In Death 01 - Naked in Death

hell." She ran her hands over her face. "Send through the results. I'll take it from here."
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    Hetta Finestein opened her door with a puff of lavender sachet and the yeasty smell of homemade bread.
    "Lieutenant Dallas."
    She smiled her quiet smile and stepped back in invitation. Inside, the viewing screen was tuned to a chatty talk show where interested members of the home audience could plug in and shoot their holographic images to the studio for fuller interaction. The topic seemed to be higher state salaries for professional mothers. Just now the screen was crowded with women and children of varying sizes and vocal opinions.
    "How nice of you to come by. I've had so many visitors today. It's a comfort. Would you like some cookies?"
    "Sure," Eve agreed, and felt like slime. "Thanks." She sat on the couch, let her eyes scan the tidy little apartment. "You and Mr. Finestein used to run a bakery?"
    "Oh, yes." Hetta's voice carried from the kitchen, along with her bustling movements. "Until just a few years ago. We did very well. People love real cooking, you know. And if I do say so myself, I have quite a hand with pies and cakes."
    "You do a lot of baking here, at home."
    Hetta came in with a tray of golden cookies. "One of my pleasures. Too many people never know the joy of a home-baked cookie. So many children never experience real sugar. It's hideously expensive, of course, but worth it."
    Eve sampled a cookie and had to agree. "I guess you must have baked the pie your husband was eating when he died."
    "You won't find store-bought or simulations in my house," Hetta said proudly. "Of course, Joe would gobble everything up almost as soon as I took it out of the oven. There's not an AutoChef on the market as reliable as a good baker's instincts and creativity."
    "You did bake the pie, Mrs. Finestein."
    The woman blinked, lowered her lashes. "Yes, I did."
    "Mrs. Finestein, you know what killed your husband?"
    "Yes, I do." She smiled softly. "Gluttony. I told him not to eat it. I specifically told him not to eat it. I said it was for Mrs. Hennessy across the hall."
    "Mrs. Hennessy." That jolted Eve back several mental paces. "You -- "
    "Of course, I knew he'd eat it, anyway. He was very selfish that way."
    Eve cleared her throat. "Could we, ah, turn the program off?"
    "Hmm? Oh, I'm sorry." The flustered hostess tapped her cheeks with her hands. "That's so rude. I'm so used to letting it play all day I don't even notice it. Um, program -- no, screen off."
    "And the audio," Eve said patiently.
    "Of course." Shaking her head as the sound continued to run, Hetta looked sheepish. "I've just never gotten the hang of the thing since we switched from remote to voice. Sound off, please. There, that's better, isn't it."
    The woman could bake a poisoned pie, but couldn't control her own television, Eve thought. It took all kinds. "Mrs. Finestein, I don't want you to say any more until I've read you your rights. Until you're sure you understand them. You're under no obligation to make any statement," Eve began, while Hetta continued to smile gently.
    Hetta waited until the recitation was over. "I didn't expect to get away with it. Not really."
    "Get away with what, Mrs. Finestein?"
    "Poisoning Joe. Although..." She pursed her lips like a child. "My grandson's a lawyer -- a very clever boy. I think he'd say that since I did tell Joe, very specifically told him not to eat that pie, it was more Joe's doing than mine. In any case," she said and waited patiently.
    "Mrs. Finestein, are you telling me that you added synthetic cyanide compound to a custard pie with the intention of killing your husband?"
    "No, dear. I'm telling you I added cyanide compound, with a nice dose of extra sugar to a pie, and told my husband not to touch it. 'Joe,' I said, 'Don't you so much as sniff this custard pie. I baked it special, and it's not for you. You hear me, Joe?'"
    Hetta smiled again. "He said he heard me all right, and then just before I left for my evening with the girls, I told him again, just to be sure. 'I mean it, Joe. You let that pie be.' I expected he would eat it, though, but that was up to him, wasn't it? Let me tell you about Joe," she continued conversationally, and picked up the cookie tray to urge another on Eve. When Eve hesitated, she laughed gaily. "Oh, dear, these are quite safe, I promise you. I just gave a dozen to the nice little boy