"Who might you be?" Marlena asked, stepping inside the small apartment which was as hot as the hallway yet little relief was provided by the two large fans gyrating in two separate corners of the living room in which they were standing. Three young children with skin like Isabeau's that were once engrossed with the small television in front of them but were now fixated on the strange officers in their home.
The woman closed the door behind her, "I am Isabeau Baudier, Solange's olda sister. Olda if not wisa."
"Where is Solange?"
"She be in her bedroom. Po' thing is shakin' up bad, findin' her boss-man like dat," Isabeau took a puff of her cigarette. "She be cryin', frettin', thinkin' you cops gon' take her away from her little boy."
"Little boy?"
Isabeau's eyes widened, "Oh, I bet you don' know. Solange is a widow, her husband drown not long ago back in Trinidad. Po' man was knocked off his boat. Armand is with Holy God now," here Isabeau paused to cross herself quickly, "and left Solange with his son to raise, Rémi. Solange, she is not a very strong woman, she needs all de help she can get. So she come to live wit me and Julien, dat is my husband. I tell her, 'we have a little bedroom off our kitchen that you and Rémi can share.' So she come live wit us. I got her dat job, you know, at de Quall Agency. I used to work deah myself before I had my last baby."
"Why didn't you return?" Sasha asked.
"Oh, I just neva picked it back up. I am de house-wife now. My children are seven, five and three. De babies need care. Oh, speakin' of de babies, little Rémi is but two years old. I'll have to ask you not to upset him."
"No intention to, ma'am," Sasha promised. "We just need to talk to Solange briefly."
"I'll go get her," Isabeau assured them. She turned to her children, "And whatcha lookin' at, huh? I pay good money for dat TV set and if you gonna watch it, watch it! It's not nice to stare!" The children quickly returned to the TV set. Isabeau flashed a smirk at Marlena and Sasha. "My children. Don' let dem bother you too much. I go get my sista now. Have a seat in de kitchen."
Marlena and Sasha followed Isabeau into the kitchen and sat down while Isabeau disappeared into a plain oak door that one would most likely mistake for a pantry or broom closet.
The voices were muffled but to Marlena it sounded like they were speaking French. Then a long, agitated wail sounded. The children seemed unfazed by the noise but it scared Marlena half to death.
"What the hell was that?" Sasha whispered.
"I don't know."
It was quiet for a little bit. The oldest of Isabeau's children, a girl with cornrows and pouty lips wandered into the kitchen.
"Who are you?" she asked innocently.
"We're investigators," Marlena explained gently.
"Is that like a detective? Like Dick Tracy?"
Marlena smiled, "Sort of."
"Can I see your badge?"
Enamored by the child's curiosity, Marlena showed her the ID. The girl cocked her head and smiled.
"That's neat."
"What's your name?"
"Anaïs."
"How old are you, Anaïs?"
"Seven…is my tante in trouble?"
"Not yet," mumbled Sasha, inaudible enough for Anaïs to hear but enough to make Marlena kick him under the table.
"Of course not," Marlena soothed the child's worries.
At this time, Isabeau emerged with Solange, who was cuddling a toddler--obviously Rémi, her son.
"Solange, partir Rémi avec Anaïs donc nous pouvons parler à ces gens," Isabeau said, patting her sister on the shoulder. "I'll be right back," Isabeau said softly to Marlena and Sasha, taking Rémi from his mother and into the living room. "Anaïs, take Rémi…"
Solange sat at the kitchen table, wringing her hands, biting her lip. Her hair was tousled and she was wearing a worn pale yellow robe. Her feet were bare.
When Isabeau sat back down again, she stubbed her cigarette out and folded her hands. "Well, how can we help you?"
Marlena didn't know how to begin and turned to Sasha for help.
"Solange, I'm sure, knows of the case," Sasha said. "We found her fingerprints at the scene of the crime."
"Fin-ger-prints, oui," Solange nodded. "Ep-pe-thee-lee-als."
"Yes. Epithelials," Marlena said, also nodding. She turned to Isabeau, "We also found Solange's fingerprints on two bottles of the deceased man's medication. Now, the man—Gil Grissom—was poisoned via strychnine. Internally. We need your permission to search your house for strychnine. Since this is a crucial part to the investigation, we also have a warrant, should you refuse."
"Strychnine?" Solange said. "Isabeau!"
Isabeau looked at her sister in surprise. "Solange, quel est le problème avec vous?"
"Dans le coffret, il est là, Isabeau!"
"Is she okay?" Sasha asked Isabeau in a whisper.
"I don' know," Isabeau shook her head, looking scared. A child, a little boy, came to the door way of the kitchen just as Solange began to wail.
"Mere, is Tante alright?"
"Go back into the living room, Luc," Isabeau said harshly, putting her arms around Solange. "Please. And close the door behind you!"
Luc sadly hung his head and closed a sliding door that came out of the wall, to close the kitchen off from the rest of the house.
"Mon Dieu, que j'ai fait? Économiser moi, Dieu! Économiser moi! Gardez-moi coffre-fort, Armand! Maintenez-moi sûr!" Solange moaned.
"Mrs. Baudier, is she going to be okay?" Sasha asked again.
Before Isabeau could answer, Solange got up out of her chair and went to a cabinet under the sink.
"Solange, que recherchez-vous?" Isabeau turned around to stare at her sister, who was rummaging around underneath the sink.
"Je l'ai trouvé!" Solange exclaimed. She pulled a baggie out from underneath the sink and tossed it onto the kitchen table with a look of disdain on her face. She spat on the baggie. "Prenez-le. Je ne le veux pas."
