Hemlock And Homicide: A Smiley and McBlythe Mystery, #12

1

Heather heaved a sigh of impatience as Steve leaned on his white cane and said, Say the victim’s name again.

Michelle Le Blanc.

Steve shuddered like he’d caught a chill.

Leo, Steve’s former partner at Houston Homicide, took a full breath and recited the demographic data without inflection in his words. Pharmacist. Female. Age, thirty-two. Divorced. Former husband lives in Paris. He paused. That’s Paris, France, not Paris, Texas. He continued. No children. Immigrated eight years ago. Both parents also live in France. Ms. Le Blanc’s last address is a condo in The Woodlands, a few miles from Heather’s office.

Heather stood with arms crossed, rolling her fingertips on the sleeve of her silk blouse. Well, is it a homicide or not? She looked around the banquet room of an upscale hotel in North Houston. The hotel staff hadn’t bussed the table that was marked off with crime scene tape. Otherwise, no furniture remained in the massive room.

Instead of directly answering her question, Steve faced Leo. Have you notified The Woodands P.D. or Montgomery County Sheriff’s office?

Not yet. The initial tox report shows she ingested poison. I wanted you to do your trick to make sure it wasn’t an accident or self-inflicted.

Steve spoke in a flat voice. I’m seeing red.

Heather knew what this meant, and it didn’t please her. Steve had discovered early in his homicide career that he possessed a gift called associative chromesthesia. When he was at a homicide scene, and he heard the victim’s name, he would see a red film over the scene if the victim had been murdered. Even after losing his sight a few years ago, he still had an impression of seeing red at murder scenes. But gift or no gift, she had all she could handle right now with her businesses. Steve, if you’re thinking about me and you working this case, I’m sorry, but I can’t help you this time.

The last word escaped her lips a split second before her phone rang. She retrieved the device from her purse, glanced at the caller ID, and put the phone to her ear. Quick steps took her away from Steve and Leo as she spoke and walked at the same time. The conversation was short and sour instead of short and sweet.

I hate to break up the party, but the wheels have officially fallen off my construction schedule. I need to get back to the office. She then mumbled, I told you I didn’t have time to play private detective with you until the first phase of homes is ready for occupancy. The entire project will be dead in the water if families aren’t in before Christmas.

She knew she was breaking the agreement she’d made with Steve, and it grieved her to go back on her word. Theirs wasn’t a binding written contract; they hadn’t even sealed it with a handshake. But she’d given her word that she’d drop whatever she was doing to be his eyes and business partner in solving the occasional murder that came their way. Trust was something they both took seriously.

She’d painted herself into a corner by investing so much of her personal money in this project, not counting the loans she’d secured. The scope of the lakeside housing development with two golf courses, homes, condominiums, apartments, multiple swimming pools, a massive recreation center, and retail shops was daunting, but with monumental risks come tremendous rewards. It would go a long way toward matching her father’s wealth if she could pull it off. Deadlines loomed with significant consequences if she didn’t meet them.

Once again, Steve directed his attention to Leo. What does the rest of your day look like?

Leo shot Heather a glance that, of course, Steve couldn’t see. I’m teaching a class at the training academy. Why don’t you come with me? Heather can put the fires out at her office, and you can tell me how you and Heather solved the last case on that private island in the Caribbean.

Are you sure you have time to take me home afterwards? asked Steve.

No problem. I’ll call my new partner and tell her to wear out her computer doing background information on Ms. Le Blanc.

Steve faced Heather. You heard the senior homicide detective. You’re excused.

Heather stiffened. I don’t appreciate your tone or the perfunctory dismissal.

And I don’t appreciate you trying to kill yourself on this project, or assuming I have any interest in helping Leo with this case. He hasn’t asked for anything but to help determine if it was a homicide or a suicide.

Steve wasn’t finished. And while we’re clearing the air, when was the last time you slept for over four hours? He didn’t wait for an answer. I’ll tell you. It was when we were on the private island. You ate well, exercised, and allowed other people to do their jobs without you interfering.

Heather’s hands moved to her hips. And when we got home, it took me three weeks to put things back together.

That’s not true. You trusted the people you left in charge, and they stayed on schedule. What you can’t stand is not being around to micro-manage this project.

