Bettina picked up the mouse and glanced at the computer in front of her. “Only the nurse practitioner is here right now, Daisy. Did you need an appointment?”
“No, actually, I, ah, you see, I have this relative with diabetes and I was hoping to find out a bit more about it. You know, so I can help her out.”
I crossed my fingers inside the pockets of my windbreaker and hoped my good intentions would outweigh a little white lie.
“You should tell them to get a pump with a remote, like I have,” Jason said to me. “They’re awesome. Especially if you play sports.”
“Let me guess. Football?” With his blond hair and all-American good looks, I bet he drove the girls crazy at school.
He grinned again. “Yeah. It’s so much better than having to inject yourself all the time. It connects to a cannula under the skin. See? Here’s my site.” He whipped up his shirt and quickly reconnected the device. “The pump has a disconnect port so you can take it off to shower, or if you’re not allowed to wear it when you play. You just program it to give a tiny dose every few minutes. It’s easier to maintain your glucose levels ’cause you can adjust your basals on the fly.”
I smiled at him. Far from diabetes putting a crimp in his style, it seemed like he really got a kick out of his high-tech gadgets.
“You can hook it up to your computer, too, to see patterns of when you might need a higher basal. Then when you come into the office, the doctor downloads the pump data to see how your plan is working for you.”
“Um, I’m sorry, but what’s a basal?” I asked.
Bettina pushed the fall of her glossy hair over her shoulder. “There’s a basal dose that’s delivered continuously to maintain your blood glucose in target. A bolus dose, which is an extra amount, is given to cover the rise in glucose for meals or snacks, or because of a high reading. You can also use the remote to administer it.”
She smiled at Jason. “These remotes are great. I have one myself.”
“You do?” he said.
“Yup. I was diagnosed when I was younger than you. Although they didn’t have cool stuff like these pumps back then. Just remember, don’t stay disconnected more than one to two hours without any insulin.”
She showed both of us how her remote had features like a low-cartridge warning and a safety lock. “And don’t forget to carry your emergency kit at all times, Jason. It has quick-acting glucose tablets and spare batteries.”
I hoped Jason was paying attention. He looked a little lovestruck.
Bettina touched his shoulder gently. “I know it’s a lot to deal with, but you’re doing really well, and you have such a great attitude.”
“Thanks, Ms. Waters.”
I swallowed, seeing his face light up with a smile that could break a young girl’s heart. I didn’t know much, but I knew one thing. There was no way that Bettina Waters was a murderer. I’d stake my own life on it.
After Jason left, I cleared my throat. “Bettina, I was wondering what would kill a person with diabetes.”
She gave me a startled look.
“God, I’m sorry, that was a very indelicate question. It’s just that I’m so concerned about my—um—relative. She’s an older woman. Like Sophie Rosenthal, for instance, who died from an insulin overdose. You know how older people get things mixed up, and I can see that the treatment can be complicated. Could it have been an accident?”
“Not for that amount. It had to be suicide. What killed Sophie Rosenthal was a bolus—a big push of insulin she told the pump to deliver. Normally it would be because of a high reading during waking hours. Or at meal times. Not at 2 a.m.”