What the Fly Saw

by Frankie Y. Bailey

  “What could she have done with that note? If she was telling the truth about it, where is it?”

  “No garbage disposal. So she didn’t accidentally grind it up.”

  “She gets the pie. The note’s attached to the box. She takes the note off and reads it. She doesn’t throw it away or you would have found it in the trash can. She might have torn it up and flushed it down the toilet, but why would she do that, even if she were delirious? The note, according to her, was a friendly note from Olive. No reason to destroy it.”

  “But it’s not in her bedroom or bathroom.”

  “Or here in the dining room or the kitchen.”

  “Not in the photo album.”

  “The paramedics took her purse along. But the contents of the purse were inventoried at the hospital before they locked it away. No note on the list.” McCabe froze. “Wait. The lab. Maybe it was with the food that I dropped off at the lab.”

  “The lab?” Baxter said. “We would have seen it if it had been attached to the box or the pie plate.”

  McCabe said, “What if the note had gotten stuck to the bottom of the pie plate? Luanne put the pie in the refrigerator. I took it out and took off the foil to look at it and then I started to look for the box it had come in. You came in, we were talking, and I put the pie into a brown paper bag I’d found in a cabinet.”

  “But if the note was on the bottom of the pie plate, Delgardo’s techs would have noticed when they took it out of the bag.”

  “Maybe. But if the note fell off the bottom of the pie plate and into the bag, they might have missed it.” McCabe took out her ORB. “No harm in asking them to check.”

  She got through to Delgardo himself. He told her to hold. When he returned, he gave a shake of his head. “We have the bags. No note. And nothing in the collard greens, by the way. One set of fingerprints on the containers, but they probably belong to your victim. We’ll let you know if they don’t.”

  “Thanks, Ray. The note in the bag was a long shot.”

  “Well, I’m out of bright ideas,” McCabe told Baxter. “Let’s go see if we can find some neighbors to talk to.”

  “Maybe someone really did come to the back door,” Baxter said. “Stepped over Luanne’s unconscious body and walked out with the note.”

  “But that person would presumably have been the person who sent or delivered the poison pie. And, in that case, why not take away the rest of the incriminating evidence? The pie itself. The box.”

  “Maybe it was only the note that mattered.”

  “That’s possible, but—” McCabe stopped, staring at her partner. “The back door was open. The wind was blowing. Maybe Luanne had the note in her hand when she went to the door. Maybe the note blew out into the yard.”

  “In that case, even if we find it, it’s not going to be much help. It’s been out there in the rain and the melting snow.”

  “But if we can find it, Delgardo might be able to tell us something about the paper. And, at least, we’ll have proof she did receive a note.”

  McCabe was heading toward the kitchen as she spoke. Baxter followed behind her. “This is why I joined the cops,” he said. “To dig through the mud and muck in someone’s backyard.”

  “Better than what you were doing when you were in Vice,” McCabe said. “At least, you won’t get stuck by someone’s used needle.”

  “Don’t count on that. All kinds of things wash up in people’s yards in the city.”

  They spent the next fifteen minutes or so in Luanne’s fenced backyard. The snow had melted as the temperature climbed and the small yard was dead grass, mud, and slush.

  “Got something,” Baxter said. He was squatting down to peer under a bush with prickly bare branches. “It looks like the edge of a piece of white paper. I can’t tell if it has print on it.”

  McCabe came over to peer at the paper. “Can you hold back the bush? I’ll use the trowel we found to try to scoop up the paper and the muck it’s stuck in. Maybe Delgardo’s techs can save enough of it to tell us something useful.”

  McCabe turned the glass container she’d snagged from Luanne’s kitchen on its side and nudged the paper into it.

  “Have we finished our backyard adventure?” Baxter asked.

  McCabe nodded. “Let’s go see if we can find some nosy neighbors.”

  They scraped off their boots and tramped back through Luanne Woodward’s house to make sure they had turned off the lights, which were manually controlled, like the ones in Olive Cooper’s mansion.

