Gross. "No."

"Any sensitivity to ibuprofen?"

"No."

"Angioedema or bronchospastic reactivity to aspirin or other nonsteroidal anti-inflammatory agents?"

"What?"

"I'd guess that would be no, too." She popped the cap and dispensed several pills into her hand. "I'll start you out on six eight-hundred-milligram tablets for today and tomorrow. When you need more, come back and see me. I have some snack-size plastic bags you can put these in. They're in the bathroom."

As she headed for the bathroom to fetch the bag, I crossed to the window and looked out. Her room faced the same inner courtyard our first room had faced. Yellow brick everywhere. Row upon row of windows. Service area and waste disposal unit directly below. I leaned across the sill to peer into the Dumpster but saw nothing that resembled a twenty-six-inch tapestried pullman amid the ordered neatness of black plastic trash bags. Okay, so thinking someone might have accidentally misplaced my suitcase in the trash was a stretch, but let's face it, I was desperate. Not only didn't I have a dress for tonight, the only footwear I had was what I was wearing--my clunky Nubuck walking shoes that didn't fit right unless I wore heavy socks with them. I stared down at my feet. Not exactly the ideal footwear to complement the short, clingy black dress I imagined I was going to have to buy when my luggage didn't show.

"I seem to have buried the bags under a few things, Emily. I'm sorry to keep you waiting." I heard the echoes of plastic crinkling and pills rattling. I jumped at the sound of glass shattering on the tile floor.

"Are you all right in there?" I asked.

"Uff da! My drinking glass."

"You need help cleaning it up?"

"No no. It'll only take me a minute. I hope you're not in a terrible hurry."

I checked the face of my little cow watch. "I have plenty of time." I wandered over to her desk to look over her stash of drugs. Amazingly, she'd taken the time to arrange the items in alphabetical order, which sure made it easy to find things. It also made me wonder if the ability to alphabetize was a major requirement of the profession. But this sent up a flag of warning in my head. What if Jane had invited the Rassmusons and Teigs and Stolees to her room? That would have given them easy access to a whole raft of drugs. What if Helen or Dick or Lucille had used some of Jane's drugs to commit murder? Could the interaction of several different drugs cause a reaction that mimicked dimethyl sulfate poisoning? Oh. My. God. What if Jane had unwittingly aided the murderer? Had her pharmacist's sense of order allowed her worst nightmare to be realized?

"Have you been socializing with the Dicks and their wives at night?" I asked in as neutral a tone as I could muster.

"Sure have." I heard toilet paper being ripped from the roll. Pipes groaning. Water running. "We met here the first night. And since it was my room, I decided to invite the Bakkes to join us. And George and Bernice. Since they're traveling by themselves, I thought they might enjoy getting together with the group, at least for one night."