Stork Raving Mad: A Meg Langslow Mystery (A Meg Lanslow Mystery)

shoulder as he examined the bag. “I’ll need to take samples of the fibers.”
    Presumably he needed to eliminate any threads I’d left on the purse from any the killer might have deposited. I struggled out of my wraps and left them on one of the book boxes.
    I almost fell asleep while Horace was fingerprinting the purse’s exterior. Or perhaps I did fall asleep. But I was jolted wide awake by the chief’s voice.
    “Let’s have a look inside.”
    I watched from afar as Horace carefully began extracting the purse’s contents.
    A gold pen.
    A small perfume vial—presumably the scent I found so annoying.
    “When you get a chance, tell me what that vile stuff is,” I said. “So I can write to the manufacturer and complain.”
    They ignored me.
    A small leather-bound notepad. We all watched eagerly as Horace flipped it open, but we saw only blank pages. Horace shook his head and reached back into the purse.
    “Uh-oh,” Horace said.
    He pulled out a small bottle.
    “Is this what I think it is?” Horace handed the bottle to Dad.
    “Yes,” Dad said. “I’m not surprised.”
    “You did say to keep an eye out for it,” Horace said.
    “It could explain everything!” Dad exclaimed. “Of course there’s no way to tell before the tox screen comes back.”
    “But I bet this is what poisoned her,” Horace said. They were nodding happily at each other and didn’t seem to notice the chief’s growing irritation.
    “It accounts for her condition and the timeline,” Dad wenton. “I was never happy with the notion of it being digitalis. Too slow.”
    “And she didn’t drink enough of the tea,” Horace said, nodding. “If they’d put enough digitalis in for that much to kill her, she’d have noticed the taste. And what’s more—”
    “Just what in blue blazes is that thing?” the chief asked.
    “Insulin,” Dad said. “Was there a syringe?”
    Horace peered into the bag again, then carefully inserted his hand and pulled out a syringe. Dad shook his head as if sadly disappointed at the murderer’s clumsiness in leaving such clues behind.
    I leaned a little closer so I could see the vial. There was a tiny amount of clear liquid in the bottom.
    “It’s nearly empty,” I said. “Is this a bad sign?”
    “A very bad sign,” Dad said. “That much insulin could easily have killed her.”
    “But you don’t know that it was given all at once, do you?” I asked.
    “We don’t know, but the odds are it was,” Horace said. “There’s a date on the label. The prescription was refilled yesterday.”
    “So either she picked up her insulin yesterday and had to use it several times within twenty-four hours, which seems unlikely,” Dad said. “Or it was given all at once.”
    “You’re sure that much insulin would be fatal?” the chief asked.
    “Oh yes,” Dad said.
    “How fast?”
    “That would depend on how it was administered,” Dad said. “IM—in the muscle—maybe four to five minutes. Could take more like ten to fifteen minutes sub-Q—under the skin.”
    “Would that require medical expertise?” the chief asked.
    Dad shook his head.
    “Just about anyone could have managed to do it subcutaneously,” he said. “Especially if she was unconscious and unresisting. Of course, that does leave us with two interesting questions.”
    “I’m all ears,” the chief said.
    “First, who knew that she was an insulin-dependent diabetic?” Dad asked. “She didn’t exactly advertise it—we didn’t find a medic alert bracelet or tag of any kind.”
    “And it’s definitely her prescription?” the chief asked. “Her name on the label?”
    Horace nodded.
    “So the killer had to be someone who knew her well,” Horace said.
    “Not necessarily,” the chief said. “All someone had to do was see her injecting insulin at any time in the past and they could be reasonably certain she’d have it with her.”
    “True,” I said. “But unless she did her injecting very publicly—like in the middle of a class—and a whole lot of people knew about it, I bet you’re going to have a hard time finding anyone who’ll admit to knowing it, since knowing it makes someone even more suspicious.”
    “Of course, right now, only the killer knows that insulinwas what killed her,” the chief said. He turned back to Dad. “You said two questions. What was the other?”
    “Just how many attempted killers do we have here?” Dad asked. He sounded rather more gleeful than I would have been if I