Home Remedy

Abe placed the suitcase in the trunk of his car and turned to look at Henry. "I'll be back on Tuesday, but you know, I can cancel."

Henry sniffed and wished his head would clear. "It's just a cold, Abraham. I'll be fine."

"You really don't look fine," Abe pressed. "And it's just an antiques show, Dad. I don't have to go."

"You've been planning this trip for months," Henry reminded him. "Please, don't worry. I'll stay inside, wrap up in a blanket, and drink chicken soup and lots of tea. I'll be fine, I promise."

Abe looked him up and down. "Do you promise to call if you need anything?"

"I promise. And if it's urgent, I will call Jo…or even Lucas."

Abe grinned and looked at his father. "If you do that, he might come over with comic books."

"Heaven forbid," Henry said seriously. "Safe journey, Abraham. I'll see you in a few days."

"Sure thing," Abe said, giving Henry a bear hug. "Anything you want me to bring back for you?"

"New ribs," Henry joked. "At least three."

It was always nice to be able to make those you loved laugh, Henry thought as Abe pulled away from the curb. He honked the horn and waved goodbye and headed off toward the airport. He was heading to an antiques show in Chicago and had been planning the trip for months. Unfortunately, yesterday Henry had started to feel unwell, and that morning he'd woken up with a full-blown cold. One cough and Abe had turned into a massive pile of worry and it had taken all of Henry's powers of persuasion to reassure his son that he was indeed fine and that there was no reason for him to stay home.

He'd been lying about being fine, though. It was a very bad cold, and it lived up to its name. He felt as if he couldn't get warm and whenever he coughed his chest ached. If he wasn't careful, he could easily come down with bronchitis on top of the cold. He headed back inside the shop, turned the sign to CLOSED and headed upstairs to the apartment. He was intent on a cup of tea, a book, and a blanket to throw around his shoulders.

He read for a while, but after a few hours he felt poorly enough to admit defeat and head back to bed. He undressed, dropped into bed, and was just curling up with his book when the phone rang. He groaned, coughed, groaned again in pain, and shuffled his way to the phone. "Hello?"

Henry Morgan, please.

"Speaking," Henry croaked, feeling a headache start at hearing Adam's voice.

You don't sound like yourself, Henry, Adam said. What's the matter?

"I have a cold," Henry told him. "Did you want something?" With the way he felt, the last thing he wanted to do was play one of Adam's wretched games.

Just calling to keep in touch, Adam said. Take care of yourself.

Henry rolled his eyes as he hung up. What, exactly, did Adam think would happen to him if he didn't?

Henry spent the rest of the day in bed, reading or listening to records. It was nice to laze about occasionally, and being ill gave him the perfect excuse. Even better, it was Saturday, and he wasn't due back at the office until Monday morning. He had a couple of days in which to be at home, doing exactly as he pleased while he recuperated. The prospect was delightful.

Henry got up around one o'clock, made himself some soup and toast with tea, ate, drank, washed up, and feeling much more the thing, he made himself at home on the sofa to read. He read until his head started to ache a bit and decided that he'd had enough.

Henry returned to bed and stretched out under the covers, picked up his book…and woke up several hours later, his room dark. Confused, he sat up, and then he groaned. His head was pounding, his throat was on fire, and he could tell that he had a fever. Drat. He was worse. With a herculean effort, he got to his feet, pulled on his robe, slid his feet into his slippers, and shuffled his way to the kitchen. Perhaps some soup or tea would help…

The light was on in the kitchen. Convinced that he hadn't left that light on earlier, Henry grabbed the nearest thing he could use for a weapon (a candlestick) and headed into the kitchen. The stove was on and a pot was bubbling on the burner.

"Hello, Henry," he heard behind him.

"Yaaaaah!" Henry yelled, whipping around and swinging the candlestick. The housebreaker dodged easily when Henry lost his balance and fell and a moment later Adam was staring down at him, a smirk on his face.

