What the Fly Saw

by Frankie Y. Bailey

  McCabe gathered up the bags she needed to deliver to the lab. “Be right back.”

  She met Ray Delgardo, the head of the forensics unit, on his way out the door of his lab. “Ray, do you have a second?”

  “Sorry, Hannah, I’ve got a meeting.”

  “Then I won’t keep you. I’ll ask one of your techs to check the pie.”

  Delgardo took a step, then turned. “What pie?”

  “It’s all right,” McCabe said. “I know you have to go.”

  “They can start without me. What pie? What’s wrong with it?”

  “Maybe nothing. Or it could have accidentally been contaminated with some kind of bacteria. Or it might contain poison.”

  “Poison.” He held the door, gesturing for her to go first. “Where did this pie come from?”

  “The refrigerator of a medium who is indirectly involved in the funeral director murder investigation.” McCabe followed Delgardo as he headed toward an unoccupied table with assorted lab equipment. She set the bags on the counter. “We found her collapsed on the floor in her kitchen, or, rather halfway out the back door.”

  Delgardo slipped on gloves and began opening the bags. “What about this box?” he asked. “Does it go with the pie?”

  “I think so,” McCabe said. “It was in the trash. The pie was in the refrigerator. So were the collard greens. Baxter found the marijuana when he was checking the medicine cabinet for prescription drugs.”

  “Okay. Fill out the submission forms.”

  “I hate to ask this,” McCabe said. “But could we get a rush on this one? Luanne, the medium, was taken to the hospital. If it turns out to be cholera, we may not need the results of your tests. But if it isn’t cholera, if we can help the hospital identify the source of her illness…”

  “What makes you think it might be cholera?”

  “Something one of the paramedics said, off the record.”

  Delgardo nodded. “We should have something later this afternoon.”

  “Thanks, Ray.”

  He was looking at the pie. “It’s been a while since we had a case involving food.”

  McCabe said. “So you’re going to check for poisons that she might not have been able to taste?”

  Delgardo smiled. “Do you have any suggestions about what we ought to be looking for?”

  McCabe shook her head. “Baxter got us back here before I could even work my way through the list. There are a lot of poisons, aren’t there?”

  “But a few are perennially popular,” Delgardo said. “We’ll test for those first. I’ll tag you when we have some results.”

  * * *

  When they got to the hospital, Luanne Woodward had still not regained consciousness. The young doctor who was attending her shook his head. “The stool smear we were able to get was inconclusive. We’re waiting for the results of the blood culture. Right now, all we can do is try to keep her stable.”

  “Do you think it might be cholera?” McCabe asked.

  “Sorry, I can’t speculate about that. Our instructions are to report any potential new cases to the department of health for confirmation. Any statements will come from a hospital spokesperson. I’m assuming the release of information to police detectives is included in that mandate.”

  Baxter said, “You sound like you’ve been in hot water over this kind of thing before.”

  “And learned the virtue of not speculating.”

  McCabe said, “We understand. But we do need to be notified if cholera and other naturally occurring illnesses are ruled out.” She paused. “I should tell you that we took several items from the victim’s home to our forensics lab for testing.”

  The doctor pushed his retro glasses up on his nose. “Are you saying—sorry if I’m slow on the uptake; I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night—are you saying that someone might have tried to kill my patient?”

  “We’re saying that we’re considering all possibilities.”

  “Okay, got it. And if your forensic guys find anything—”

  “You’ll be the first to know,” McCabe said.

  “Or whoever’s here,” the doctor replied. “I’m due to go off duty in a couple of hours. But I’ll put a note in the file that we need to keep you guys in the loop.”

  “Thanks,” Baxter said.

  “And please include that we should be notified if the patient begins to regain consciousness,” McCabe added.

  “That, too. This is something new. Most of the time when we get detectives in here someone’s shot or stabbed or beaten someone up.”

  Baxter said, “Try a chocolate pecan pie.”

  “A pie?”