Leo held up his hands, even though Steve couldn’t see him. That’s enough, you two. Steve is right about one thing. I haven’t asked either of you to help me solve this case. From where I’m standing, both of you need to get a prescription for chill-pills and take them until you’re halfway human again. He directed his next words to Steve. Do you want to come with me to the academy or fight with Heather all the way back to Montgomery County?

I’m going with you.

Good, said Heather. Don’t forget to feed Max when you finish playing cops and killers.

"That reminds me, when was the last time you fed that overgrown ball of fur?"

She shot back, What else do you have to do with your time?

Heather bit her lip. It was a cruel thing to say to the man whose career ended when he lost his sight, and his wife, to street thugs.

Leo gave her a stare that said she’d crossed a line. He followed the stare with a stinging command. Like Steve said, you’re excused.

Heather’s eyes clouded as she left the building. The dam burst on her emotions as soon as she closed the door to her SUV. Sobbing, she dug in her purse for a tissue. She’d sworn to herself that she’d never again attempt to complete such a massive project, no matter how much money the build would yield. Yet, here she was in the middle of a deal that had taken over her life.

Red-rimmed eyes stared back at her in the mirror. Who does she think she’s kidding? It’s in her DNA to select projects that challenge her beyond the limits of her mental and physical ability.

On the way to her office, she thought of her father. How could he run a multi-billion-dollar empire and make it look so effortless? Even though their relationship was much improved from when she was in her teens and twenties, she couldn’t help but feel she didn’t live up to his expectations. She certainly didn’t live up to his performance. Someday she’d ask him how he did it. Someday, but not today.

Her thoughts swirled as she drove north on I-45. Despite her protestations of not having time to think about the homicide, the crime scene and Leo’s description of the victim stuck in her brain like the words of an old nursery rhyme. When exactly was Michelle Le Blanc killed? Where was she sitting at the table? Who else was at the table? No blood on the tablecloth or the floor. That made it unlikely there was another contributing cause of death, but Leo wouldn’t know that until he received the results of the autopsy.

Poison, she repeated out loud. That’s significant. Criminologists used to say to look for a woman in cases of poison. She chuckled. They used to say a lot of things.

From past experience, she knew Steve would allow Leo to solve the case on his own—at least until he got stuck.

Miles ticked by while her thoughts rested solely on the murder. She’d never worked a homicide by poisoning case before. It might be interesting.

A firm shake of her head brought her back to reality. Interesting or not, she had a crisis to handle that required her full attention.

2

Steve placed his hand on Leo’s arm as they walked in silence toward the door of the banquet room. He barely heard the footsteps of someone approaching before Leo slowed and stopped. A woman’s voice cut through the stillness of the cavernous room. Detective Vega?

Yes.

I’m Ms. Patino, the hotel manager. I wanted to let you know another convention begins tomorrow that will require this room. I hope your people have completed their work.

Leo sounded stern. There wasn’t much they could do after your staff removed all the crime scene tape from the secondary area, cleared all the dishes, removed all the tables but one, and vacuumed the carpet.

She cleared her throat. I apologize. The person responsible for the banquets in this room thought only the one table needed to remain untouched.

He pointed. That doesn’t explain why they cleared the table of dishes where the victim was sitting before officers arrived.

Only the first two courses. It was a hectic scene. Three hundred guests attended the banquet. That doesn’t count a small army of servers and first responders. Mistakes and chaos go hand in hand in such situations. Again, I apologize, and my heartfelt sympathy goes out to the young woman and her family. My staff believed she choked on a piece of meat. She hesitated. That’s what happened, wasn’t it?

I’m waiting on the autopsy before I can answer that question. For now, we’re treating her passing as a suspicious death.

Oh, dear.

Leo answered her concern with, What’s done is done. I’m releasing the room to you. I’ll remove the crime scene tape from around the table and take it with me.

Thank you, Detective Vega.

Steve stayed where he was as he heard the soles of Ms. Patino’s shoes brush against the short pile of the commercial carpet. Leo soon returned. Do you want a souvenir from a crime I don’t have a prayer of solving?

That’s not a very optimistic attitude.

