Down the Rabbit Hole

“Yeah, that’s it. A raven.”


“It’s from Alice in Wonderland, the book. And the riddle has no answer. The rabbit hole, that’s an Alice reference, too. And the tea party could be the Mad Hatter’s tea party.”

“Was she a big fan of that story?” Eve wondered.

“I don’t know,” Henry told her. “Not that I know of, especially. Maybe it’s something she read as a kid, or her parents read to her. So it reminded her of when they were alive, when everyone was safe? I don’t know.”

“All right.” A question for Mira, Eve supposed, the department’s head shrink. “We’ll get back to you,” she said as she rose.

“Isn’t there something I can do?”

“We’ll go be with the family,” Louise told Henry. “In a little while we’ll go be with the family. I’ll walk you out,” she said to Eve and Peabody.

Eve waited until they were out of Henry’s earshot. “There were sedatives and hallucinogens in her system. A bunch of long, complicated names, and some elements we have to wait for the lab to ID. Being as you’re a doctor, I’m telling you I’ll clear you to talk to Morris and Berenski if you think you can be any help putting that part together.”

“She might have taken a sedative, but I can promise you, she wouldn’t have taken a hallucinogen, not knowingly. The sleepwalking—three incidents Henry knows of, which doesn’t mean there weren’t others when he didn’t wake up. That’s a concern. As is the money, and the fact she hid all those cards from Henry, didn’t tell Marcus. She didn’t tell him, or he’d have told me when he asked us to come over, possibly talk with her.”

She gripped Eve’s hand, then Peabody’s. “Someone manipulated her, fed her drugs, caused her to kill Marcus and herself. Why?”

“Find out what she ingested. Leave the rest to us.”





CHAPTER SEVEN




Considering the herbs and sleep aids, Eve made the psychic nutritionalist the first stop. Doctor Hester housed her business in a street-level shop in Soho, tucked between a health food store and a bakery.

She’d go for the bakery every time.

The reception/retail area held shelves full of apothecary-style bottles, instructional and motivational discs, candles and crystals.

The girl at the counter sported multiple visible piercings: ears, eyebrow, nose. And a tat of a winged dragon on the back of her right hand.

“A bright and healthy morning,” she said, each syllable heavily weighted with the Bronx. “What service can we provide for you?”

“We’re looking for Doctor Hester.”

“Doctor Hester is preparing for a consultation. If you’d like to book—”

Eve pulled out her badge, held it up.

“We’re fully licensed in accordance with all city, state, and federal laws.”

“That’s not my worry right now. Get your boss.”

“Hang a minute.” She slid off the stool and went through a door behind the counter area.

Eve watched Peabody ease over toward a section of metabolism boosters.

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Easy for you when your metabolism runs like a rabbit, and mine’s a slug on Zoner. Besides, they’re all natural products.”

“Nature’s a vicious bitch.”

A woman came out—short, lavender hair that matched her eyes, a deep purple dress that flowed to her knees. Her data listed her at fifty, Eve recalled, but the perfect, unlined skin carved ten away.

“What can I do to help you?”

“What can you tell me about Darlene Fitzwilliams?”

“Ah, a tragedy. I heard a media report. You’re looking for answers. Seeking death is rarely an answer.”

“Was she a client?”

“I don’t remember her.”

“She had your business card, a pamphlet, and a bottle of your Natural Rest.”

“I see. Casseopia? Would you check, please?”