  “We found it in the refrigerator. Just thought we’d have it tested,” McCabe said. “Thanks for your help. We’ll be in touch with you or whoever’s on duty when we have our lab results.”

  * * *

  McCabe glanced out at the slate-gray sky visible from the enclosed pedestrian bridge that linked the medical center to the garage on the other side of the street. “Well, at least it looks like we aren’t going to get any more snow right now. I think we should let Olive Cooper know Luanne’s in the hospital.”

  “Tag her or drop by?” Baxter asked.

  “Let’s drop by,” McCabe said. “Luanne is her friend. We should give her the news in person.”

  In the garage, Baxter stopped walking and pointed. “We’ve got a flat tire.”

  “I hate changing flat tires,” McCabe said.

  “Lucky for us, we happen to be driving one of the police fleet’s new vehicles on this fine day.”

  “Why is that lucky? Unless it’s going to change its own tire.”

  “We’re about to find out. I haven’t finished reading the manual yet, but we can pull it up and follow the instructions.”

  “Are you saying this car really can change its own tire?”

  “Almost,” Baxter said, opening the driver’s-side door. “What it does is identify the problem and perform a temporary repair, if possible. If the tire needs to be changed, it has auto assist to help with the process. This baby can jack itself up.”

  “Helpful, on its part.” McCabe leaned back against a column and took out her ORB, leaving him to share this moment with their vehicle.

  A few minutes later, he said, “We’ve picked up a piece of metal. We could eject it and attempt a temporary seal, but changing the tire is the recommended action.”

  “We should certainly follow the recommended action,” McCabe said.

  Baxter took the spare tire out of the trunk.

  McCabe was in the middle of a tag to Lt. Dole when she saw the rear of the car rising from the ground. “Mike, wait, don’t you need to back it out of the space so it’ll have more room?”

  “We’re fine,” Baxter said. “It calculated the space available to make the change.”

  “Okay. If you and the car say so.”

  “This is great. It’s loosening the bolts. All I have to do is catch the flat tire and then put the spare in place.”

  “Proving even changing a flat tire can be fun,” McCabe said.

  Five minutes later, Baxter slammed down the trunk. “Ready to roll,” he said.

  “I told Lieutenant Dole we’re going to swing by and let Olive know about Luanne.”

  * * *

  “The driver she hired just dropped her off from her trip to the City. She went down there yesterday morning to visit one of her old friends from college,” Velma, Olive’s housekeeper, told them when they asked to see her employer. “She’s tired. She never sleeps well in a hotel room bed. Even in those fancy hotels down in the City.”

  “We’re sorry to disturb her,” McCabe said, feeling a little guilty. They were talking about an eighty-five-year-old woman. “We won’t keep her long. But we have some news we think she’d want to know.”

  Velma said, “I hope it’s not like the last news you came with. Go into the sitting room. I’ll let her know you’re here.”

  The lamps were turned on in the s
itting room, the curtains drawn against the gray day. A fire crackled in the hearth. McCabe imagined curling up with a book in one of the plush chairs.

  Baxter wandered over to the painting of the woman and her suitor. “This still gives me a kick,” he said. He turned back to McCabe. “That reminds me. Whatever happened with you and that guy you were seeing?”

  The question caught McCabe off guard. “What guy?”

  “The guy I kept trying to get you to fess up to when we were working the serial killer case. I’m assuming it was a ‘he’ and not a ‘she.’”

  “Really?” McCabe said. “Why are you assuming that?”

  “We’ve been working together for four months. You get to ask me about my friend from the Vice Unit who was giving me lifts to work.”

  “Okay. You got me there. It isn’t fair that I get to be nosy and you don’t.”

  “So was it ‘he’ or ‘she’?”

  “He. And it didn’t work out.”

  “Sorry. Were you left with a broken heart?”

  “No. Just left questioning my ability to judge men as romantic partners.”

  Baxter grinned. “In case you’re wondering, I’m still available.”

  “Thanks for telling me. I’ll keep that in mind. Now could we change the subject?”

