Randy’s calm was wavering. He was used to getting calls about his wild daughter’s erratic behavior; it was something he had almost come to expect, much like high taxes or criticism from the press. But what Bill was alluding to was impossible. Coral and Karen had been assigned twenty-four hour security ever since Kristopher’s death. How could she have shaken her guards?
Randy swallowed, tasting metal in the back of his throat.
Where are my Rolaids?
He jerked open the top left desk drawer, revealing his private pharmacy. Pulling too hard, the drawer flew out of its slot and clattered to the ground, scattering orange canisters, pill packs, and bottles filled with colorful elixirs around his feet. Before he could set things right, Bill clicked back over.
“Ran, you still there?” he asked.
“I’m right here, Bill. So what’s this Jessica business again?” He scanned the floor frantically and finally located the acid reducers buried beneath a pill pack of antibiotics. As he popped one, his heart-rate reducing beta-blockers called up to him, so he swallowed two of them as well.
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