"What's this?" Marlena held up the baggie to get a better look.
Sasha pulled a pair latex gloves from his field kit and pulled them on before opening the baggie. "Cocaine?"
Marlena pulled out gloves over her own and dipped into the baggie as Sasha held it open. She sifted it between her fingers. It was fine and smooth, like powdered sugar. Cocaine, she had observed in the past, tended to be more grainy like salt.
"Voici votre arme," spat Solange again. She turned away from the people at the table, biting her lips.
"What did she say?" Marlena asked Isabeau.
Isabeau gave a shuddery sigh. "She say, 'here is your weapon'."
"It's strychnine."
"It be strychnine," Isabeau nodded. "It is not Solange's."
"Who's is it?"
"Mine," Isabeau revealed. "I use it often."
Information Greg had given her hours ago popped back into her head. " For gardening, by any chance?"
Nodding, Isabeau continued. "I keep it secret. I do not know if it is considered inhumane but back in Trinidad, I used it in my garden always. It kept de bugs away. De rodents in de ground, dey did not nibble on de stalks. It does good work."
"Solange, listen very carefully," Marlena spoke clearly and evenly, dipping her head a little to make eye contact with the young maid, who was looking at her lap. "Solange…please tell me…did you come into contact with the strychnine the night your employer died?"
Isabeau repeated the question in French to her sister.
Sadly, Solange answered, "Je ne peux pas dire, je ne peux pas se rappeler."
Marlena looked at Isabeau, who translated, "She says she does not remember."
"Please try to remember, Solange."
"Soeur douce, essai à se rappeler pour votre enfant," Isabeau pressed. "Sil vous plait."
Solange was silent. Sasha fidgeted and Marlena gently crushed his toes with the hell of her boot to keep him still. Waiting was not his favorite part of the game.
"Solange," Isabeau pressed. She whispered something into her sister's ear and gave her a pinch on the arm, at which Solange gave a tiny cry. Slowly, she began to speak, in English.
"I did touch strychnine," she said slowly. "I sprinkle over Isabeau's garden before I leave to clean house. I go late."
"What?" Sasha whispered to Marlena, confused.
"So you cleaned house for Mister Grissom at night?" Marlena asked Solange.
"Yes. He teach night class."
"Oh," Marlena nodded. "He taught night classes at the college?"
"Yes. College. Yes. Sometimes. He call, he ask and tell when I come."
"I'm confused," Sasha said. "He would call and tell you when to come over and clean? Does it work like that?"
"Sometimes," Isabeau jumped in. "I do know Mista Grissom preferred to not be home when we come to clean. He liked it to be done when he was not home. But he call at de agency and de agency relay de message here where Solange gets it."
"Was he supposed to teach a night class the night he died, Solange?" Marlena asked.
Solange nodded.
"So that's why you found the body," Marlena said to herself. Louder, she continued, "You went over to Mister Grissom's house because he had asked you to come over at night while he was teaching. But he had died between the time he called the Quall Agency and the time you got there, which had to be between seven and ten PM. Coronary reports give us an estimated time of death."
"Go on, Miss Tanguy," Sasha said. "What else about the strychnine?"
"I wash my hands before I go to work," Solange said, "because…I touch my bébé, give him kiss good-bye."
"So you washed your hands so you could kiss Rémi?"
"Oui."
"Je ne suis pas une mauvaise personne, n'est-ce pas?" Solange asked her sister.
"Non, soeur de bébé, parce que ce n'est pas votre défaut," Isabeau reassured.
"Mrs. Baudier," Sasha said, who was beginning to feel a bit uncomfortable, "could you ask Solange if she washed her clothes from last night? We do have a warrant for them to test for the presence of strychnine."
"I know she didn't," Isabeau said. "I do her laundry. It is still in her bedroom. Solange, go get your clothes."
Like an obedient child, Solange solemnly got up from her chair and opened the door to her bedroom that Marlena had mistaken for a pantry. Solange entered and emerged in less than a minute. The familiar turquoise dress was in a heap. She somehow knew enough to bring her white tennis shoes as well, which were underneath the dress.
"Solange," Marlena said. "We also need your purse from last night. Don't empty it, please."
"Will I get back?"
"Of course."
She went back to get the worn hemp purse about which Isabeau later bragged that Solange had made with her own two hands back in Trinidad.
Marlena put the clothes, shoes and purse in a plastic bag and sealed it and had Sasha do the same to the strychnine. "And one last thing—could you show us where you use the strychnine?"
"Of course," Isabeau said. She went over to the sink and opened the window over it to reveal a window box sitting outside. It was a little less than three feet long and overflowed with colorful blossoms. "Now you be thinkin', 'tis a window box. Why she need de poison for de rodents? Well, mista, I got news. De rats. We get rats and mice like you would not believe. Dey de ones nibblin' de stalks. It drives me crazy."
Sasha rose and went over to the window box and leaned out. In gloved hands, he inconspicuously plucked off a few leaves and petals.
"What flowers are these?" Sasha asked Isabeau as he pulled his head back into
Isabeau stuck her chin out, "Birds of Paradise. My husband and I both love dem. Dey were my wedding bouquet. And dose are de Gerber daises. I brought all these seeds here in my suitcase from my hometown. Beautiful, aren't dey? De colors are wonderful, make you feel alive."
"Well, in Mr. Grissom's case," Sasha sighed. "I don't know about that."