily high insulin level.”
“Oh,” Dani murmured again. She was surprised that after the detective’s initial reluctance to share information he was telling her so much, but she was happy for the change. Still, her last hope that this was all a mistake was fading when she suddenly realized that there might be a way of clearing herself and the girls. She brightened and said, “If you have the syringe, you can take our fingerprints, and when they don’t match, you’ll realize we’re innocent.”
“When the housekeeper found the syringe, it was dirty. She wiped it clean before handing it over.” Mikeloff gritted his teeth. “The only prints on it were the paramedic’s.”
“Crap!” Dani groaned.
“So”—Detective Mikeloff glanced from Dani to Ivy—“which one of you shot Miss Bourne full of insulin?” His predatory eyes studied each of them for another long moment. And when neither of them spoke, he threatened, “It will be easy to discover if either of you are diabetic or has a close association with someone who is.”
“That really doesn’t matter.” Starr put her hands on her hips. “You don’t need a prescription for insulin or syringes, so everyone has access.”
“Did your daddy the doctor tell you that?” The detective’s pasty complexion turned an ugly purple.
Dani wrinkled her brow. What was up with this guy? It was almost as if he wanted her or Ivy to be the guilty party.
“I worked in a pharmacy when I was in high school,” Starr answered calmly.
Beads of sweat formed on Dani’s upper lip as she struggled not to show her panic. Mrs. Cook had been diabetic and when her possessions had been turned over to Dani, she disposed of several vials of insulin and packages of needles. If the detective found out, would that make Dani the prime suspect?
A flashback of her one and only visit to a police station nearly paralyzed her. She’d been seventeen, hanging out in the park with a bunch of friends when several of the guys had gotten into a fight. The police had arrived and hauled them all to the station to sort things out. Her father refused to come to the station, and with too much imagination for her own good, Dani had been terrified that the cops would never let her leave. What if Detective Mikeloff made that nightmare come true?
Ignoring the sharp pain behind her right eye, Dani lifted her chin and, with as much conviction as she could muster, said, “Neither Ivy
