The first day back at work after Grissom's service, Marlena was ready to pounce. The situation with Sean had gotten her fired up and was giving out orders like crazy. As soon as Breeze and Sasha trudged in, Marlena began cracking the whip.
"Breeze, I'd like you and Sasha to go to Lady Heather's," she said. "I'm gonna go to Sara's and see what the deal is there. I know for a fact she's taking a sick day because of what happened at the memorial service. A little R&R, Catherine said."
Sasha smiled brightly, "Me and Breeze…in a sex domain? I think I'm gonna need more than rubber gloves…"
Breeze rolled her eyes, "Dream on."
"Don't worry, I will."
"Guys," Marlena said firmly. "Come on. We're so close. I can almost taste it."
Lady Heather was not quite what Breeze expected when she answered the door of the Domain, which, from the outside looked like an exquisitely preserved Victorian mansion that seemed out-of-place and glamorous among the more modern townhouses in the midst of which it was nestled. To Breeze, Lady Heather looked younger than she probably was and taller, too.
"May I help you?" Lady Heather asked in a smooth voice dripping with honey. She wore a black, lace-trimmed leather corset with fishnet stockings with a knee-length black lace peignoir over it, with faux fur trimming the collar, hem and sleeves. Around her neck was a large onyx cross so shiny that one could see their reflection in it. It was suspended on a black beaded chain. On her feet were black, Victorian-style lace-up boots. She was pale with bone-straight reddish-brown hair with long curved bangs and wore gobs of carefully applied Gothic make-up. She looked like a ghostly burlesque house dancer.
"You're Lady Heather?" Sasha asked from behind Breeze.
"That I am. Have you come for my services?"
"In a way."
"Please, come in. And welcome to Lady Heather's Domain."
The foyer of the Domain was a creepy-elegant cross between The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas and The Munsters. Candles burned up and down the candelabras on the walls and a huge crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, dimly lit. The décor was mainly in red and white with black accents. Faintly, moans and screams could be heard that, if it weren't for the erotic setting, would have been mistaken for the tortured moans and screams of ghosts and phantasms.
As Sasha and Breeze stepped inside, a gentle wind came with them and accidentally blew out half a dozen of Lady Heather's candles.
"What is it you desire?" Lady Heather continued, taking a box of kitchen matches from a drawer of a nearby table. She began to relight the candles but didn't break eye contact with Breeze and Sasha. "A fantasy, one on one? Or would you like to select a third to join you? You must know that intercourse is strictly against the rules and we only play on the theatrics of erotica."
Goosebumps rose on Breeze's bare arms as she showed Lady Heather her ID, "Actually, Ms. Paruvski, we're from the Las Vegas Crime Lab. I'm Breeze Hamelin and this is Sasha Zarek," she explained. "Does the name Gilbert Thatcher Grissom hold any importance to you?"
"Yes, I know Gil Grissom," Lady Heather nodded and finished lighting the candles. She pursed her lips; blew out the match and put the box away and shot Breeze and Sasha—mainly Sasha—a small, seductive smile as if this were a private joke between friends. "I know Mister Grissom very well. He's a very big fan of my lipstick."
Before Breeze could question Lady Heather's somewhat sarcastic remark, Sasha jumped in somewhat cruelly.
"He's dead," he said flatly. "He was found poisoned in his home three nights ago."
"Dead?" Lady Heather's straight expression softened slightly.
"Yes. I'm sorry."
Lady Heather was silent for a long time. Without breaking down, she mutely glided to a chair beside the white wooden stairwell and put her head in her hands. All Sasha and Breeze could do was look at each other in utter surprise.
Finally, Lady Heather stood. "I'm sorry. Gil—Mister Grissom and I were very close. To call him my boyfriend seems juvenile but that was the extent of our relationship. He was a wonderful man, very serious…sweet…a deep raconteur."
"I'm sorry for your loss," Breeze said.
"Again, tell me. When did he…?"
"Almost three nights ago."
"So…I guess that is why he did not return my call." Lady Heather pursed her lips as if repressing tears. "I blamed it on his hearing, but only in jest. Sometimes he wouldn't hear the phone but he would get to his messages eventually if they were important enough to him." She lowered her eyes, unbecoming of someone who made a career of dominance.
"He was poisoned with strychnine," Breeze continued. "We have a warrant to search the property for any."
Lady Heather's head snapped up, her gaze hardened, her eyes narrowed, "You think I poisoned him?"
"We found your fingerprints at the scene of the crime, mainly on his bottles of herbal medicines," Sasha explained. "We believe it's the origin of the strychnine."
"I was Gil's…companion. I had all access to his home. Of course my prints would be on his 'medications'—I would bring him the bottles sometimes, if he was cooking or his hands were…busy."
"You were there, however, the day he died?"
"Yes," Lady Heather replied firmly. "I was there at least twice a week but most of the time, Gil came here. We would have tea in my garden, talk. He's…he was…a brilliant man. Our talks were always priceless. Beautiful and priceless."
"What time were you there?"
"Oh…I believe around four PM. We'd converse and sometimes we'd cook dinner together. I was usually gone by seven. He would always go for a walk after I left. Mister Grissom was indeed a creature of habit, especially since he retired from the bureau."
"We also found your DNA in your wine glass used the night he died, too," Breeze continued. "We did a saliva test. And judging by the color of your lips, that was your lipstick, too." Breeze shined her penlight on Lady Heather's full lips to highlight them in the duskiness of the room, despite the fact it was the early afternoon. The windows were all covered with heavy black and red curtains. "The Colour Institute, Valiant Burgundy? You did say that Gil Grissom loved your lipstick."
