36. Chapter 36
Chapter 36
Elise
“ I nsulin poisoning; are you sure?”
The voice of Tara’s mother on the other end of the line broke. “The doctors had some technical name for it, but yes. They could see by the blood tests that someone had given her a lot of insulin, and after a while, it caused brain damage. The medics gave her some sugar on the way to the hospital because they thought it might help, but I guess that just made it worse. She’s… brain dead. We have family flying in today to say goodbye and then we’ll turn off her respirator,” the woman sobbed.
This couldn’t be happening.
“I…um. I’m just so sorry. I’ll be praying for you and your family. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.” As if that would make the poor woman feel better. I really would pray for her though.
“Thanks. I have to let you go. Good luck on your race today.”
The race, our biggest competition of the season. If I could, I would cancel the whole thing, but teams had flown in from across the U.S. to be here. The race had to go on, even if I was in a crisis. Again. I swear this invitational was cursed.
Somehow, I made it from my car to the registration station where our racing packets were waiting, though I didn’t remember any of it.
“What's happened now?” Dylan asked the moment he saw my face.
I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.
“Hey there, Elise.” Pete thumped me on the back. We hadn’t seen or spoken to each other since the incident in his office. Looks like he wanted to pretend nothing had happened. That worked for me, at least it would for right now since we had to work together today.
“Hi,” I said in a tone that was flatter than I’d intended. The worry lines around Dylan’s eyes deepened.
Pete sniffed at the air, his chest expanding. “Perfect day for a race. Clear skies and slightly cooler temps. Should be an invite to remember. Dave would’ve been proud of how far this race has come, and I’m glad I can honor him in some small way by helpin’ make it happen, now that he’s gone.”
“Yep, I’m sure he’s super proud.” Dylan grabbed my arm and steered me away from the booth.
Not seeming to mind, Pete busied himself with organizing the other team’s packets and race gear.
“Tara’s brain-dead,” I blurted when we were out of earshot.
Dylan’s mouth hung open. “You’re kidding.” When I didn’t respond, his eyes grew wide. “This is a nightmare.” He raked his hands through his blue hair. “How did you find out?”
“Her mom gave me a call this morning. I’d left her a message earlier.” Best to get the rest of the bad news over with. “She said they have family flying in to say goodbye, and then, they’re going to disconnect her respirator.”
In his frustration, Dylan kicked a nearby rock with such force that it landed a good ten meters away.
“Um, there’s more, but I don’t know what it means yet. Tara’s Mom said that she’d been killed by insulin poisoning.”
“Insulin poisoning? I’ve never heard of that before.”
Me neither, and yet…
“You kids gonna help me out over here?” I jumped at the sound of Pete’s voice close behind us.
“Yeah, sorry,” I answered. “Just give us a…”
Insulin. Pete. An image of him holding the needle protruding from his daughter’s arm lit up my brain like a string of Christmas lights. Pete was very familiar with needles. He’d have to be after years of doping and caring for a diabetic daughter. He was also very familiar with insulin and its effects.
Seeing him staring at me, I tried to twist my face into a nonchalant expression. “We’re coming. What do you need us to do?” I squeaked like a mouse that knew it was about to be swallowed by a snake.
Pete’s eyes narrowed the tiniest bit. Had he heard what we were just saying? Did he recognize my moment of realization?
And then Dylan’s eyes widened, his mouth forming a slight “O.”
Shoot.
Pete’s talk sounded a little folksy at times, but he was no idiot. He was bound to know that something was up.
We hurried after the man’s longer than usual strides, casual smiles pasted in place. Should we call the police? That hadn’t worked out very well in the past. Would they believe me this time?
I eased my phone out of my pocket, and with only a couple of glances, I sent a message to Detective Fulsom asking him to call me. Hopefully, the guy would care more about what I had to say this time.
Dylan bumped into my arm, then shook out his hands. He was so jittery, he was practically skipping. Was this how he dealt with nerves, because Pete was bound to notice.
Throughout the morning, Pete did his best to keep us busy with odd jobs that were within his line of sight. When I tried to offer to help set up the course, he told me he’d done all of that last night. Interesting since he’d used marking out the course for his alibi at the time of Dad’s disappearance. Had he done it all the night before last year as well? It would have given him time to go on an early morning run with Dad, kill him, and get back in time for the race.
Finally, Dylan and I were able to steal a moment alone when I pointed out a part of the course that had yet to be marked clearly. I grabbed the guy and dragged him around the corner.
“So we’re on the same page, right? Pete’s the one who poisoned Tara with insulin,” Dylan whispered, rubbing his hands together like they were cold, even though it was a pleasant sixty-eight degrees.
I checked to make sure no-one else was near our copse of trees before answering, “I just can’t believe it. I’ve known him my whole life. How could he have killed Dad?”
“Wait, what?” Dylan caught my wrist. “I thought we were talking about Tara.”
I shook my head. “The motive is the same—keep his doping a secret. Think about it. He’d lose his job, fame, and reputation if that came out.”
“But we know about the doping.”
“That’s what has me nervous.” I checked my phone screen for the thousandth time. “I sent Detective Jerkface a message to call me, but he hasn’t responded. I don’t want to waste my time trying to explain the whole situation to the police. Pete’s been watching us so closely, and I don’t want him to catch me on a long phone call.”
“Yeah, but Jerkface is useless. He’d rather pin this whole thing on us or write it off than actually help us.”
Nearby, footsteps crunched against gravel. Dylan and I hurried to spray paint a white arrow that clearly marked where the runners would be turning, and the crunching got closer.
“There you two are,” Pete said, ducking under a nearby branch. “You finished with that yet? No time to lollygag. We’ve got work to do, and your kids should be here soon.”
We quickly finished our job and followed Pete on yet another errand. He was keeping us right under his thumb, and we were both ready to explode under the pressure. Judging by the way he swung his arms and bobbed his head; Dylan would be first to combust.
When Pete wasn’t looking, I whipped out my phone and typed another message to Detective Useless Jerkface, “Pete’s the one who attacked Tara and killed my dad. He knows that Dylan and I know and won’t let either of us out of his sight. We need your help.”
I scrolled my contacts, looking for someone else I could send a carefully worded text to when an ominous sensation raised the hairs on the backs of my arms. Looking up, I caught Pete craning his neck to get a look at my phone screen.
Our kids needed to hurry up and get here so we could have an excuse to get a little bit of space from this once familiar, now creepy man.