  Baxter glanced around. “I wonder where the lady of the house buys her doilies.”

  “They look handmade,” McCabe said.

  “They are,” Olive Cooper said as she stepped into the room. “I order them from a lacemaker in Devon.”

  McCabe wondered how long she had been outside the door. For a woman with a cane, she moved quietly. “Sorry to stop by like this, Ms. Cooper. But we have some news about Luanne.”

  “Sit down, the two of you, so that I can.”

  McCabe and Baxter sat down in armchairs. Cooper settled herself on the sofa. “What’s this news?” she said. “Something about the séance on Saturday night?”

  “Indirectly, perhaps,” McCabe said. “We went to Luanne’s house this afternoon to speak to her about the séance. We were still curious about what happened at the end with the bell and the door.”

  “I’m curious about that myself,” Cooper said. “What did she say about it?”

  “Nothing,” Baxter said. “She wasn’t in any condition to carry on a conversation.”

  “Are you telling me she was drunk?”

  “No, not drunk,” McCabe said. “We found her unconscious in her kitchen. The back door was open and she was lying in the doorway in her nightgown.”

  “Good lord!”

  “She’s still alive,” McCabe said. “At the hospital and holding her own when we were there.”

  “What happened? Was she attacked?”

  “There was no evidence of that. It seems to have been something that developed during the course of the day. She had put a roast in the oven. In fact, it was the sound of her smoke detector that alerted us that something was wrong. She had been in bed and been sick to her stomach—vomited. She got up, went into the kitchen, and apparently passed out.”

  “With the back door open? Why did she open the door? Could someone have knocked?”

  “Knocked?” McCabe asked.

  “Like with Kevin,” Cooper said. “Someone came to the door of the funeral home, and he let him or her in.”

  “That’s possible,” McCabe said, realizing it was. “It is possible someone came to the door,” she said, thinking it through as she spoke. “But it would be odd for her to open the door in only her nightgown.”

  “If she was feeling sick as a dog, she probably didn’t care what she was wearing,” Cooper said. “If she was as sick as you say, maybe she was glad someone had come to the door.”

  “So you’re suggesting she opened the door, and this person who had knocked went away again without helping her?”

  “Well, why do you think she opened the damn door?” Cooper said.

  “She might have been delirious and running a fever,” Baxter said. “Maybe she opened the door to cool off.”

  Cooper nodded. “That makes some sense.”

  “My own theory was more mundane,” McCabe said. “I thought she realized she was going to throw up again and rushed over to the door to keep from doing it on the floor or in the sink.”

  “That makes sense, too.”

  “But since there’s no surveillance system, we have no way of knowing.”

  “What about the neighbors? Maybe some of them have cameras.”

  “We’ll check that if it becomes relevant,” McCabe said, remembering the neighbor across the street who seemed to be peeking out from behind the curtains as the paramedics left with Luanne. “But right now, we don’t know if a crime was committed.”

  Baxter said, “But there was a suspicious chocolate pecan pie in the fridge.”

  Cooper turned her sharp gaze on him. “Why would a pie be suspicious? In case you haven’t noticed by now, Luanne likes her food. And she has a sweet tooth.”

  “We couldn’t figure out where she had gotten the pie,” McCabe said.

  “Gotten it? Maybe she made it.”

  “That’s possible,” McCabe said. “But it was in a disposable pie plate. And there was a white cardboard box in the trash can that the pie might have come in. Except there was no label or stamp on the box.” McCabe paused, then said, “When we were here on Saturday evening, you mentioned all the food you had left over from your celebration of life. And you told us the first time we came about taking Luanne to the kitchen to have a slice of Velma’s chocolate pecan pie after Kevin Novak left so abruptly when they were introduced. I don’t suppose Velma might have sent Luanne a pie?”

  Cooper returned her gaze, then she smiled. “That just occurred to you, did it? Velma clearing out our refrigerator and sending Luanne a pie. A pie your partner described as ‘suspicious.’ Are you wondering if Velma might have sent Luanne a poisoned pie?”