Lady Heather's hand went to her mouth. Her long nails matched her lip color exactly.
"Feel free to search the house. But I warn you—do not open any closed doors."
Sasha nodded and grabbed his field kit, heading towards the back of the house. Before Breeze followed, she took two envelopes from her own field kit and approached Lady Heather.
"Ms. Paruvski?"
Lady Heather looked up in surprise as if she hadn't heard her surname in ages.
"I'm going to need to see your hands."
As if she knew exactly what Breeze was looking for, Lady Heather held out her hands, palms up. There was a very small puncture wound on the puffy skin by her thumb. The skin around the wound was red and angry-looking.
"That looks like it hurt," Breeze swabbed the wound with a sterilized Q-Tip. "How'd you get that?"
"Kitchen accident," Lady Heather replied tersely.
"It looks infected. You might want to get some hydrocortisone on that," Breeze said as she labeled the envelope. "I'll need a strand of hair, too, please. Follicle."
Quickly, Lady Heather reached behind her head and tore off a few strands which Breeze took from her with tweezers.
"Thank you, Ms Paruvski," Breeze said as she placed them in the second envelope.
Lady Heather gave a nod and stalked off in the opposite direction of Sasha, the click of her high-heeled boots trailing after her, making sounds like hail on the wooden floor, like nails on a coffin.
Breeze followed Sasha's footsteps, trying to find him.
"Sash?" she called.
"In the kitchen," came his muffled voice, straight ahead.
She walked down a long corridor and did was she was advised and did not open the closed doors along the way. She finally found her partner digging around in gloved hands in Lady Heather's kitchen, which was smaller than she expected.
"Find anything?" she asked Sasha, who had his head in a cabinet.
"I was just about to ask you about the same thing," Sasha turned to face her. His sandy hair was plastered against his forehead, the curls matted.
Breeze held up the two envelopes, "Blood scraping and hair sample from Lady Heather."
"Blood?"
"She had a new puncture wound on her hand. Very small. Remember Marlena told us about the small bit of blood on the tip of the knife?"
"Think it's Heather's?"
"It might be. She said they used to cook dinner together."
"There's only one way to find out."
"We'll run it through CODIS. We don't really have any previous DNA of hers on record so at least this is something."
Sasha turned back to the cabinet he was inspecting, penlight in his mouth. He rummaged around for a minute and spoke around it, "Why don't you go out into Lady Heather's garden and check for strychnine on her flowers or whatever the hell she's growin' back there."
"Must be flowers," Breeze said, pulling her back with a wide white cotton headband and tugging on my latex gloves. "No one in their right mind would use strychnine in a vegetable garden, especially one in their own backyard that feed themselves and their families. It is fatal after all."
"No kidding."
Breeze strutted outside and was ready to get down and dirty but at the same time wished she hadn't worn one of her favorite pairs of khakis.
Lady Heather's garden was one to be awed with. It was in full bloom with snapdragons, tulips, bleeding hearts, sunflowers, chrysanthemums, daffodils, irises, lilacs, posies and so many other flowers that Breeze couldn't name them all.
On the other hand, she did realize that all these flowers meant more time in the garden than she estimated.
For the next two hours, Breeze crawled on her hands and knees in the dirt in the soil, ultimately ruining her khakis. Armed with a strong magnifying glass, tweezers and a spade, Breeze made sure no leaf was left unturned. In spite of this, every time she thought she found something, it turned out to be nothing, which is what she ended up getting. Until, however, she came to a patch of brightly colored nasturtiums. She perused the plant with her magnifying glass and her eyes widened at what she found.
White powder flecked the leaves and the surface of the soil and tiny but not unnoticeable specks were on some petals. Breeze plucked off a leaf and a petal and enveloped them, along with a scoop of dirt.
Looks like strychnine, she thought to herself. It wasn't until Breeze stood up until she realized something: nasturtiums were to be eaten.
Quickly, she squatted again to give the patch a closer inspection, inspecting it to see if any blossoms had been snipped off.
"Find anything?" came Sasha's voice. He squatted beside her. Breeze wiped her sweaty brow with her forearm and tried to figure out how he'd managed to get so close to her without her hearing him move. Sasha rolled up the sleeves of his red work shirt and unbuttoned the top three buttons. His front curls were wet with perspiration.
"What do you know about flowers?" Breeze asked in response, not taking her eyes or her hands off the nasturtium.
Sasha shrugged, "They look good, smell nice and make a good last-minute gift. What about them?"
"My mother was a die-hard hippie gardener. She'd teach me all about flowers and plants, whether I wanted to learn or not. But I listened. Nasturtiums, these plants I'm looking at now, are a kind of flower whose petals can be eaten. They're used in salads mainly. Sasha, I've been crawling on my hands and knees for nearly two hours. I've got grass stains on my shirt and I wrecked my khakis. These nasturtiums are the first plants I've inspected that look like they have strychnine on them," Breeze shot Sasha a look that said, are you following me?
"I think I get it. You think Lady Heather fed Grissom a meal that included nasturtiums for erotic appeal that turned into fatal attraction."
"Lady Heather does seem to be the queen of erotica," Breeze said, standing up.
"I know there was strychnine on the pycnogenol, but no trace of the pycnogenol. Who says that the pills were what brought it into his system?" Sasha said.
"Well, let's go do some beseeching of the sovereign."