The sheep's clothing has wrinkles

“Tea?”

The speaker was a petite, compact woman. Her smile was red and wet. Her teeth white and small. The wrinkles on her face reminded Tin of a crumpled paper bag. The old woman held the pot over the teacup. The pot shook ever so slightly.

Tin grimaced and rubbed her left arm.

“You should really put that down,” said Tin. “You’re gonna drop it.”

The woman slowly lowered the pot to the table. It was small and crimson. It glimmered in the low glow of the kitchen stove light. The bulb over the table was dim as well, and flickering slowly. The flashing of light and dark over the shiny red created the illusion of a moth fluttering.

“Why the fuck would I drink anything you gave me?” asked Tin.

“Well, I don’t know.” The old woman’s voice sounded fragile and raspy. The teapot hit the table. The woman sat down softly in a wooden spindle chair. She put her feet on the table and began to whistle tunelessly.

“What are you doing?” asked Tin.

The whistle went high and sharp. Two massive black dogs came in from the living room. They settled onto the carpet near Tin’s chair and looked at her expectantly.

Tin held up her hands. She could feel her heart pounding.

“I have been very polite,” said Tin slowly, an eye on the dogs. “I don’t intend to be assaulted by your dogs here. Or end up poisoned by herbal tea.”

“It’s Earl Gray,” interjected the woman. There was laughter in her voice.

Tin clenched her teeth. “I do want you to know that we are close to proving what you did. You were careless.”

“You came all the way here, to my humble apartment…” Her eyes went over the small kitchen: Its ragged white and red curtains. The dish drainer full of bowls and mugs and a large sauce pan. The ceiling yellow with dried water. “…to tell me something this vague? What exactly do you imagine I am doing?”

Tin grabbed the old woman’s hand and held it to the table in a clenched fist. The hand was small and soft and dry.

“We know that you poisoned Gravy.”

“The food?”

“No, the person. Gravy to his friends. Gary to everyone else. We know that you visited him on one of your mercy missions. We have video of you going into his room and coming out. He was pronounced dead only a few minutes later.”

“I’m not sure who you mean. But I am curious now. Do you know what killed this man?”

“Not yet, but we will. And we know that he wasn’t the only one.”

The crone lowered her feet from the table and sat up straight. She tried to pull her left hand out of Tin’s grasp. Tin let her go. The woman dropped the hand down. The dogs stood up and began to lick it.

“You know what your problems is?” the old woman said. “Lack of imagination. You think I killed your friend, whoever he was, in a completely untraceable way in the span of a minute or so. With no apparent weapons or tools. Otherwise you would have already had someone arrest me. And yet you come and sit with me, in my own apartment, with my loving dogs, by yourself, at night. Did you imagine this going well?”

Tin shook her head and crossed her arms. “Plenty of people know where I am and what I’m doing. I show up dead or missing, my friends on the force will be the first to know.”

“Why, pray tell, are the police not here right now? Why are you here?” The woman reached into her left shirt pocket with her right hand. Tin braced herself. Out came a box of Camel Lites with a lighter stuck in the carton.

“Mind if I smoke?” the woman asked.

Tin said nothing. The woman pulled out a cigarette, held it in her left hand, and lit it with her right. She took a drag, and blew out the smoke away from Tin.

“I swear you look familiar.” She took another drag. “So, why do you think I had anything to do with this?”

“We went through the hospital volunteer records and found your name and address,” said Tin.

“I see,” said the woman. She took another suck at the cigarette. She blew it at Tin’s face. “Okay. So, here’s what is going to happen. You are going to leave, and I am going to feed my dogs. When you find anything that actually justifies bothering me, I will be happy to have you as my guest.”

The old woman picked up the red teapot again. She poured dark brown liquid carefully into the dainty white porcelain cup in front of Tin. Steam swirled off of it.

“You really should have some tea,” the woman said.

Tin got up and walked to the front door, her eyes never leaving the dogs.

“See you soon,” the woman said, waving.

Once she had walked a few blocks away, Tin sat on a park bench. She pulled out her phone and ear buds from her fanny pack. She stopped the recording app. Then she began to listen to the audio file from the top:

“Hello dear. You look very familiar. Well, come on in. Make yourself comfortable.”

***

The old woman’s name was Gabrielle Parks. She was 75 years old, at least. Official accounting said 75, but rumors put her closer to 90. She volunteered at the hospital with the candy stripers. She recruited and trained them. She also sold handmade jewelry on Etsy. She liked Earl Grey tea.

And Tin believed that she was a serial killer.

There had been a rash of deaths at the local hospital over the last two years. They all fit a strange pattern. All patients had been in the hospital for a life-threatening disease. All were on the mend, set for release. All had tested positive for Covid-19 within the past 6 months, but had recovered. They all had received at least one visit from a candy striper. They all had received a visit from Gabrielle.