  “I wonder,” McCabe said, “if Luanne knew Olive wasn’t into the modern conveniences when she rented this place.”

  “According to Luanne, she’s just a simple down-home girl,” Baxter said. “She wouldn’t have been influenced by rich folks.”

  “But she didn’t grow up poor, either. We should check into how much granddaddy and daddy left Luanne and her sister. And what, if anything, a half brother might have been entitled to.”

  “That might give her a motive,” Baxter agreed. “But if she was worried about having to share with her newly discovered half brother, why would she come looking for him?”

  “And she does have an alibi for the time of his death. And someone seems to have tried to kill her. But no harm in checking off the unexpected-heir-to-the-fortune box.”

  * * *

  They knocked on the doors of the houses to the left and right of Luanne Woodward’s. No one came to either door. There were no cars parked in the driveways or on the street in front of the houses, so it was possible the residents were at work, not simply avoiding strangers who knocked on their doors.

  “Let’s try the house across the street,” McCabe said. “When Luanne was being taken away by the paramedics, I thought I saw someone at the window over there.”

  McCabe was drawing her hand back from the bell when the door opened. A blond woman, in her forties, wearing coveralls streaked with paint, smiled out at them. “Saw you coming from the upstairs window,” she said. She gestured at her coveralls. “I’m painting the guest room.”

  “Sorry to interrupt,” McCabe said. “We’re Albany PD detectives.”

  “Good,” the woman said. “You can tell me what’s been going on across the street. I’m dying of curiosity.”

  She gestured for them to come in. As she was leading them into the living room, McCabe introduced herself and Baxter.

  The woman introduced herself as Deb. “Please sit down.” She covered an armchair with an old towel before sitting down herself. “So what’s been going on?”

  McCabe said, “Do you know your neighbor across the street?”

  “Luanne? I met her when she first moved in. She told me she was from North Carolina. And she said she was a medium. I’ve been hoping I’d get a chance to hear some more about that. But when I’m home, she’s usually out.”

  “But you were at home the other day when the paramedics came, right?” McCabe said. “I thought I saw someone at an upstairs window.”

  “That was me. I was doing measurements for new drapes. My mother-in-law is coming to visit. That’s why I’m painting the guest room.”

  “When you were upstairs on Sunday, did you happen to see anyone come to the door of Luanne’s house?”

  “There was someone. I thought it might be her birthday or a special occasion.”

  “Why?” Baxter asked. “Who came to the door?”

  “A deliveryman. He drove up, hopped out of his car, and set a white box on Luanne’s doorstep. Then he got back in the car and drove away.”

  “Did you notice a name or logo on the car?” McCabe asked.

  Deb shook her head. “No, actually the car was an old heap. I thought he must be using his own car for deliveries.”

  “What made you think this person was a deliveryman?”

  “He was wearing a baseball cap and a jacket. The jacket was red and it had lettering on the back. And he was a kid. I saw him get out and leave the box, and I thought ‘deliveryman.’” Deb smiled. “
I would have thought pizza deliveryman, but they always have signs on their cars, and he would have rung the bell and gotten money for pizza instead of leaving it out in the cold on the steps.”

  “So this kid who delivered the box didn’t ring the bell?” Baxter asked.

  “No, and I was wondering if I should let Luanne know the box was out there. But then I dropped my paint roller and splattered yellow paint on the floor. By the time I had cleaned that up and looked across the street again, the box was gone. So I assumed Luanne had gotten it.”

  McCabe asked, “Did you see Luanne at all that day?”

  “’Fraid not. My husband came home from a business trip at around four. And we made dinner together and watched an old movie, then went off to an early bed. I didn’t think to look back across the street again until the next day when I heard the sirens.” Deb looked from McCabe to Baxter. “I’ve answered your questions. Now, aren’t you going to tell me what happened?”

  McCabe glanced at Baxter. “I’m afraid we can’t discuss the specifics of what happened. But Luanne was taken ill.”