"Dr. Morgan with the candlestick in the kitchen, I see," Adam said chummily. "Feeling any better?"

Henry glared at him. "What do you think you're doing here?" The question didn't sound quite as menacing as he'd wanted since he broke down in a fit of coughing.

"I'm here to visit the sick," Adam replied, taking hold of Henry's arm and pulling him to his feet.

"Get out!" Henry snapped, yanking his hand out of Adam's grip. "It's not enough you've forced yourself into my life, threatened me, played games with my well-being, threatened those I care about, murdered others…now you've broken into my home!"

"Ah, the old English idea that a man's home is his castle. You make me sound like an invading villain, Henry," Adam said lightly, going to the stove and stirring what was in the pot. "As for breaking in, I didn't."

"What do you mean, you didn't?" Henry demanded.

"I have a key."

Henry felt his entire being go cold. Adam could have come into the house any time…gone through their belongings…their papers…he could have come in while they were asleep…

"Don't look so stricken, Henry," Adam said as he began opening cupboard doors. "I don't make a habit of going into other people's homes. I had a key just in case, and this seemed like an opportune time to use it."

"You'll give me that key, and then you're going to get out," Henry snarled.

"Nonsense," Adam said, pulling a bowl out of the cupboard and closing the door. "You're ill, and you're clearly not doing well. When I looked in on you earlier, you were dead to the world and burning up. Is this how a doctor cares for himself?"

Henry stared at him, his gorge rising. "You've been in my room?"

"Only to check on you," Adam confirmed. "You should sit down, you know. I meant it when I said you didn't look well."

"I meant it when I told you to get out," Henry muttered, turning and heading for the hallway.

"Where are you going, Henry?"

"I'm calling the police!"

A chuckle followed from the kitchen. "I already have."

That brought Henry to a halt. "Excuse me?"

The doorbell rang.

"That will be for you, Henry," Adam said. "Hurry back, your soup will get cold."

With a final glare for Adam, Henry headed for the door. Standing there was Jo. Silently cursing Adam, Henry opened the door. "Hello, detective."

"Hi, Henry," she said, looking him up and down. "Dr. Farber called me and said you were sick, and that I should come over. Are you okay?"

"Well, you may have come just in time to prevent a murder," Henry told her, stepping back so she could come in. "When I first laid eyes on the man, I'd had no idea that he was so bloody interfering. He just waltzed his way in here and began making soup!"

Jo grinned. He was actually annoyed enough to swear in front of her! "Well, I'm glad I'm here, then. Is Dr. Farber still here?"

Henry nodded and led the way up the stairs. "Unfortunately. I've told him repeatedly that he doesn't need to stay, but he refuses to take a bloody hint."

Jo grinned again. Swearing twice in as many minutes! Henry was truly perturbed. It was kind of fun to see him so thrown off his stride once in a while.

"Hello, Detective Martinez!" 'Dr. Farber' said brightly as Henry and Jo entered the kitchen. "Thanks for coming!"

Jo nodded. "My pleasure. How did you know Henry was sick, Dr. Farber?"

"I saw him earlier today, pale as a ghost and weaving a bit as he walked, so I thought I should come over and check on him," Adam told her, still in the guise of the affable Dr. Farber. "We Englishmen must stick together, hmm?"

"And I told you I was fine," Henry repeated for what felt like the hundredth time as he sat down at the table. The statement's force was diminished, though, when he had to pause to cough.

"You can tell Henry's a typical doctor, detective," Adam said, placing a full bowl of soup on the table in front of Henry. "They will never admit that they're not all right when they're sick."

"My being ill is not an invitation for random people to come in and take over my kitchen stove," Henry stated, staring at the bowl in front of him. "What's this?"

"What I took over your stove to make," Adam said. "Granny Farber's cure-anything chicken soup. Detective, I don't think you'll have had a chance to eat yet, would you like a bowl as well?"

"That smells incredible," Jo said. "If you don't mind, then yes, please."