Admit it; even you would have trouble with this one. Clearing the table compromised any physical evidence that might have been there. The potential suspects include three hundred pharmacists, all familiar with more poisons than you or I have heard of. Add cooks and servers to the list of suspects and it would take a dozen detectives six months to put a dent in a thorough investigation. Whoever killed her couldn’t have picked a better place.

Don’t forget, said Steve. Many of the servers for hotel banquets are temporary hires. They may or may not be in the country legally. He teased Leo with his next question. By the way, how much is a fake Social Security card going for these days?

Leo issued a sarcastic, They’re a dime-a-dozen and thanks for the reminder.

Steve gave Leo what he hoped was a ray of hope in a seemingly hopeless situation. Start with the victim, move to any romantic interests, try the money angle, and work out from there. Shake the trees and see what falls out. There’s always a reason people kill each other. Also, get the names of the people at the table and pinpoint the server.

Leo let out a long sigh as they encountered a blast of warm, sticky, September air that told Steve they were approaching the hotel’s entrance.

They remained silent until they were inside Leo’s car. Steve noted the familiar smell of the vehicle. Have you ever noticed that airplanes and cop cars both have distinct odors?

Leo started the engine and said, I never gave it much thought, except patrol cars sometimes smell like vomit and urine. I rarely transport suspects or people detained or arrested. This car is new. What does it smell like?

Plastic. Your back seat must be hard plastic. Also, the radios have a unique smell all their own.

Interesting, said Leo. That snoz of yours picks up on things I don’t think about. Did you notice any unusual smells at the table where Michelle Le Blanc died?

I believe I did, but I’d need to go to a fancy French restaurant to confirm it.

You’re joking, said Leo.

"No, it smelled like pate de fois gras."

Goose liver?

Either duck or goose liver. It had a real metallic smell to it. They cleared the dishes, but there must have been some spilled on the table. Was there a stain on the tablecloth?

Yeah, there was. A report said the victim flipped her plate over when the poison hit her.

A touch of mirth seasoned Leo’s next words. When did you become a connoisseur of French cuisine? You were a chicken-fried steak and hamburger kind of guy when we worked together.

Still am. Heather eats all kinds of fancy stuff. Sometimes she gives Max a treat. It reinforces his snooty attitude.

That’s one spoiled cat.

The rest of the trip passed with Leo filling the time with the exploits of his six children. Most were in their teens, which meant one or more were in a crisis-du-jour at any given time. Steve listened, laughed, and offered a silent prayer of thanks that he wasn’t navigating parenting through such turbulent waters. The world of modern teens wasn’t totally unfamiliar to him, but it had been a while since he spoke with Briann, Heather’s boyfriend’s daughter, and the only teenager he knew these days.

They arrived at Houston’s police academy near Bush International Airport. After gaining admittance, they walked down a hallway. Steve heard a door open, and the sound of a dog’s toenails tapping against the hard vinyl floor. Leo exchanged hellos with a man named Hank and his K-9.

No need going in yet, said Hank. They’re about to take a fifteen-minute break.

Steve held out the back of his hand for the dog to smell. Is this a German shepherd?

Sure is. Most of the dogs on the force are shepherds, but not all.

Leo interrupted. This is Steve Smiley. He was my supervisor and the best homicide detective in Houston before he had to take medical retirement.

I remember hearing about you, Mr. Smiley. They say you were something else.

He still is, said Leo. He and his new partner still help solve homicides.

Only part-time, said Steve. We’re consultants who work with local, state, and federal agencies. Sometimes we travel to foreign locations, but most of the time we stay close to home.

Perhaps I could get a gig like that after I retire.

Leo spoke in a tongue-in-cheek manner. I doubt you’d find one like Steve’s. His gig includes flying in a private jet to exotic locations with a rich, beautiful business partner.

Steve interrupted. I never judge a woman by her looks. They all look the same to me. It’s what’s between the ears that matters.

Leo scoffed. Heather’s in a class by herself. Money, looks, an Ivy League education, and a former detective in Boston, Mass.

Sounds like you got the one-in-a-million partner, said Hank.

Steve changed the subject. How do I go about getting a dog that will protect me? My partner’s father is supposed to be looking for something special, but I haven’t heard from him in a couple of months.

