Page 132 of Tear Me Apart
“Oh. Well, they aren’t going to let her into the room. I guess I’ll just hold on to her. Your wife is very sick. They did a blood gas trying to figure out what she took and found ethylene glycol in her system. They’re giving her the treatment now and will be putting her on dialysis, too. That stuff is bad on the kidneys. She’s intubated, she can’t talk, her lungs are torched. I won’t lie to you. She’s in rough shape, sir.”
“Ethylene glycol? Isn’t that antifreeze?”
“A component of it, yes. My husband’s a veterinarian, he sees it all the time in his practice. Not as common for people to drink it, but it happens.”
Zack tries to wrap his head around this. How can a person accidentally drink antifreeze? A kid, maybe, he can see that. But an adult? Either they did it on purpose...or someone slipped it to them.
“The fomepizole, that’s the treatment, it’s super expensive. They are going to need to get some forms signed before they start, in case your insurance doesn’t cover it. But there’s no time to waste.”
“Good God, give her the medicine already. Don’t wait another second. If it will save her, do it.”
“You’ll have to sign—”
“It will be covered,” he says. “She has excellent benefits, she’s a CBI agent.”
“No kidding? Wow. Do you have any idea why she’d try to hurt herself? They’re going to want to do a psych consult...”
“She didn’t hurt herself. Someone did this to her. I’m sure of it.”
77
THE WRIGHTS’ HOUSE
Lauren stands in her dining room, watching the ambulance shriek away. The mess the paramedics have made is incredible. The floor is littered with plastic wrappings, discarded needle caps, tubing. They should come with a disclaimer—yes, we’ll save your life, but only if you clean up the mess.
“Watch out. Is that puke? Ugh, grody.”
She has nearly forgotten the kid—who looks familiar—standing bug-eyed in her living room.
“Who are you, exactly?”
“Bode Greer.Ski Magazine. My man Zack promised an interview. What do you say we sit down, and you can tell me what the heck just happened? That was your sister, right?”
“I remember you. You interviewed Mindy.”
“I did. Best single-issue sales we’ve had in years. I was hoping for a follow-up, now that we know who she really is.”
Who she really is. The words are a knife to Lauren’s already fragile heart.
“You want to know who she really is? I’ll tell you. She’s my daughter. And this situation is a private family matter. I don’t know how or why you’ve insinuated yourself in at this particular moment, or what sort of bargain you and that Armstrong man made, but you’re not welcome here. I have no comment for you, and there will be no interviews with my daughter. And I swear to you, if you write about this, I’ll sue you and your magazine. Now, get out. You can see yourself to the door.”
There is honey on the table. “Tsk,” she murmurs. “Messy, messy, Juliet.”
She picks up the teacup from where it’s fallen on the floor.
“Hey, isn’t this, like, a crime scene or something? Don’t the cops need to see everything the way it is?”
She eyes him coldly. “I told you to leave, and I meant it. Get out, or I’ll call the police and have you forcibly removed.”
Bode puts up his hands and reverses his ball cap. “Fine, fine. I’m out.”
She locks the door behind him. There is little time; she has to get everything cleaned up and get to Mindy.
Stupid Juliet. Just had to go sticking her nose in. Lauren could have handled all of this if her dumb little sister hadn’t decided to solve the crime of the century.
She hums one of Mindy’s favorite songs, something from a band called Imagine Dragons, as she thoroughly washes the cups and teapot, pours the honey down the drain, follows it with hot, hot water. It wouldn’t do to have anyone else get ill, then she might be blamed, and she can’t let that happen.
She washes the teapot and sets the kettle to boil. She leaves the groceries melting in their bags on the counter where Zack and the reporter left them; it seems appropriate that she would forget about them in the chaos.
