Flu

Chapter 101

"Chef Auchincloss got a hit," Rick announces from his post next to Kate's desk. "And I thought I detected a hint of schadenfreude in his tone. Apparently, he has a longstanding rivalry with a Chef Lester, a self-proclaimed master of the pot pie. Lester just got skewered on YELP for tough crusts. According to the grapevine, the man is beside himself and screaming for someone's head, preferably someone at Sir Lancelot. I wonder if Busby might have known who was responsible."

"Why would Busby have known more than Lester?" Kate asks.

"Because his culinary bent aside, Busby was at heart, a mystery writer. He showed me some of his work. It was unpublished, but not bad. He did have a feel for the development of complex evil plots. He wouldn't have been able to resist digging for a solution any more than I would. Unfortunately, he took a fatal plunge into the hole he dug."

"You've come pretty close to that yourself, too many times," Kate reminds him.

"As has the love of my life."

"I'm hoping you mean me, but I get paid to do it."

Rick swallows against the tightening of his throat. "No amount of money is worth your life, Kate."

Kate leans across her desk to cup the back of his head in her hands. "You're not talking about the case, are you? What's going on, Babe?"

"I'm scared, Kate, and not of bad guys with guns. We can keep you away from them. I'm terrified that with you on those shots, something I do could hurt you. I'm almost afraid to touch you."

Kate sighs, leaning her forehead against Rick's. "Babe, in all the warnings we got, there was nothing about that."

"I know," Rick acknowledges, "but we never asked. And I haven't been able to find anything on the web about lovemaking while on the shots either. I wish I'd said something while Dr. Aziz was giving me his little demonstration. We were right in the neighborhood, so to speak. But I wasn't thinking straight."

"You were thinking straight enough to do what you needed to do, Babe. But if you want to ask someone we know, we're going to be in the M.E. building anyway."

"I'm not asking Perlmutter!" Rick protests.

"Babe, Lanie's office is just down the hall from his."

"All right, we'll ask Lanie," Rick concedes. "But I'm locking her office door behind us."

Sandy Wellsop, The CEO of Sir Lancelot, doublechecks that the conference room is locked before taking his seat at the head of the table. "Complaints are up. People are starting to notice something's wrong. I had a Chef Lester call me this morning and nearly burn my ears off about too much protein in the pastry flour."

"I had a guy on the tour ask about determining what was in the flour and want to see the lab," Iris reports.

"The visitors on the tours are always curious," an attendee at the other end of the table comments. "I've seen them try to poke into all kinds of things. They also try to grab souvenirs instead of buying them at the gift shop."

"This wasn't just any tourist," Iris insists. "I listen to mysteries in the car sometimes, and I thought I recognized his voice from an audiobook. I looked him up. It was Richard Castle, and the woman he was with was probably his wife, who's a New York City cop. And he's not just an author. He works with the police and owns a restaurant. What if their being here wasn't a coincidence?"

"You didn't tell him we had to close down our lab, did you?" Sandy demands.

"Of course, I didn't. I gave him the usual line. But I don't think he bought it. It's not as if this is our fault. Alston Fremont told me that all the samples he submitted to the lab he found in New York assayed perfectly. Either they screwed up, or he was handing me a line of crap. I've been trying to get him on the phone, but it's been going to voice mail. I can't reach the lab, either."

"We should send someone down to New York to lean on Fremont," VP Lois Leib declares. "He's always been too slick for my taste. Someone should check on that lab, too."

"I'll send Bernie Wigdor," Sandy decides. "He uncovered the skimming by our Midwest distributor last year. If something stinks in New York, he'll sniff it out."

Heads bob hopefully around the room.

Lanie stares appraisingly at Kate and Rick. "Since Perlmutter is assigned to your current case, this must be a social call."

Rick holds out a giant Jamba Juice. "Is there something wrong with wanting to see your lovely face, Dr. Parish?"

Lanie rolls her eyes. "Castle, the only face you've been interested in since you two met, is Kate's. That's one of the few points in your favor. So, girlfriend, why are you and writer boy really here?"

"I had a little clot in my leg, so the doctor put me on shots."

"With the baby, low molecular weight heparin would make a lot of sense, " Lanie muses.

"The doctor at the hospital agreed with you," Rick inserts.

"Are you doing OK, Kate?" Lanie queries.

"I'm fine. It's Rick, who has a problem."

Lanie regards Rick's rapidly reddening face. "Come on, Castle. Give!"

Rick can't wait for the M.E. Building's elevator doors to close behind him. "I never thought anything would be more embarrassing than when everyone on the playground saw my pants fall down when I was playing dodge ball in fifth grade. But I have a new winner."

"Hey, Babe, it's not like Lanie's going to tell anyone. She thought it was kind of sweet that you were worried about me. But she did say that I would be the only one allowed to use our whip."

"I have no problem with that at all, but you still need to learn how to crack it properly. Fun fact. A whip can actually generate a sonic boom."

"Not exactly the key to maintaining privacy," Kate remarks.

"Point taken, but still very cool. So, Perlmutter confirmed a tall male, somewhere between six one and six three. No fingerprint or DNA matches, but he's blonde, probably balding – if he hasn't had plugs – with blue eyes. What now?"

"I want to go see Alson Fremont, the Sir Lancelot rep who keeps ducking my calls. I have all the contact info Myrtle Schrebnitz had for him. His address looks like a condo. He must work out of his home."

"Assuming he works. So far, all evidence is to the contrary," Rick observes. "What kind of a salesman doesn't return calls? Most of the ones I know have their cellphone or Bluetooth headset permanently grafted to their bodies."

"Maybe we'll find out. His place is in Riverdale." She holds up her phone. "This is the location Myrtle gave me."

"Pricy neighborhood for a slacker. But ooh, there's a great Chinese place up there. I found it when I was dropping off a couple of Alexis' teammates after a fencing tournament. You wouldn't believe the barbecued pork with snow peas and the shrimp with lobster sauce is amazing. And with what you've been craving lately, you'll love the Sichuan offerings. We can fortify ourselves to pose the hard questions to Mr. Fremont."

"He hasn't even been answering the easy ones. But Chinese sounds good, especially if they use those little black peppers. Before I was pregnant, I never appreciated that much heat."

Rick flinches at a recalled burn on his tongue. "I think I'll stick with the barbecued pork."