  Deb said, “I know that. She was taken away in an ambulance. But why are you asking questions about the delivery she received?”

  “We’re trying to reconstruct what happened leading up to her illness.”

  “Is Luanne all right?”

  “She’s still in the hospital,” McCabe said. “But her doctors expect her to make a full recovery. About the deliveryman you saw … you said he was young, looked like a kid. Can you tell us anything else about him?”

  Deb shook her head. “Not much. He was fairly tall. I didn’t get a good look at his face because of the baseball cap, but light-skinned, probably white.”

  “The lettering on the back of his jacket,” Baxter said. “Could it have been a sports team?”

  “I don’t know. It might have been. I was paying more attention to what he was dropping off.”

  “What about the car,” McCabe said. “You said an ‘old heap.’”

  “It might have been a hybrid. But I don’t know that much about cars. This one was gray and boxy.”

  McCabe looked at Baxter. He shook his head. “Generic older model hybrid.”

  “What about the license plate on the car?” he asked Deb.

  “I think it was New York State. I would probably have noticed if it was anything else. But I wasn’t paying attention to that, either.” Deb made a face. “I’m sorry I’m not more help. If I had known it was going to be important I would have been glued to the window with my binoculars.”

  McCabe said, “You’ve given us a couple of leads we can follow up on.”

  “Good. I feel awful about Luanne. She could have died over there, and we wouldn’t have known until someone found her body.” Deb frowned. “I know you said you can’t go into specifics … but the delivery she received. Was it some kind of prank?”

  “No, it wasn’t a prank,” McCabe said. “But it’s nothing you need to worry about. And we should let you get back to your painting. Thank you again for your help.”

  * * *

  In the car, McCabe took out her ORB. When Lt. Dole came on, she said, “Sir, we just spoke to one of Luanne’s neighbors. She saw the pie being dropped off.”

  “Could she give you a description?”

  “She saw what she assumed was a deliveryman drive up and leave the box on Luanne’s doorstep. He was young, wearing a baseball cap and a jacket, and driving an old heap. The car had no markings she noticed.”

  “So this ‘deliveryman’ could have been anyone.”

  “She described him as ‘a kid,’ sir. Baxter and I are thinking the deliveryman could have been Scott Novak.”

  “What motive would Novak’s son have? Are you thinking it’s something to do with the medium claiming to be his father’s half sister?”

  “We haven’t gotten that far in our thinking, sir. Luanne said she hadn’t told anyone about Novak being her half brother. So it isn’t clear how Scott could have known.”

  “Then why do you think he would try to poison her?”

  McCabe glanced over at Baxter, who was grinning. He had said the lieutenant was going to ask that question.

  “We don’t know that he did, sir. But we do need to interview him about what happened yesterday.”

  “Let his mother know you need to interview him.”

  “He’s seventeen years old, sir. Technically—”

  “McCabe, the fact that he’s an adult to the state of New York isn’t going to mean squat to that kid’s mother. Her baby boy is lying there in a hospital bed.” Dole rubbed his hand over his head. “She and Burdett, the kid’s shrink, may have backed your call to stun the kid rather than let him slash his throat, but if you start going after him—”

  “Point made, sir. We’ll inform his mother.”

  “Check back in after you do the interview.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  McCabe pulled up Sarah Novak’s code.

  “Hello,” Novak said. “Detective McCabe? Do you have news?”

  “It looks like you’re still at the hospital, Mrs. Novak.”

  “Yes, I came down to the cafeteria to have some lunch with Megan before her friend’s mother picked her up. Scott woke up, but he fell asleep again. I’m on my way back up to his room.”

  “And we’re on our way to the hospital. Would you meet us outside Scott’s room in about twenty minutes?”

  “Outside his room? What … is there something wrong?”

  “We’ll explain when we get there, Mrs. Novak. See you shortly.”

  Baxter said, “That story our boy Scott told us about going to the funeral home and standing outside for a while then going home—”

  “If he tried to poison Luanne, then that story becomes questionable.”

