Flu
Chapter 99
"What's wrong?" Rick asks as Kate reaches down to massage her calf. "This is it, Lt. Chloe's big scene. Usually, your eyes are glued to the screen."
"My leg just started to hurt," Kate confesses.
Rick pulls the limb into his lap. "Let me see. Kate, it's warm. The list of clot symptoms the doctor gave us is emblazoned on my brain. That's one of them. A clot could break off and go to your lungs. A thing like that almost killed you when you had the flu. We're going to the hospital now."
The determination in Rick's eyes tells Kate there would be no point in arguing. Anyway, he's right.
"It's good that you came in right away. A clot like this can be dangerous, especially given your history," the doctor explains. "But the condition is also more common than you might think, and we have well-established treatments. I'm going to give you a shot of a medicine called low molecular weight heparin to keep your blood from clotting too much."
"Are you sure it won't hurt the baby?" Kate demands.
"A study showed that it won't cross the placenta," Dr. Aziz assures her. "That's why we use it in pregnant women. But here's the hard part. I'm going to give you a prescription for pre-filled syringes. I'm keeping the dose as low as possible, so you'll need two shots a day."
Rick shudders. "Can't Kate just take a pill?"
Aziz shakes his head. "The heparin would be destroyed in the stomach. But the shots are relatively simple to administer, under the skin in the upper thigh or the buttocks. If the two of you would like, I'll demonstrate how you can assist your wife."
Rick forces a smile as he looks down at Kate. "It's not as if I can keep my hands off your ass, anyway. Might as well have an excuse."
Kate muffles a giggle. "Go ahead, Doctor."
Assured by Kate's rhythmic breathing that she's sound asleep, Rick slips out of bed. As quietly as he can, he takes the few steps to his office. A copy of the precautions associated with Kate's shots lays on his desk. He's read it through five times and had memorized it after the first one. But that won't stop him from studying it again. Things would be so much easier if he could surround Kate with bubble wrap. But even if that were possible, she'd never permit it. He can take over all the knife chores in the kitchen to keep her from accidentally cutting herself. He already does most of them anyway. She'll bruise more easily, and her bones may lose a tiny percentage of their weight. That doesn't sound too serious, but it's still a risk to Kate. He mentally smacks himself for being self-centered, but he can't help wondering about sex. The list doesn't even mention it, but Kate isn't one to lie there, close her eyes and think on England. She revels in action. He reaches for his laptop. When he's 10 pages into his Google search, and the problem doesn't come up, he starts to feel better. After 20 pages without a mention, he crawls back into bed, wrapping his arms around his wife.
The office manager at Eastwick Baking Supplies regards Rick and Kate with a mix of annoyance and incredulity. "I can't believe that the police are involved in some crazy's complaint about his flour. I'd think you'd have something better to do."
Kate eyes the nameplate on the woman's desk. "Ms. Schrebnitz, if you'd responded to my messages, we wouldn't be here to take up your time now. The N.Y.P.D. doesn't investigate flour, but we do investigate murders."
The intensity of Rick's addition slices through the air of the crowded office space. "That crazy, Busby Centerfield, is dead."
Myrtle Schrebnitz drops heavily into a chair, permanently indented by her ample behind. "I'm sorry. I had no idea. But his death can't have anything to do with us. We don't make the flour. We just repackage and deliver it."
"You repackage it?" Rick repeats. "So, the labels with the protein content are produced here."
"They are," Myrtle confirms, "but we don't get any analysis done. Sir Lancelot sends us the figures. We have standard templates for the information the government mandates on the packaging. We just enter what Sir Lancelot tells us is in their products and print everything out."
"So, other than what Sir Lancelot told you, you have no way of knowing if Busby Centerfield was right, do you?" Rick presses.
"I mentioned the complaint to Sir Lancelot's rep in New York," Myrtle replies. "He said he'd look into it."
"Do you have contact information for him?" Kate asks.
"Just a second." Myrtle types, and a printer spits out a sheet of paper. Myrtle grabs it and hands it to Kate. "That's it. Now, please. There was a tie-up on the L.I.E. again this morning, and I have to call four bakeries and three restaurants and explain why their shipments are going to be late."
"You believe her?" Rick asks, opening the driver's side of Kate's unit so she can get behind the wheel.
"I do, but I can open my own door, Babe."
"You pinched your finger in the handle once. You got a blood blister. I don't want to see what could happen while you're on those shots."
Kate sighs but can't fight the slight upturn of her lips. "All right, but I also bumped my leg on a toilet in the ladies' room at the 12th once. You can't pee for me."
Rick strokes her cheek. "No, but the idea opens up some interesting plotlines."
"So, if Busby was right, and we go with what Ms. Schrebnitz claimed, the flour was switched at Sir Lancelot," Rick muses, as Kate records her notes on a useless conversation with the Sir Lancelot rep.
"I think Busby might have been right," Kate considers. "I must have eaten slices from at least 12 of his pies, probably more. I remember one where the crust was a little harder to cut. It didn't bother me. All I cared about was the chocolate. However…"
"It would have bothered him," Rick inserts.
"But Babe," Kate continues. "Would someone kill over the flour in a pie? Why?"
"Our old standbys: love, money, or to cover up another crime. Since we've already eliminated the first motive, then it has to be one of the other two."
'Or maybe both," Kate suggests. "What if someone was cheating the customers by substituting a cheaper flour and pocketing the difference?"
Rick grins at her. "You're beginning to sound like me. So, who could pull off the switch? To figure that out, we'll have to start with the where and how. Feel like a trip to Vermont? We could take the train, first-class, so you get a seat where you can stretch out. You can also get up and walk around while we're on the way. I can rent a car at the other end, something comfortable with a lot of room. Montgomery won't care as long as the department doesn't get a bill. Busby was murdered in the kitchen of my establishment. I have at least as much interest in solving this case as the N.Y.P.D. does. And I looked it up. Sir Lancelot gives tours. I can make a reservation. We'll ask a lot of questions and see where we go from there."
"It's a long shot, Babe."
"I'm not hearing any other ideas. And the tour comes with a tasting. Sir Lancelot formulates their own chocolate. And they give out samples.
"Again, you had me at chocolate. Deal. And see if you can rent a car with a good sound system. Holly just gave me another mix."
"I will insist on the top of the line."