In each case, Gabrielle, and sometimes a candy striper, had visited the patient’s room within an hour or so of their deaths. The candy stripers, a group of girls between the ages of 12 and 18, had all been interviewed. What had they done? They talked to the patients, helped clean the room, brought flowers from guests. Brought snack and drinks.

None of the girls provided a lead.

The common denominator was Gabrielle. And she was a saint. Or so said the hospital. A caring and giving woman. Untouchable and unblemished. Where was she from? Well, no one quite knew. Did she have any family? They had never seen anyone. Anyone hang out with her after work? No, not really.

Her identity was connected to a prior address in Tampa, Florida, but there were no official records before 1989 or so. Since then, she had worked as a receptionist at a chiropractic office, and a clerk at a farm feed store. Then she had worked for the hospital as a volunteer for the past five years.

Tin came to know her 18 months ago.

It was the height of the pandemic. Tin’s mother had been taken to the hospital with heart palpitations. She had longstanding heart disease and this was just a flare up. Her mother tested negative for Covid 19 but positive for the antibody test. She was treated with heart medication and was set to be released. She was feeling much better.

She died on her last night in the hospital. This was after having been cleared for release by two doctors. Tin was a naturally paranoid person. As a private detective, she had sources in many places, including the hospital. The head of security let Tin sniff through the footage from that night.

The only person who had entered her mother’s room in the hour leading up to her death was a small old woman in a candy striper’s outfit. She had rolled in a cart with food and beverages. Stayed for about 5 minutes, and then left. A tuna sandwich and a cup of chamomile tea were found on the bedside table, along with a candy cane. Only the tea had been touched.

Tin read the toxicology report. There was nothing unusual in her mother’s system. There were only the medications that she was taking, in the doses prescribed. Physically, the only abnormality was a mild abrasion in her throat. The doctor said it was likely the result of a seasonal cold.

Her mother’s death was ruled natural causes and everyone moved on. Everyone but Tin. She had a feeling, a tickle, that something was wrong.

Tin began to collect data on unexpected deaths at the hospital. She found a few other similar cases in the past few months. One thing stood out. Each patient had previously tested positive for Covid-19, but were not currently sick. Tin kept digging.

Two Tuesdays ago, over a year from her mother’s death, was when things really began to pick up pace. Tin was taking her cat to the vet. Miss Bunny had been acting very lethargic lately and then started peeing on all the furniture.

While Tin was waiting in the lobby, an old woman walked into the office. She had a small poodle with her. The dog was edging away from the old woman. The woman was doggedly dragging the poodle along.

“Come on. I know you hate it but we have to see the doctor.” The dog whined. Once she had managed to get the dog inside the front door, the lady untightened the leash and let it out several feet. Still holding it she walked to the counter.

“I have Blue Cherry for a check-up at 2.”

“Got it. Find a seat please.”

The old woman sat next to Tin, a seat in between them. Sometimes it is very hard to recognize someone out of context. It took Tin a minute or so. And then it clicked where Tin had seen the face before. The files always showed the old woman in her uniform. And on her driver’s license she looked much younger. Gabrielle Parks.

“It really is a lovely day, isn’t it?” Gabrielle smiled, her white teeth flickering through her lips. Her grey hair was perfectly brushed and piled on her head. It reminded Tin of a helmet. The poodle had slunk closer to the woman, but was now hiding under a chair.

“It is lovely, yes,” Tin replied, putting on a shadow of a smile.

“I know you,” the woman said. “You are the daughter of that lovely lady who died of a heart attack at Harborview about a year and a half ago, aren’t you? I remember you at her memorial service. It has been a while, hasn’t it? But still, I’m so sorry.”

Before Tin could stop her, the old lady reached out her hand and cupped one of Tin’s cheeks. ”Such a shame,” Gabrielle said.

“You came to the service?” asked Tin, keeping her voice steady.

“Yes, I was there. I was the last one to see her before she died. How could I not come?”

A person in scrubs stuck their head out from a door. They looked at a sheet. “Blue Cherry?”

“That’s us,” said the woman. She got up slowly and pulled the dog by the leash. The dog refused to stand. He slid forward as she pulled.

“Uh,” said the person in the scrubs. “Let me help you with that.”

“What a dear,” said Gabrielle.

The vet came out and picked up the whimpering animal and carried it back through the door.

Gabrielle turned around and waved at Tin. “Until the next time dear,” she said.

***

In the 18 months since her mother’s death, 17 patients had fit the now all too familiar pattern. All positive for Covid-19 antibodies. All in the recovery stages of a serious disease. All who died within an hour of Gabrielle entering their rooms.

Despite Tin’s persistence, it was only by the 11^th that the police became interested.

