I was standing near Todd and my curiosity was killing me, so I leaned close and whispered, “What’s he allergic to?”
Todd looked at me in surprise. “Peanuts. Everybody knows that.”
“I didn’t,” I confessed.
“But everybody else knows,” he insisted, despite my words. “On our first day, he took all of us in to show us exactly where he keeps his EpiPen. And we were all warned that nobody’s allowed to bring anything with peanuts onto the set.”
I didn’t argue with him. The fact was that I’d had no idea Randy had a peanut allergy, so it was a good bet there were others who were as much in the dark as me.
But it didn’t matter who didn’t know about the allergy. What mattered more was who did know. Because it was possible that someone right here in the studio had meant to kill him.
I scanned the room. Could a killer actually be roaming the studio? Had someone nearby slipped peanuts into Randy’s food?
Hell. I stared at the cardboard coffee cup that had rolled under the table. Just moments ago, it had been filled with coffee. Randy had taken a sip or two before spilling the entire contents on the floor. On a hunch, I bent over, picked it up, and folded it in half.
I knew the basics of anaphylactic shock, knew that Randy’s tongue and throat must have become swollen enough to cut off air to his lungs. No wonder he couldn’t talk. He was lucky to be alive.
“I’m okay,” he finally whispered. “But I might need some help getting back to my room.”
“Stay where you are,” Derek said, and signaled to Tom, who stooped down to talk.
“He’s got to go to the hospital,” Derek said.
“No, no,” Randy mumbled.
“What the hell were you thinking, eating peanuts?” Tom demanded. “You know better than that.”
“I didn’t eat anything,” Randy muttered. “Just had a cup of coffee.”
“The EMTs should be here any minute,” Derek said.
Randy waved his hand weakly. “I’ll be fine.”
“You damn well better be,” Tom grumbled.
Derek shook his head. “The amount of epinephrine in the EpiPen is only intended to keep you alive long enough to get you to the hospital.”
Tom sighed and pulled out his cell phone. He spoke quietly for a minute, then disconnected the call. “Jane says we’ll tape your segments tomorrow or the next day.”
Randy nodded and closed his eyes.
I nudged Derek and held out the cardboard coffee cup. In a low voice, I said, “Smell this, please.”
He gave me an odd look but took the cup and held it to his nose for a quick whiff. He glanced at me, scowling, but didn’t say anything right then.
I couldn’t be certain, but I thought there was the faintest odor of peanut butter under the coffee smell.
As Tom continued to pace restlessly, Derek knelt back down next to Randy. “What exactly did you eat tonight?”
“Nothing,” he repeated, his voice still weak. “I never eat while we’re taping.”
“Did you drink anything?”
“Well, yeah. I always have a couple cups of coffee.”
I hunched down to join in. “Everybody knows your routine, right?”
“Well, sure. I usually announce that I’m going to get coffee, so the whole crew knows where I am.” He flashed a feeble smile. “Angie tends to get riled up when she can’t find me.”
Derek and I exchanged glances and I asked, “Was anyone standing near you at the coffee table?”
He struggled to sit up straighter. “No one in particular. Plenty of people were milling around, though, since we were on a break.”
“Think about it carefully,” I persisted. “Did you see anyone hovering nearby, watching you?”
He took in our somber expressions and began to shake his head vigorously. “No, no. Come on, you can’t be serious. Nobody here tried to poison me. This was an accident, pure and simple.”
“Was it?”
“Absolutely,” he said, waving away our concerns.
“Absolutely,” Tom said through gritted teeth.
“But what about your stalker?” I said quietly.
Tom frowned. Was he finally starting to realize that Randy wasn’t joking about the stalker? That there might be a real problem here? I hoped so, because Randy’s stalker was obviously getting bolder.
“Okay, okay,” Randy said. “I get what you’re saying. But he’s never done anything to actually hurt me. He just seems to get off on scaring me.”
“You could’ve died tonight,” I said.
His cheeks ballooned as he blew out a heavy breath. “Everyone knows where I keep my EpiPen. And someone ran and got it. If the stalker wanted to kill me, they would’ve done it when I was all alone with nobody else around, right?”
It was such a lame argument, I thought, but didn’t push it. Instead I said, “Todd ran to get it.”
Randy blinked. “Get what?”
“Your EpiPen,” I said.
“Try to keep up,” Tom muttered.
I wanted to scowl at him, but I managed to compose myself.
Randy frowned. “Which one is Todd?”
“The tall, skinny guy with the spiky blond hair,” I said.
“He’s a good kid,” Tom said defensively.