Rx Trilogy by Renee B. Horowitz

Rx for Murder by Renee B. Horowitz, author of the Rx trilogy of suspense novels starring Ruthie Kantor Morris, Registered Pharmacist and brilliant, romantic sleuth

Renée B. Horowitz has authored the Rx Trilogy of suspense novels starring Ruthie Kantor Morris, Registered Pharmacist and brilliant, romantic sleuth. Rx for Murder was published by Avon Books in 1997. Publishers Weekly calls it "a good choice for bedtime reading." Now available on this website, complete, free, and without obligation for your reading pleasure.

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The Rx Trilogy - suspense novels by Renee B. Horowitz

Rx for Murder

First Book of the Rx Trilogy (Suspense Novels)

by Renée B. Horowitz

I stared at Michael. So much for my psychological insights. "I thought Harry would be happy about the baby. Some older men would be proud to have a pregnant young wife."

"Perhaps, but he should have thought of the possibility before he married Betsy. It's a mistake to marry out of your generation."

Was he sending me a message or was my imagination misinterpreting his words? I reverted to the original subject.

"You said you're unsure about suicide. Does that mean you think murder is a real possibility?"

"I don't know."

He had surprised me again. I'd expected a vehement denial because suspicion of murder would be far worse for Betsy than whispers of suicide. "Was there any evidence?"

"Ruthie, the police haven't told us much. We know there was no suicide note. And the autopsy showed no sign of poison."

"Then aside from Harry's doctor, what's the problem?"

He turned away and studied my sunlit peach-and-turquoise kitchen without expression. After a moment, he seemed to reach a decision. "I guess I'd better tell you everything."

I waited for him to continue, too unnerved to comment. The only sound in the room was the air conditioner as it cut in automatically. Without knowing why, I felt chilled enough to want to raise the thermostat temperature.

"As you know, Harry's death was sudden and completely unexpected. The reason I wanted to know what medications he was taking—there was a box of 12 Hour Food-Fed, your store's brand of pseudoephedrine, by his bedside table."

"Surely he knew enough to avoid decongestants with his heart condition."

"They weren't his tablets; they were Betsy's."

I stifled my exclamation of surprise. No wonder she was suspected of contributing to her husband's death. Food-Fed is an OTC, a drug sold over the counter. No prescription needed. It's effective in clearing cold symptoms and making it easier to breathe at night. Many people with clogged nasal passages take the longer-acting twelve-hour tablets at bedtime so they can get a good night's rest. I knew that Food-Fed, taken with Harry Stokes's other prescriptions, was contraindicated because it would act as a cardiac stimulant. Betsy also would have known because of the warning on the package.

Michael's tone was even, but I could see how troubled he was. "Betsy had the cold symptoms first, and she was taking the Food-Fed. When Harry began experiencing the same discomfort, he must have taken her pills."

"Are you sure that's what happened?"

"We don't really know. But Betsy says she only used four tablets. Then she started worrying about the baby and checked with her gynecologist. He okayed the Food-Fed, but meanwhile she felt better and decided not to use them anymore."

"How many were left in the box you found on Harry's night table?"

"One."

I winced. Each box contains twelve tablets, which meant Harry must have used seven of them. For anyone else, Food-Fed would be a good choice to relieve nasal congestion. With Harry's physical problems, it was not. His doctor should have advised him never to use that kind of stimulant, especially since the dosage of his blood pressure medication had just been increased. No wonder the police were asking so many questions. But why did they examine Denise's record if a nonprescription drug contributed to Harry's death? It didn't make sense.

"The whole thing is unbelievable," I said.

"And frightening, too. Betsy insists that she had no idea Harry was taking her decongestant. She tells me she put the unused pills in the medicine cabinet and forgot all about them."

"But when Harry's cold symptoms began, was she the one who suggested the Food-Fed?"

Michael looked uncomfortable. I thought I'd hit upon the truth, but I was wrong. He started to speak, hesitated, and then began again. "They weren't on good terms during the last weeks of Harry's life. In fact, they were barely speaking to each other except to argue about the baby."

"She must feel terrible now."

