At the back only one pharmacist was working behind the counter, busy mixing, shaking and labeling. When he finally looked up, he moved to my section and peered at me over frameless glasses. A man nearing the age of retirement, mostly bald, neck spilling over his collar, he thoroughly looked me over before he smiled.

We chatted a moment. I told him the day was still pleasantly cool, and that I’d easily found parking on the street. Then I pulled a plastic bag out of my purse and handed it to him.

My lie seemed harmless. “A friend is renting out her apartment over the winter, and after she left town she realized she hadn’t cleaned out her medicine cabinet. The renters come next week. I have her spare key, and she asked me to mail any prescription drugs to her.”

He held up the bag. “This is what you found?”

I nodded. “Thing is? I don’t think she has a problem with illegal drugs. Nothing like that. But there seem to be an awful lot of...” I held up my palms. “Narcotics? Sleeping pills? I looked some of them up, and now I’m worried.”

He opened the bag and moved pill bottles around, setting them on the counter after he examined each one, until he had a neat little row. “Quite a collection. And you’re right about what they are.”

“Some of them are pretty outdated. So maybe she’s not taking them often.”

“I hope you’re right.” He swiped the bottles back into my bag. “If she left without this stash, hopefully they aren’t that important to her. People fill prescriptions and don’t finish them. Eventually they get more. They pile up. That could be what’s going on here. But she shouldn’t be mixing these. Does she seem foggy or unusually tired?”

“I honestly don’t know.” My mother hadn’t said anything to lead me in either direction. On the other hand, Mom looked at Wendy through rose-colored glasses.

“Maybe she has problems sleeping,” he said.

“Could be.”

“If she is mixing prescriptions, adding this to that because the sleep medications aren’t working, then she could be in trouble.”

“I’m going to mention that. She won’t like it, but she needs to know.”

“People die mixing drugs, or drugs and alcohol. With some of these prescriptions, even over-the-counter drugs could be fatal in high enough doses.”

I made a face to show him how horrified I was. “Like what?”

He ticked off a couple I knew and then added, “Diphenhydramine.”

An economy-size bottle of diphenhydramine resided in Wendy’s medicine cabinet. “What’s that?”

“Most commonly? Benadryl. It makes some people sleepy, although not everyone, and in the right dose it’s safe enough by itself. Mixed with other medications, though, it can make patients feel dizzy and disoriented.”

I nodded to encourage him, because he was doing my work for me. “She did have a large bottle in the cabinet.”

“Want a sad story? Not long ago a baby died when his caretaker gave him an adult dose to knock him out. It was all over the news. So even for an adult, mixed with some of these drugs?” He brushed his hand over the bag and shook his head. “I hope your friend’s doctor warned her.”