The Last One

A/N: I apologize for my lack of updates, I've been getting a ton of hours at work and by the time I get home these days, I'm way too pooped to write. AND, I'm extremely angry with Mandy Patinkin for being such a greedy snot and quitting an awesome show and character because he's not "being paid enough". In case you didn't know, Mandy will not be returning to Criminal Minds next season-- his exit will be explained and his character will be replaced with someone new. Puh-lease. Grr to you Mandy, you're a fantastic actor, but snotty business man.

The team had exhausted themselves looking for some clue of who was poisoning the women of the Cantrell family. So far, only one wife of the four men was still alive and at the moment, she was being guarded. Now the team was sitting in the living room of the four men's aunt. The remaining wife sat between her husband and the elderly woman the men had depended on during their young lives. She didn't look particularly worried, even though her counterparts in the martial world had since moved onto (one could only hope) a better place. Gideon watched this wife (her name was Constance) carefully, at the moment, despite having all the clues they needed, it still wasn't clear who was doing this or why. He took note of her seemingly calm demeanor as she sat before them.

"Who would do this to our wives?" Said Richard Cantrell, the husband of the first victim. He, as well as his brother's was red-eyed and exhausted from waiting for answers. Hotch leaned forward, his forearms resting on his knees, hands clasped.

"We aren't sure as of yet. We have physical evidence but our profile is incomplete at the moment." He said, while the others became restless.

"What in God's name is taking so long to come up with this—this profile of yours?" exclaimed Steven Cantrell, the husband of the latest deceased woman. As Hotch attempted to calm the man, Reid went over what he and Morgan had learned just before meeting with the remaining family. Apparently his wife Marilyn (who had been presented with a daffodil implying egotism) had been fond of herself. She had looked into plastic surgery several times, hoping to augment what she thought she already possessed. She also felt herself talented in many things, though in a town this small, the population had failed to agree. According to some, she was quite the snob, despite her husband being oblivious to such a flaw.

Reid's attention was drawn back to the conversation before him as he noticed the elderly Eva stand and slowly make her way to the kitchen. He gave a look to Hotch who gave a slight nod. Quietly he followed her into the kitchen where he watched her begin to pull cups out of the cabinets. She stopped after a moment and then turned to him.

"Don't just stand there young man, help me with these dishes." She said with a voice that was stronger than her appearance revealed. Before he even realized what he was doing, he moved to help her. For some reason her voice reminded him of his mother, before she was overcome by her illness. It was the kind of sound that made him jump into action and look for something to do. She set them down on the countertop and followed the edge with her hands to get to the tea she had on the stove. He set the cups on their saucers as the elderly woman brought the teakettle back to where he stood. She looked at him as she poured the amber liquid into the first cup; steam lifted up and swirled around her hand.

"A good cup of tea can calm even the most worried." She said knowingly, giving him a sweet old lady smile. She continued on with the rest of the teacups as Reid held them for her, helping keep them steady against her shaking hands. He took a deep breath and then asked what his job required of him.

"Have you had any reason to believe your family was in danger? Anyone getting too personal or causing you to worry?" The elderly woman shook her head as she finished pouring the tea.

"No—" she said slowly as she watched him set the cups on a tray she had set down for him. She continued as he finished up.

"But, I don't mean to disrespect those who have passed, but those three were always drawing attention to themselves. I'm sure it didn't take much to see what was going on in this family." Reid was taken somewhat aback by the bluntness of her tone, and was even more taken aback by her sudden smile and her arthritic hands grasping the tray as she headed out the kitchen door. Reid shook his head as he followed her out, but was stopped by a slight musty smell coming from the kitchen sink. He stopped and backtracked; he couldn't find the source of the odor. The sink held only one travel mug, turned upside down, despite the sink being dry. He shook his head; obviously he wasn't going to find anything out right now. Apparently he was going to have to go enjoy some tea, though he wasn't sure he even liked tea.

"So you still have no idea who might be doing this?" Grace asked as she talked to Reid later that evening. He was sitting on the end of his hotel room's bed, rubbing his forehead with long fingers. He was thoroughly frustrated at how slow this case was going.

"No idea. We've figured out what the flowers mean, thanks to you, we know what the victims have been killed with and what we believe to be the reasons they've been murdered, but even in a town this small—absolutely nothing." He sighed and lay back on the bed, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. Grace was sympathetic, completely understanding of the frustration, having gone through this before with her own son.

"What about the wife that's still alive, you said Gideon made a note of her being unusually calm—did you investigate that?" she asked, hoping to be of some assistance to the team.

"We talked to her, as far as we can tell, she's completely unaware as to what's happening. She's concerned about her life and according to those who know her, she's a pillar of the community, not a bad word spoken about her." He replied, though Grace was far from believing that. She gave a disbelieving snort that put a grin on Reid's face.

"Yeah, right. I used to live in a small town—someone always had something nasty to say about the most squeaky clean choir boy." She said, making Reid's grim mood dissipate. She was right; it seemed too good to be true, that out of all of the Cantrell wives, this one was the least problematic. He sighed after a second and agreed.

"I know. I just wish I could find something, anything." He said, his voice heavy with his frustrations.

"I wish I could help you Spencer, I wish I was there." Grace said sincerely. Reid smiled; he wished she were there too.

"I do too, maybe you'd see something I'm missing." Grace laughed, the sound making Reid realize how much he truly did miss her. He echoed her laughter and was quiet for a moment, before continuing.

"I miss you, Grace." He said quietly, he could almost see her smiling.

"You aren't going all corny on me now, are you?" she asked with a fake seriousness. Reid was caught off guard and laughed, quite a bit louder then I he had expected. Quieting himself, he waited for someone to come tell him to keep it down.

"I would never do such a thing." Grace gave an approving sound.

"Good. I want that studious, mind picking, superman I fell for."

"And a superman you'll get." After their laughter died away, Grace gave a low sigh.

"I miss you too, Spencer. I can't wait for you to come home." Reid gave a slight smile.

"Just promise me, you won't make tea."

"I don't make guarantees my dear—I'm intrigued though, why no tea?" Reid took in a deep breath as the memory of the earlier meeting had ended with him nearly being force-fed more tea then he had been interested in ingesting. The elderly woman had insisted they all enjoy more then one cup and he had decided he was not a tea drinking man.

"The woman who raised the four Cantrell men, she nearly forced me to drink my own body weight in tea. Though, after smelling her kitchen, I can't believe I was able to finish one cup."

"Why? Does she not clean?" Grace asked, Reid shrugged even though he knew she couldn't see him.

"No, that's what surprised me. I didn't smell anything until I passed the sink, but it smelled strange—musty, almost like a mouse had set up shop. It was just enough to make a stomach turn." Grace was quiet, her silence worrying Reid. His eyes narrowed as he waited for her to say something.

"Grace, are you still there?" he asked, worried they had been disconnected. Finally, she answered, her voice somewhat breathless.

"Did you say you smelled something musty?" she asked, while Reid felt his pulse speed up.

"Yes, why?"

"And, all of your victims were poisoned with hemlock?" Now Reid was more than awake and listening.

"Grace, what are you getting at?"

"Spencer, hemlock produces a mouse-like or musty smell when it's crushed. It's one of the ways someone can tell if they're looking at a fennel or hemlock plant." Reid sat straight up as he heard this. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Grace, you're sure?"

"I'm positive." Nearly jumping off the bed, Reid gave a quick goodbye.

"I—I have to go Grace, love you." He didn't hear her shocked reply as he hung up and shot out the door, heading for Gideon's hotel room.

"I love you too."