"It's been a nightmare." He met my eyes and held them. "I know I sound like a father defending his daughter, but she loved him very much. And, Ruthie, he loved her. Betsy was convinced he'd change his mind about the baby."

"This entire situation is so strange, Michael. No one could be sure that the decongestant would kill him."

"That's what I told the police, but Detective Moreway says if it hadn't worked, the murderer might have tried something else."

"Murderer!" My voice sounded hoarse to me. "Then they really believe Harry was murdered?"

"That's one of the possibilities they're investigating. There's no way to prove his heart gave out because he took or was given a cold remedy that overstimulated his heart. And there's no way to prove Betsy didn't give him her pills. On the other hand, we can't show he died of natural causes, and the uncertainty makes everything worse for Betsy."

"What are you doing to help her?"

"I haven't been able to accomplish anything. It's unbearably frustrating to wait for others to act."

"And I didn't help when I refused to give you the printout."

He smiled at me. "I wasn't trying to make you feel guilty. In any event, the printout didn't change Detective Moreway's suspicions."

"I think," I said slowly, "it's all right to reveal that Harry wasn't taking anything you don't already know about."

"That's what I was afraid of."

"Afraid of?" I echoed.

Michael gathered our dirty cups and saucers and carried them to the countertop. "You see, my daughter's trained me to an active role in kitchen duties."

I got up and stood beside him. "I'll just pop everything in the dishwasher."

"Good. I didn't really relish washing dishes."

"Okay, Michael," I said, getting back to the pertinent conversation. "Level with me."

He seemed surprised at my firm tone, but answered readily enough. "I've been hoping Harry's doctor had prescribed something that would explain his death. No, that's not right either. What I want is a discovery that will vindicate Betsy."

"And implicate someone else?"

"If that's what it takes."

"What if the 'someone else' is innocent? After all, I'm one possible 'someone else.'"

Michael took me gently by the shoulders. "No one in his right mind would suspect you."

"Now, we're going in circles. If I agreed, I wouldn't have asked for your advice."

He had the grace to look embarrassed. "Ruthie, there's no evidence against anyone. Anyone at all. I know this police investigation is difficult for you and Denise. Maybe for Harry's children, too. But it's far worse for Betsy. We're talking about a newly bereaved young woman, a pregnant widow."

I sympathized with Michael and his daughter, but I couldn't suppress the thought that she might be guilty after all. Fathers are not the best judges of their daughter's moral fiber and, if Betsy were a murderer, her father would probably deny it even after justice was done.

"This is all supposition," I said. "No matter how much we talk about natural death versus suicide versus murder, we'll probably never know the truth."

"I must find out whether Harry was murdered."

"How?"

"I haven't worked out the details yet," Michael said. "But I know I never wanted anything as much as I want this grandchild. And I'm not going to let Betsy suffer like this through her pregnancy."

Anxiety for Michael made me shudder. "It could be dangerous for you."

"That's precisely the point. If I can seem to know too much, the murderer will come after me."

If you like what you're reading, please send at least two other avid readers to this website.
—Thank you! …Your grateful author, Renée B. Horowitz.

The boat lifted on time with a powerful whine of all four grav-desist engines, while Jory, Josenda, the mercenaries sat strapped into high-backed chairs in a passenger transit bay on the third floor. Josenda explained that the engines still had to push the boat upward, but somehow the engines fooled the atmosphere into thinking it was more like water and the ship more like a block of wood.

They rose into the night sky. He saw more stars as the atmosphere thinned and his field of vision deepened. The red moon showed its valleys and rilles.

The boat burned upward, and they seemed to move in several directions all at once, and always in shifting combinations, that made his stomach feel like a balloon full of air. Josenda slipped him a small bag just in time, and he expelled the last of Giru's vegetable soup, bless her soul. He rinsed with mint tea.

They slowed to a crawl before a huge black shape with myriad tiny squares of light in its many surfaces. Rockets fired in near-zero grav. The boat slowly bumped to a stop inside a featureless cage just big enough to hold it, and the boat was bolted to the floor and ceiling. Only then were the humans allowed to get out. Jory followed Josenda on shaky legs.

As they walked down the metal ramp, Jory looked around in amazement.