  McCabe said, “I certainly didn’t intend to suggest that, Ms. Cooper. When my partner said the pie is ‘suspicious,’ he meant its source. We don’t know if there is anything wrong with the pie.”

  “But I assume you are having it examined by your lab people.”

  “Yes, since we don’t know why Luanne was taken ill. That was why I asked if Velma might have sent Luanne the pie. If we know it came from a safe source—”

  Cooper threw back her head and laughed. “I suspect, Detective McCabe, that you are very good at interrogations.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Cooper. But I’m not interrogating you. Just asking if your housekeeper might know anything about the pie.”

  “Let’s get her in here and find out.”

  Cooper touched the locket she was wearing.

  “Hey,” Baxter said. “That’s nice.”

  “A more elegant version of the old MedicAlert,” Cooper said.

  Velma came in drying her hand on a dishtowel. Did she wash the dishes by hand? McCabe wondered. Surely not when her employer entertained.

  “Did you need something, Olive?”

  Cooper nodded at McCabe. “Detective McCabe has something she’d like to ask you.”

  McCabe said, “Ms.— I’m sorry, I don’t know your last name.”

  “Holloway. But Velma’s fine. What do you want to ask me?”

  “Velma, did you happen to send Luanne Woodward a chocolate pecan pie?”

  “Send her a pie?” Velma said. “I didn’t have any pie left to send her. She ate the last slice of the one I had left when she was here on Saturday evening.”

  “She did?”

  Velma tucked the dishtowel into the waistband of her apron. “I’d made a butter cream cake and some cookies for dessert, but she asked me if I had any more of the chocolate pecan pie she’d had at Olive’s celebration.”

  “Did she ask you that in front of the other guests at the séance?” Baxter asked.

  Velma shook her head. “She came out to the kitchen. Not that it made any difference. I gave her the pie, and she went out th
ere and ate it in front of everyone else.”

  “This was after the séance?” McCabe asked.

  “No, not after. Before. I had put the appetizers out on the buffet table, but she came looking for pie. And then she went back in the dining room and ate it. I had to tell everyone else when I went back in there that we had cake and cookies for dessert later, but that was the last of the pie.”

  “So someone asked you if there was any more pie?”

  “That woman with the accent. The one who was married to Kevin’s friend.”

  “Francesca Reeves,” Baxter said.

  “That’s her,” Velma said, in a tone that suggested she didn’t quite approve of Francesca. “She said the pie looked delicious and she hoped we were having it for dessert. I had to say Luanne had gotten the last slice.”

  “So when this conversation about the pie happened,” McCabe said, “the guests who were in the dining room would have been—”

  “Everyone except the two of you,” Velma said, looking from McCabe to Baxter. “And Ted Thornton and that man who works for him. They came in after the two of you arrived.”

  “Thank you, Velma,” McCabe said. “This has been really helpful.”

  Velma looked at her employer. “Do you want me to wait and show them out, Olive? You should have a nap before dinner.”

  Cooper said, “As I’ve already told you, I don’t need or want to take a nap before dinner. But if the detectives have no more questions, you may show them out.”

  “Nothing else for now,” McCabe said. “Thank you both for being so patient with our questions.”

  “Thank you for stopping by to bring me the news about Luanne,” Cooper said. “Please let me know when you find out where the pie came from.”

  McCabe nodded. “I know you must be as interested in the answer to that question as we are.”

  “Yes. I am,” Cooper said.

  Velma took a step toward the sitting room door, then turned and scowled at her employer. “All right, you may not need a nap. But if Paige comes back here, I’m going to tell her you’re resting.”

  Olive Cooper nodded. “You may tell my great-niece that I’m resting, and add that I look forward to having her join me for breakfast tomorrow morning, seven A.M.”

  A smile spread across Velma’s face. “Breakfast at seven A.M. I’ll be sure to tell her that.”