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 ...