Josenda laughed at his expression. "It's big all right. But it's average. RTL runs hundreds of freighters up and down the Third Arm. Some of them are so big the Dora Mora could fit into a single cargo bay."

Jory could not imagine that. He craned his neck as he walked. This was a noisy, industrial environment. There was room for four or five boats; at the moment, only one was out and he assumed still on the ground here or on Fril. The ceilings receded into darkness, and he could not see how high they went�he was blinded by round factory lights that floated on cross-stabilizing cables. The ship had its own gravity, he noted, though he felt a little bit different, just a fraction�he couldn't tell if it was more or less gravity than on Shur.

They passed knots of humans in overalls. All were busy�some pushing cargo around on small grav-desist floats, others welding metal on metal so sparks flew before their black safety lenses, others trooping to the water cooler or carrying electric data tablets around.

Josenda took him up in a lift. "You'll stay in your own quarters on the Officers' Deck. What a lucky guy. I'll get to see you most of your waking hours though."

"When do I begin to find out why he brought me here?"

"When he's ready." She spoke deferently of the Ruandap.

"I will be patient." He waited in the dim light as the lift hummed.

When the lift stopped, they stepped into a pleasantly gloomy, wide corridor with carpeted floors and electronic lighting. The walls and doors were paneled in wood, and all the doors were closed, their heavy brass handles ornate.

"This is where you will stay for the time being," she said, throwing open a door. Jory stepped into an oppressively close, musty smelling room with no flavor or personality. "Like a tomb," she said lightly, "let's freshen it up." She flicked switches, and the lighting closed in�brighter wherever he walked, dimmer the farther away. A faint sigh of machinery caused delightful cool, fresh air to waft around Jory. A wall flickered into life, showing a panoramic sunset over a sea somewhere in the universe. The air, wherever that was, seemed to be on fire. "If you want music, entertainment, you have everything." She flicked some more switches, and music blared over him, and the wall changed to a scene of naked women strutting with feathered fans. She turned off the music, and the sunset returned. "I'll let you blast your senses numb after I'm gone if you wish."

"Thank you, I like the quiet."

She stood awkwardly and squeezed her hands together. "Maybe I should be direct, Jory. I am married, so don't get any ideas."

He felt his cheeks burn red. He'd already had some ideas, albeit dim and unrealized. He wanted to say something clever, but couldn't think of anything.

She showed him a refrigerator and a kitchen. He had a bathroom, whose workings she explained to him. "You know how to flush, yes?"

"How to what?"

"Flush." She pushed a button, and water swirled away, replaced by transparent fresh water colored blue like a mountain stream. "After you go. And always wash thoroughly afterward. It's important, because we're in confined quarters, and we have to keep the bugs under control."

After she bid him goodnight and left, he turned and looked into a mirror. He saw how different he looked. He tried cupping his palms over the round horn plates on his temples, but he still looked different. What human woman would want him?

He ate a few prepared foods with a spoon, not knowing how to hold them or what to put on them. He learned quickly that, no matter how a thing tasted, if in doubt, there was a small bottle of red liquid that would cover the food's smell and taste with a blanket of fire as potent as those flaming sunsets roiling on the walls.

After eating, he lay on the bed and watched the wall. After a while, he figured out that there were controls in a side panel of the bed. He simply had to march his fingers up and down the edge of the bed. As he did so, the pictures changed. He was fascinated by markets and beaches and roads and waving life forms on various worlds. Before falling asleep, however, he gazed at a scene of women who wore tiny two-piece bathing suits and lingered around a square pool of greenish-blue water whose surface rippled in a hot white noon sun.

If you like what you're reading, please send at least two other avid readers to this website.
—Thank you! …Your grateful author, Renée B. Horowitz.

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Read other exciting books by Renée B. Horowitz

Deadly Rx by Renee B. Horowitz, author of the Rx trilogy of suspense novels starring Ruthie Kantor Morris, Registered Pharmacist and brilliant, romantic sleuth

Renée B. Horowitz has authored two more novels to complete the Rx Trilogy of suspense novels starring Ruthie Kantor Morris. Deadly Rx was published by Avon Books in 1997. Rx Alibi was published by Clocktower Books in 2001. All three books are now available complete, free, and without obligation for your reading pleasure.