The door to the classroom flew open, forcing the three men and the dog to move down the hall. Once they were away from the noisy cadets, Leo explained. There’s a former cop named Bucky Franklin, who assaulted Steve. Did you hear about it?

Yeah. He was in the fraud division. Didn’t he torch your homes?

Steve nodded. Arson along with a few other crimes against me and several others. There’s a long list of crimes he needs to answer for. He swore he’d get back at me for getting him fired. I believe he’s a sociopath and capable of anything. Coming out of fraud means he knows all the tricks to take on new identities. There’s no telling where he is or when he might come looking for me.

Steve took a full breath. I need a dog who’s a combination service dog for someone who can’t see and has the instincts to keep me safe from Bucky. He held up a single index finger. The dog will probably be around children someday, too. He’ll need to protect them and their parents.

Hank took his time. That’s going to take a very special dog. I have one in mind that I’d like you to meet. He paused. What’s your home like?

Right now, I live in a lock-off mother-in-law apartment in a five-bedroom home with a fenced backyard. My business partner, Heather McBlythe, and her snooty Maine Coon cat claim a huge master bedroom. We share the common areas and Max has run of the entire house.

Did you say the cat is snooty?

Snooty, snitty, aristocratic, entitled… take your pick.

I don’t want you to get your hopes up, but there’s a dog that sounds like a bookend to the cat you’re describing. His name is Roi. The Texas pronunciation is R-O-Y, but spelled Roi.

Isn’t that French for King?

"He prefers to be called Le Roi, The King. He also likes the French pronunciation, which is two syllables and sounds like Ro-ah. Hank chuckled. Of course, here in Houston, he doesn’t get too much French."

Steve chuckled. I’m not sure there would be room for two kings under the same roof, but it’s worth meeting him. What breed?

Giant schnauzer. He’s full-grown and weighs a hundred pounds.

Steve tilted his head. What’s wrong with him?

Nothing, other than he’s picky about what he eats. All our dogs come to us fully trained by a company that finds them in Europe. Why don’t you meet him first? The trainers can show you his strengths and tell you more about his one little weakness.

This sounds ominous, but I’m willing to check him out.

I’ll call and see if he’s still available. Let me warn you, trained police dogs don’t come cheap.

Leo spoke up. Money is no object for this guy. He still has fifty cents out of the first dollar he ever earned.

Steve and Leo waited as Hank made the call, which didn’t last long. He’s available whenever you want to see him.

I’ll go tomorrow, said Steve. I took French in high school and two semesters in college. Heather speaks it like she grew up in Paris. The idea of having a dog that only responds to us if we give commands in a foreign language appeals to me.

3

Heather stumbled into the kitchen after dragging herself out of bed at four-thirty in the morning. She wasn’t expecting to see Steve sitting on a barstool, sipping coffee.

Good morning, said Steve. Coffee’s ready.

She tried blinking crusty residue from her eyes and croaked a question. What are you doing up so early?

I couldn’t sleep. I have an appointment in Houston this morning that I’m excited about.

Oh. she said around a yawn.

Steve chuckled. Put half a cup of mud in you and I’ll tell you about my appointment.

She moved to the coffeepot and poured herself a full serving of steaming black stimulant. Instead of listening to Steve’s plans, she launched into a soliloquy of her own.

If I face another day like yesterday, you’ll need to put me in a monastery, or some other place where they prohibit talking. Every person I spoke to had an excuse for not being able to meet their schedule. First, it was my plumbing contractor. Then the electrical contractor phoned with supply chain problems. Next in line was a civil engineer who discovered a street that would need to be raised three inches to drain properly. The coup-de-grâce was a lame-brain county inspector who said a support beam in the recreation center didn’t meet specifications and would need to be replaced. That beam passed inspection three months ago, and he issued a certificate of occupancy. It turns out he misplaced his original paperwork. She let out a huff. "He had the nerve to accuse me of forging his signature on my copies. I had to call two county commissioners to pressure the inspector and his people to search their files. I raised such a stink his clerk had to work three hours overtime. As expected, someone in his office misfiled it. Now he’s furious with me because he missed Monday night football. Mark my