Adam dished up another bowl and placed it on the table along with a bowl of sliced French bread and a container of butter. A minute later he joined them with a bowl of his own and a pot of tea.

"Is tea what English people drink when they're not doing well?" Jo asked. "Not 7-Up or Sprite?"

"Perish the thought," Adam said. "Tea is the only drink worth having when you're ill. Isn't that right, Henry?"

"Mmmn," Henry managed, wishing his head would stop pounding. Did he dare touch any of the food Adam had provided? The memory of that wretched Gatorade was still strong in his mind.

Jo took a spoonful of soup and swallowed it, a happy and contented smile spreading over her face. "Oh, wow. Granny Farber was quite the cook!"

"She was," Adam said lightly after taking a spoonful. "I must have watched her make this soup hundreds of times when I was younger, and it's never steered me wrong when I was ill. I felt Henry could benefit from it as well."

That last remark was a pointed reminder for Henry to start eating, so grudgingly, Henry picked up his spoon and had a swallow of soup. He swallowed and a second later the flavors hit him, and he found himself smiling in spite of himself. It was delicious! "I never realized you could cook."

"You stick around long enough, and you learn a few things," Adam said good-naturedly.

"Any chance you would be willing to share the recipe?" Jo asked after taking another spoonful. "This is fabulous! I'd probably make it once a week!"

Adam chuckled. "You really want the recipe?"

"Seriously, yes!" Jo persisted. "Would a bribe need to be involved?"

Adam kept chuckling and took a sip of tea. "Well, I would be letting you in on a family secret, Detective Martinez. A bribe might have to be involved at some point."

Jo laughed and took a piece of bread. "Okay, okay. Just let me know what it is and I can tell you if it's out of my price range."

As Henry spooned up his soup, he reflected how chameleon-like Adam was. He was a cold-blooded murderer, and he'd experienced torture that Henry doubted he could have withstood himself, but he also had an odd, human side to him, one that allowed him to laugh and joke with other people. The difference was incredible. Even more intriguing was the soup. It was filled with carrots, celery, sliced mushrooms and onions, shreds of chicken, and thick homestyle noodles that had thickened the broth and made it more substantial. It was the seasonings, though, that made all the difference. He tasted garlic, pepper, but what else?

"At least tell me what seasonings you used," Jo pleaded. "Maybe then I could figure out how to wing making it."

"I think you were reading my mind, Jo," Henry said after taking a sip of tea. "I was just wondering what he'd used to season it."

Adam smiled and buttered a slice of bread. "Salt and black pepper, paprika, cayenne pepper, garlic, and ground ginger. All of them are very good for colds and the like."

Henry would never admit it to anyone, but since starting to eat the soup, he could feel his sinuses clearing. The relief was wonderful.

Talk turned to other dishes that Adam knew how to make, and Jo shared what recipes she knew, and when asked, Henry had to admit that Abe did most of the cooking for them.

"I can cook simple things, but I really think Abe enjoys feeding people," he admitted. "He found his mother's recipe book not long ago, and we've been enjoying recipes out of that. Her lasagna is...exquisite."

"Wow. Exquisite lasagna," Jo said with a smile. "Really?"

"Really," Henry confirmed. "One bite, and I wanted to dance with a beautiful woman."

"When a dish makes you want to do that, then you know it's exquisite," Adam said.

"Any other recipes that have made you want to dance, Henry?" Jo asked.

"Butterscotch cake," Henry answered. "With frosting."

"That cake Abe served at your birthday party?" Jo asked, her mouth watering at the memory. "Mmmm."

By this time, their soup was a fond memory, and Adam returned to the stove to carry over three ramekins filled with creme brulee. Henry smiled at Jo's happy face as she broke the sugar on the top and dug in. Henry took one bite of the creme brulee and smiled. It was perfect!

"It's good to see you smile, Henry," Adam said. "Feeling better?"

"Somewhat," he admitted. "Instead of mostly dead, I feel somewhat alive."