Based on the information that Tin provided, they brought Gabrielle Parks in for questioning.

Did you say something to them? The cop had asked Gabrielle. Tin was watching the interview on the monitors. Her buddy, Jim, a police detective, had been very helpful. All she wanted to do was watch? No problem.

I asked them how their day was, said Gabrielle. Asked how they were feeling. If they needed anything. It’s my job.

The interview had gone nowhere, and Jim had chosen to let her go.

After the police inquiry, the hospital board had considered firing Gabrielle. The board had unofficially and unanimously chosen to let Gabrielle go. But when they put it to an official vote, it didn’t pass.

Who voted against it? Tin had asked the head of the board.

No one was sure. It was a blind vote. Everyone denied it when asked. But 6 of the nine board members had voted No.

Another six patients had died before Tin found herself in the old lady’s kitchen, being offered tea.

The old lady was slippery as a greased pig. She hid behind her veil of wrinkled flesh, precise movements, and verbal platitudes.

Thus, Tin had decided on a personal interview. Tin hoped that maybe, God willing, Gabrielle would let something slip. It was a one-person consent state for legal use of recordings. It would only take one mistake.

Gabrielle made none.

***

The playback was on the last 55 seconds.

“You really should have some tea” said the old woman’s voice from the phone.

The recording went to static.

A prickling sensation began to travel from Tin’s right foot, up her leg. It felt like a limb suddenly falling asleep.

Then her left arm began to go numb. She punched it with her right arm. The street in front of her swam. A green car passed with a sign for yard cleanup on the side. It paused in front of her.

“You all right lady?” came a voice.

Tin tried to respond, but found her mouth prickly. Her tongue felt too large.

The static was still playing.

Then,

“You really should have some tea”

The last thing Tin saw was an open car door and a pair of brown old man loafers by her left eye.

Before the cops arrived, a crowd began to gather. An old lady, walking two large black dogs, drifted past.

“My goodness, what happened here?” she asked.

A tall man in brown loafers looked down at the old woman and shrugged.

“Heart attack maybe,” he said. “Look how she’s holding her left arm? But she’s so young.” He shook his hair with a sorrowful look.

“What a shame,” the woman said and then coughed. “Such a shame.”

***

Tinly Marshall’s death was ruled a heart attack. Tin also had Covid antibodies in her system. The request for the antibody test was made by a detective in homicide. The medical examiner thought it was unnecessary. But then, the cop seemed to have known the deceased. So the medical examiner humored him.

When the medical examiner told the cop the results, the cop shook his head.

“Anything else unusual?” the cop asked.

The medical examiner flipped through his notes.

“Oh, there is one thing here,” he said, “but it’s not related to cause of death, so…”

“What? What is it?” asked the cop.

“She had a huge tapeworm in her upper intestines, extending all the way up into the lower part of her throat. Just unusual for such a large one to be ascending rather than descending.”

“What would have happened?”

“To the worm? I’m not sure,” said the examiner. “Sometimes someone coughs it up. Sometimes it even comes out through the nose. One of this size though, I don’t know.”

“It wouldn’t have killed her?”

“Unlikely,” said the examiner.

Once back at the station, the cop went through the case notes. The 12^th victim was a 57-year-old black man, recovering from a lung transplant. The cop scanned the medical examiner’s report.

“Low blood pressure. Increase of white blood cells.”

He scanned down further, then stopped. He dropped his pen and pulled back his chair. He ran his hands through his hair.

“What the fuck?” he said under his breath.

Close to where the pen landed were the words: “Salivary tapeworm-specific IgG(T) antibodies”.

The cop spent the night researching the life cycles of tapeworms, types of tape-worms, how to remove them, and what causes them. He could find no correlation with Covid-19 or with the various illnesses that the victims had been suffering from.

But he found seven other victims with the same line in the medical examiner’s report: “Salivary tapeworm-specific IgG(T) antibodies”.

After a fitful night of sleep, the cop got on the phone and called his partner. They decided to bring Gabrielle in for questioning.

By 8 am they were at her front door, knocking. They knocked again.

“Police! Open up!” They heard dogs barking. After a few more minutes they tried the door and found it unlocked.

Pictures were gone from the walls. Clothing was gone from the drawers. Dog food bowls were full.

In the freezer they found a single bag with a huge knot of flesh-colored rope.

The cop’s partner examined it, then vomited into the sink.

And in the middle of the kitchen table, alongside a red teapot, was a single piece of paper with four words.

“Sorry for any trouble,” it read.

“Fuck,” said the cop.

“Amen brother,” said his partner, wiping his mouth. “No worries. We’ll find her.”

The cop shook his head.

“Sure. Sure we will.”

“Nice teapot though,” said his partner.

“Yeah, yeah it is,” said the cop.