“Leonard Nimoy, who played Spock, was in the movie.”
“For serious?”
“For serious,” Izzie repeated.
“Learn something new every day,” Regina remarked.
“One can hope.”
The two women walked back to their minuscule offices, closed their doors, and finished their workload for the day. Izzie was itching to share the latest info with everyone, but first she had to pry a little more out of Regina. Izzie didn’t think it would be a problem getting the young woman to open up. There was a kind innocence about her that Izzie liked. The type of naïveté that could get someone hit by a dump truck.
Regina knocked on Izzie’s door at four-thirty on the dot. No sooner, no later.
“Clayton may be standing by the exit. Let’s not say anything about us going out together.”
“Gotcha,” Izzie replied. Sure enough, the crotchety woman was standing guard at the door.
“Good night, Mrs. Clayton. I uploaded all the information required.”
“I should hope so,” Clayton grunted.
“Have a good evening,” Izzie said. She wasn’t sure if Clayton grunted again or passed gas. Izzie bit the inside of her mouth to keep from cracking herself up.
Izzie got into her car and watched Regina pull away. She lagged behind, just in case anyone was watching. Izzie got the creepy-crawlies thinking about the Sunnydale version of Huxley’s book.
The bar was less than a ten-minute drive from Sunnydale. Regina pulled into a spot, and Izzie drove farther toward the rear of the parking lot. She knew she was being overly cautious, but it was a good strategy, considering how much surveillance she had been under all day.
The two women sidled up to the bar. Izzie ordered a white wine spritzer, and Regina ordered a shot of Tequila Ocho. Instead of chugging it, Regina sipped it slowly. “Can’t get blotto during the week,” she said, chuckling.
“You don’t normally get blotto on the weekends, do you? I’m not being judgy.”
Regina laughed. “Nah. I did when I was in my late teens, but after too many hangovers, I decided I wanted to get up in the morning while it was still morning, and without a pounding headache.”
“Good plan.” Izzie raised her glass. She was trying to find a way to steer their conversation back to the young man who was hit by a dump truck. She decided that time was of the essence, and she came right out and asked. “Tell me more about your friend. The one in the hospital. Is he going to be okay?”
“Jeremy? I think so, but I’m worried about him.”
“What do you mean?” Izzie was drooling over this outpouring of information.
“They have him handcuffed to his hospital bed.”
“Why on earth for?” Izzie winced.
“They said there was a vial of morphine in the car he was driving.”
“Wow. That’s intense.”
“That’s exactly what I said to him. But I don’t think he did it.”
“Then how did it get there?” Izzie was playing devil’s advocate.
“No idea, but he was the on-site pharmacist.”
“That makes him look guilty, don’t you think?”
Regina looked Izzie straight in the eye. “Sure, but I really believe him.”
“Do you think it was a setup?”
