Texas Outlaw(24)

Ariana and I trade a look about a detail we won’t share, that Susan Snyder’s phone was on the other side of the house. If nearly a third of people who use EpiPens need a second injection, and Susan Snyder simply couldn’t make it to her phone, then it’s quite plausible her death was accidental. Either that or someone with knowledge of the severity of her allergy tainted her food with peanut oil.

To Susan Snyder, an ordinary recipe could be as dangerous as any deadly poison.





Chapter 31



TOM AND JESSICA walk us out to my truck.

“Oh, wow,” Tom says when he sees the graffiti on my pickup. “We’ve been having problems with kids vandalizing town property. Looks like you’re the latest victim.”

I play it off like it was probably just kids.

“Are you staying at the motel?” Jessica asks. “You should stay with us. We’ve got a studio apartment over the garage. It used to be the kids’ playroom, but they’re both off at college now.”

I thank them for the offer and tell them I’ll think about it.

“We’ve got an alarm,” Tom says. “And there’s a video camera on the front porch. No one could vandalize your truck without being caught red-handed.”

“You’ve got that kind of security?” I say, surprised. You always hear about small-town folk not bothering to lock their doors, let alone having an alarm system.

“Most Texans’ idea of home security is to sleep with a .45 under their pillow,” Jessica says. “But I loathe guns.”

“And I used to work the crime beat,” Tom says. “I know the world’s not as safe a place as most people think it is.”

As a member of law enforcement, I can’t argue with that.

When we arrive outside the police station, I say to Ariana, “Did you say the medical examiner kept some blood samples?”

“You want him to do more tests?” she says.

“Not him,” I say, pulling out my phone and scrolling through my contacts list.

“What’s up, amigo?” says Freddy Hernandez, a high school friend who is now the medical examiner for the county that includes my hometown. “Rumor has it you’ve been banished to the middle of nowhere.”

I glance at Ariana and tell him that Rio Lobo is a lovely place to take a needed break from home.

“That’s good because all anyone in Redbud is talking about is Willow’s song. The local station plays it at least once an hour and mentions you by name every single time.”

“Just what I want to hear.”

I see the chief walk out of the station and toward the town offices, where Kirk Schuetz, the rancher on the council, is waiting for him outside the door. They glance our way when the chief reaches the door, and their body language suggests they’re making some kind of joke.

Freddy says, “I also hear that some of the Rangers keep teasing your lieutenant about what happened at the bank.”

Freddy not only is a brilliant medical examiner but also knows every detail—official and unofficial—of law enforcement in a two-hundred-mile radius of his office.

“I heard someone set up a cot in his office with a sign that said NAP ZONE.”

“If they keep that up,” I say, “I’ll never get to come home. I might as well buy a house here.”

I get to the reason I called. I ask if I can send him an autopsy report and have him take a look.

“The body’s been cremated, but we have blood samples,” I say. “Can I send them to you?”

“You think something fishy is going on with the medical examiner out there?” he asks.

“Not necessarily,” I say. “I just think he was quick to stamp NATURAL CAUSES on this thing, and I want a discerning eye to take a second look. I trust you.”

I tell him about Susan Snyder’s death.

“It’s hard to find poison in the blood,” he says, “unless you have an idea of what to test for.”

“What I want you to do is look for the absence of something,” I say.

I tell Freddy that Susan Snyder used an EpiPen, but it hadn’t saved her life. “Is it possible the EpiPen was tampered with?” I say. “Can you test the blood for epinephrine?”

Ariana gives me a look. She mouths the word Jessica?

“Theoretically the injection of adrenaline should raise the levels of certain compounds in the blood,” Freddy says. “There’s no way the lab would check for that unless you asked for it specifically.”

I tell him I’ll have the samples sent to him.

When I hang up, I ask Ariana how well she knows Tom and Jessica Aaron.

“I’ve known Jessica since I was a teenager going in and picking up prescriptions for my parents,” she says. “But I can’t say I know either of them well.”

“In a town this small,” I say, “everyone’s on the suspects list until we’re able to cross them off.”

As Ariana and I head into the station, my phone buzzes. I don’t recognize the number, but the area code is local.

“Hey, buddy,” Dale Peters says enthusiastically. “Want to jam again?”

I think about it. I started my day at two a.m. with a fistfight, and I’m already dragging. But I had fun last time, so it might be a nice way to unwind.