  “And the kid could turn out to be one hell of a liar.”

  McCabe pulled up the Novak file on her ORB. “I hope we’re wrong.”

  “We get paid to solve cases, partner. If we solve Novak’s murder, we get the brass off our backs.”

  “And Sarah Novak’s family is her problem. Right?”

  “Right,” Baxter said. “We’re cops, not social workers.”

  “Of course, we could be getting ahead of ourselves on this. Scott might have an alibi for when Luanne received the pie. He might have told us the truth about what he did when he went to the funeral home on the night his father was murdered.”

  “He might have,” Baxter said. “But don’t count on it.”

  “If Scott does have an alibi, we might be looking for a real deliveryman. Someone hired to deliver the pie to Luanne.”

  Baxter maneuvered around a garbage truck. “Remember,” he said, “what Burdett told us about how he spent his time when he was snowed in?”

  “Making a stew and baking bread.”

  “Wanna bet he could whip up a pie?”

  “That brings us right back to motive. Why would Burdett want Kevin Novak dead? Or, if it wasn’t Burdett, why would Reverend Wyatt want Kevin dead?”

  “Maybe it has something to do with Wyatt’s plans to expand his religious movement. The reverend told us that his sponsor for his arena events would drop him if the church were involved in a scandal. Maybe Kev was killed because he knew something that would cause a scandal.”

  “But if he knew something, would he have revealed what he knew? He was one of the faithful, deeply involved in his church.”

  “So maybe he found out something about his church leaders that disillusioned him.”

  “Maybe it was something that Bob knew and told Kevin before he died. That would explain Kevin’s depression. Except the problem with that is that Kevin sought counseling from Reverend Wyatt and Dr. Burdett.”

  “Maybe he was trying to get the goods on them.”

  “Francesca Reeves would have us believe that she was oblivious to anything that might have been going on with her husband.”

  “But Bob’s fancy French wife was there at Olive’s house when Luanne
came out of the kitchen with her slice of pie.”

  “So,” McCabe said, “you’re suggesting she might have baked one up and hired a deliveryman? Except we know that Francesca was at a spa in the Catskills when Kevin was killed.”

  “Maybe she hired a hit man.”

  “A hit man who decided to use Kevin’s compound bow instead of a gun? But we know from Olive and the clerk in the archery store that it isn’t that easy to pick up a bow and make an accurate shot if you aren’t familiar with the weapon.”

  “That brings us back to Scott. His father. His father’s bow. If he thought his father was cheating on his mother—”

  “He never came out and said that.”

  “Implied,” Baxter said.

  36

  Sarah Novak was wearing a black skirt and white pullover sweater. She looked as if she had lost weight overnight.

  McCabe said, “Thank you for waiting for us out here, Mrs. Novak. No one is in the lounge. Why don’t we step in there for a moment, and we’ll explain what’s going on.”

  Novak opened her mouth as if she were going to speak, then she nodded. She walked ahead of them into the visitors’ lounge. “What is this about?” she asked. “Do you know who killed my husband?”

  “Not yet,” McCabe said. “We’re still investigating your husband’s death. But something else has come up involving Luanne Woodward. Did you know she’s here in the hospital?”

  “Yes, Olive stopped by. She told me Luanne had been brought in with some type of stomach problem.”

  “When did she tell you that?” Baxter asked.

  “This morning when she came by.”

  “Actually, there’s a bit more to the story,” McCabe said. “Luanne received a chocolate pecan pie. She ate some of it and became seriously ill. Detective Baxter and I found her unconscious. There was arsenic in the pie.”

  “Arsenic?” Novak’s gaze held McCabe’s. “Is this related somehow to Kevin being killed?”

  “We don’t know,” McCabe said.

  “What do you know? You’ve been investigating my husband’s death for days and you still don’t know anything. And now Luanne’s been poisoned.”

  “There’s something we need to tell you about Luanne,” McCabe said.