I took the pill bottle from the shelf, my heart pulsing wildly. Small, circular pills filled about a third of the container. How many had been put in our food? Enough to make us sick or enough to kill us?
Randolph shoved open the double doors into the kitchen behind me, and I jerked back. He leveled me with a watery gaze as he slurred, "Ishur hope you plan on settin' the table."
"Randolph..." Had he been the one to spike the food with pills? Was rough-around-the-edges Randolph capable of attempted murder? He'd been standing in front of the pan when I'd walked in. I dragged in breath after breath while I studied his ruddy features for any sign that he knew what I was about to say. "Someone put ground up pills in our food."
He blinked and some of the alcoholic haze vanished from his eyes. "What?"
I thrust the bowl of buttered pill fragments at him with sticky fingertips and shook the bottle of pills. "Who put it there, Randolph?"