"Good," Jo said. "We'd miss you at the precinct if you had to take a lot of sick days."

"I would miss going to the precinct," Henry admitted. "Abe has quite a Florence Nightingale complex whenever someone's ill. He'd try to spend most of the day fussing over me if I stayed home. I'm told he gets it from his father." Henry could remember quite a few days when Abe had been ill and Henry had fussed over him. Like father, like son.

"I'm sure Abe's father was quite the healer," Adam remarked, getting up to clear the table. Without a word, he slipped a cover on the pot of soup, placed it in the refrigerator, and began to wash up. Jo got up to help him, and Henry, feeling remiss in his duties as a host, grabbed a towel and started drying. In no time the kitchen had been put to rights and they settled in the sitting room with more tea.

"Where is Abe?" Jo asked, stirring her tea. "I just realized he wasn't here."

"An antiques show out of town," Henry answered. "No doubt he'll come back with a truckload of new merchandise to put in the shop and a souvenir or two."

A cell phone ringing startled all of them, and Jo answered it. "Detective Martinez."

Henry and Abe both fell quiet as Jo took her phone call into the other room. She came back a minute later, looking troubled. "I'm sorry to run out like this, but I've got to go in," she said, pulling on her jacket.

"Of course," Henry said, getting to his feet to see her out. "Anything I can do?"

"You can stay here and rest up for Monday," Jo answered. "Seriously, Henry. Focus on getting better. What would I and the precinct do if you keeled over and died?"

"Ha, ha," Henry said bleakly. "I'll see you on Monday, Jo."

Jo gave him a final smile as they reached the front door. "Take care, Henry. Feel better soon."

"Thanks, Jo."

As soon as Jo was gone, Henry turned and tore through the shop and up the stairs, determined to have it out with Adam over this home invasion. As Henry had good cause to know, it was NOT FUNNY when a dangerous psychopath let himself into your home!

"You are leaving now," Henry said as he reached the living room. "And give me that key!"

Adam set his cup of tea aside and smiled at him. "What are you going to do, Henry, wrestle it away from me?"

"If that's what it takes," Henry snapped.

"Don't be childish, Henry," Adam said. "You should go to bed. I can see myself out."

"You'll give me that key, and then you'll get out!" Henry persisted. A second later he started to feel dizzy and he dropped heavily into a chair.

"A little something I added to your last cup of tea," Adam said chummily as he approached Henry. "Not to worry, it's just a light sleeping pill. You'll sleep like a baby through the night. Come on."

"Damn you," Henry muttered as Adam pulled him to his feet and draped one of Henry's arms over his shoulders.

"You wouldn't be the first to say that, Henry," Adam said as he helped Henry down the hall to his room.

In next to no time, Adam had helped him out of his robe and tucked him into bed. "Good night, Henry. Sleep well."

"Go away," Henry groaned. "And leave your key!"

A chuckle was the only reply.

Henry woke up the following morning with his headache gone and a burning hatred for Adam. He got up, searched the house, but he could find no sign of Adam or any sign of a spare house key. Cursing under his breath, Henry showered, dressed, and pulled out the phone book. He had to have the wretched locks changed as soon as possible, or Adam might think to come back. He managed to find a locksmith open on a Sunday and arranged for the man to come that afternoon. Then, he called and left a message for Abe letting him know that there was no reason to worry, but their locks had had to be changed and Henry would have his new keys for him when he returned.

He reported to work on Monday with no word from Adam, thank goodness, but he felt it was only a matter of time. Jo greeted him, congratulating him on his recovery, and he headed to his office feeling as if that wretched dinner with Adam might have actually been worth it.

He didn't have much time to think about it, though, because they had a body for him. It was the body of a young man, disassembled with clinical precision. It was chilling and an altogether shocking bit of work. He spent the day slowly and meticulously putting the body back together and marveling at just how depraved someone had to be in order to desecrate the body of another to such a degree.

