Steven Havill - A Discount for Death

“And don’t feel you have to answer,” Estelle said. Leona nodded slowly. “Who’s your family physician?”

Leona visibly relaxed. “Here I thought you were going to ask me something terribly clandestine, something from the seamy side.” She smiled broadly. “That one’s easy. Dr. Grona. He’s over in Deming.” She immediately frowned again, prepared for the next challenge.

“No one here in town?”

“Noooo,” she said carefully. Her face flushed beet red, from the lace collar of her muumuu to her hairline. “Your husband is way too good-looking for me to be comfortable with, Miss Estelle, and Alan Perrone reminds me of a corpse. Hugh Clausen is a good Swede, but he drinks. And Kurt Baylor is in the process of moving his practice to Grants.” She shrugged. “Besides, I’ve been going to Dr. Grona for eons and eons. I’m in Deming half the week anyway, so it’s no inconvenience.” She flashed the broad smile again. “And all that is probably way more than you wanted to know.”

Estelle nodded. “Actually, it’s helpful. My next question is absolutely none of my business…not that the first one was.”

She hesitated, and Leona leaned forward on the stool. “My dear, if you’re here in the middle of the night asking, then you have your reasons. Shoot.”

Estelle fished a slip of paper out of her pocket and handed it to Leona. The woman scanned down the list of eight prescription drugs, frowning.

“And so? What’s this?”

“Do you currently take any of those medications?”

“Interesting, interesting. What are you in the middle of, dear girl?”

“Please.” Estelle nodded at the list.

“Well, let me see. I used to take Petrosin, up until about a month ago. And then Dr. Grona switched me to something else, I don’t remember what.”

“You were having some kind of reaction to Petrosin?”

“No. It just wasn’t working for me. Let me tell you, I wish I didn’t have to take it, but sometimes it’s just not possible to face the day without it. May you never suffer from depression, Estelle Guzman.” She scanned the list again. “None of the rest. Not just now, anyway. I had some Daprodin a month or so ago for a bladder infection. Great big horse pills.”

“Large price tag, too.”

“Oh, of course. Thank God for insurance, though. Still, the co-pay is enough to land you on your back.”

“Where did you go to have the prescriptions filled?”

“I’ve been using Trombley’s for years and years.” Leona lowered her voice as if in mid-conspiracy. “And he’s so thoughtful, you know. Like with the Daprodin? He would give me a few extra, in case the infection flared up again. That way I wouldn’t have to go through the whole rigmarole again. In some ways, old Doc Grona is kind of a fuddy-duddy. He wrote a thirty-day prescription for the Daprodin, instead of the normal ten. So I just saved the rest for another day.” She beamed smugly.

“So you still have some of the Daprodin, then?” Leona nodded. “May I see it?”

“Well surely.” The woman heaved herself upright. “And I’ll make the tea. Any special favorites? I have everything on the planet.”

“Actually, I’m fine, Leona. Really.”

“You don’t look fine. How about a little cup of Earl Grey? That cures all ills. And it’s scads cheaper than Daprodin.”

Estelle grinned with resignation. “Okay.” She felt a stab of affection for this lonely Brunhilda.

“Cream and sugar?”

“No, thanks. Just Daprodin.”

Leona burst out with a hearty laugh. “Ah, yes. All right. Let me fetch that.” She left the room and was gone for no more than two minutes, long enough for Estelle to read the two diplomas from UCLA, one of them a doctorate in civil engineering. A framed photo caught the former governor of New Mexico shaking Leona’s hand at what was obviously an awards dinner of some sort, with I appreciate all you do!! ! written across the top corner of the photo in heavy black marker.

“Here we are,” Leona said, and handed the small bottle to Estelle. “And I’ll be right back with the tea. Cookies? I’ve got some of those wonderful little lemon things from Denmark.”

“No, please. But you go ahead.”

“Well, I’ll bring enough, in case you change your mind.” She hustled out of the room. Estelle rolled the prescription bottle between her fingers, then popped off the top. She shook one pill out into the palm of her hand and pressed the lid back in place. She regarded the pill for a moment, reading the DAPRODIN DG on one side, the 500 on the other-identical in appearance with either set of pills she’d taken from Louis Herrera’s pharmacy. Quiero o no quiero , she thought, and popped the pill into her mouth, letting it rest on the front of her tongue. The taste, if there was any at all, was bland and chalky.

Estelle deposited the capsule into a small evidence bag and slipped the bottle and remaining medication into another, marking them carefully. She was putting the cap back on the pen when Leona Spears returned with a tray and cups. She saw her medications now secure in the plastic bags and stopped short.

“Leona, this last batch of Daprodin DG that you purchased from Guy Trombley is a placebo,” Estelle said. “That’s what we’re investigating at the moment.”

“You’re kidding.” The large woman set the tray down carefully on the computer desk.

“No.”

“How do you tell, then? That it’s fake, I mean.”

“The taste, for one. The real medication has a tart, stringent taste, like quinine.”

“I’ve had some that does and some that doesn’t,” Leona said. “Now what about the Petrosin?”

“That I don’t know. It’ll require a lab analysis.”

“I have some, you know.”

“Petrosin?”

“Yes. You remember I said that Dr. Grona changed my prescription? I kept the medications.” She scrinched up her face like a guilty child. “I keep things, you know.” It took her only a moment to produce the bottle, still containing two dozen or more tablets.

“Also from Trombley’s pharmacy,” Estelle said, looking at the label.

“Now surely, he wouldn’t…” and Leona let the sentence trail off. “What was it that you wanted me to do?”

“Leona, may I take these with me?” She held up the two evidence bags.

Leona Spears snorted. “I don’t have much choice there, now do I.” Then she smiled eagerly. “Whatever you want to do. I have other prescriptions from Trombley’s as well…would you want those?”

“I’d appreciate it.”

In another moment, Leona had assembled a row of nine bottles, some out of date by more than a year. She watched with satisfaction as Estelle nudged them into another plastic bag. “I hope that helps,” Leona said. “If this is all you wanted of me, it’s the easiest thing in the world.”

“I think this will serve the same purpose, Leona,” Estelle said. “I think it will. Do you understand that if this ends up in court, you’ll be asked to testify about the circumstances of your acquiring these medications? And that you received them from Guy Trombley?”

Leona nodded. “I’m no stranger to the courtroom, my dear. It doesn’t frighten me one little bit. And now a fair trade, Mrs. Guzman. What ,” and she leaned heavily on the word, “is going on? I’ve known and trusted Guy Trombley for just years and years. I just can’t imagine…”

“We have reason to believe that counterfeit pharmaceuticals are being brought into the country, Leona. There is evidence that some of them were dispensed at local pharmacies, including in Posadas.” She smiled ruefully. “That’s all I can really tell you at this point.”