He returned home that evening, tired from his long day, and he was pleased to find no sign of Adam having been in either the shop or the house. He found himself warming up some soup for supper and toasting some bread, and to his surprise, he found another creme brulee in the refrigerator. He ate, still cursing Adam for invading his home, but oddly, he found no reason to throw the food out. He'd eaten it with no problem when Adam and Jo had been there, and he'd always been taught that it was very disrespectful to waste food. At any rate, it meant that he didn't have to cook. He went to bed that night feeling a bit more at peace with himself, but he still wished he could do something that upset Adam as much as Adam could upset him. Call him petty and vindictive, but so be it.

"So, do you want to tell me why we had to have the locks changed?" Abe asked on Tuesday evening.

Henry wished he didn't have to shatter Abe's sense of security, but it would serve no purpose to lie to him. "It turns out Adam had a key."

Abe stared at him. "What the hell?"

"I know," Henry said. "I have no idea how he got it, or when, but I have to admit that it was the biggest shock of my life to walk into our kitchen and find him there."

Abe blinked rapidly several times. "The biggest shock of your life?"

Henry gave him a wry smile. "All right, perhaps not the biggest, but close to it."

"Uh-huh," Abe said thoughtfully. "Have you heard from him since?"

"No," Henry admitted. "Call me mad, but I actually worry when he fails to keep in touch with me. It makes me think he's plotting something."

"Ah, I'm not worried," Abe stated calmly.

Henry stared at his son. "You're not?"

"Nah," Abe said. "My reading of Adam is that he's got a reason for everything he does. His having our key might be just so he could get to you in case he needed to. Your being sick might have been it."

"I can't really see Adam as a ministering angel," Henry reminded him.

"I can't, either," Abe confessed. "Still, he must have had his reasons. Thanks, though, for getting the locks changed. I know I'll sleep better for it tonight."

"As will I," Henry said. "Tell me about your trip. Did you find what you were looking for?"

"I found lots of stuff," Abe said happily. "You know how many requests we've had for miniatures lately? Well, I found a bunch of them! We are going to have some very happy customers!"

"Wonderful!" Henry said as Abe opened two boxes to show him what he'd bought. "Oh, goodness, Abe, did you buy the vendors out?"

"Not even close," Abe said with a grin. "Those guys had so much of this stuff that they were practically giving it away! Look, I even found some miniature books!"

Henry fetched a pair of gloves and picked up one of the books, a matchbook-sized collection of illustrations from Alice in Wonderland. The illustrations were hand-tipped and the cover was genuine leather. Henry felt as if he were holding a small fortune in his hands. "Amazing."

"Speaking of books, I found the perfect souvenir for you," Abe said, opening up his suitcase. "Take a look at this!" So saying, he handed Henry a book well over a century old. Fading gold leaf on the cover read Home Remedies.

Smiling, Henry opened the book and began flipping through it. "Oh, thank you, Abe." He stopped and stared at a paragraph on cod liver oil and shuddered. "Ooh, I remember the taste of cod liver oil all too well. Whenever I seemed the slightest bit out of sorts I would be forced to have a spoonful."

"Yeah, I don't think that's a home remedy you need anymore, Dad," Abe chuckled. "However, I saw a couple tea recipes in there that sounded good."

"Let's find out," Henry said with a grin. With that, he headed toward the kitchen.

He was putting the final touches on a batch of cinnamon tea when he heard the doorbell ring. Immediately he left the kitchen and ran downstairs, thinking of Adam. "Abe?"

"Just a courier," Abe said, signing the man's clipboard and tipping him. "It's for you."

Henry took the envelope Abe handed him and opened it. Inside was a key, an index card, and a letter. "It's from Adam."

"What's it say?"

"As requested, here is my key," Henry read aloud. "Please find enclosed the recipe Detective Martinez requested. No bribe is required. See you soon."

"Uh-huh." Abe did not sound surprised.

"I think Adam is the only person earth who can make a promise sound like a threat," Henry lamented. "Let's go have that tea."