Maud Smith

Such a nice young woman. 

Maud Smith, plump and elderly, hummed to herself as she bustled around her kitchen.  Baking day.  Now that Harold was spending more nights and weekends home, she had more time to cook for him.  Not today though; today she had someone special in mind.

Sarah Slate. 

Mark Howard had been to dinner several times since he joined Folcroft. She had always itched to fix him up.  Harold said to take her time, Mark was still quite young, but she didn't agree.  Every man needed a wife, that was Maud's firm opinion; she had been thrilled when Mark brought Sarah over last weekend.  It was a shame they couldn't stay to eat though.  She thought Mark had looked a little upset at her offer, but he had explained they didn't want to inconvenience her.

"You must come back next week.  I insist."  Maud had smiled at the two young people sitting on the sofa.  "I'll cook you a real New England boiled dinner!"

"Why yes, of course--," Sarah began.  Maybe it was Maud's imagination, but she thought Mark had elbowed his girlfriend in the ribs.  Sarah turned to stare at him.

"Yes, Mrs. Smith," Mark had said.  "But we can't make any promises.  I'm awfully busy at Folcroft just now.  I don't know if I can get away for supper for several weeks."

Poor boy.  Harold really worked him too hard.  She was grateful, of course.  This was the most she'd had Harold around; even when they'd first married he'd been away much of the time.  He did seem very nervous lately though.  He was worried about something; she hoped it wasn't IRS again.

She opened the oven and bent down.  Carefully, she took two pies out and set them on the countertop.  She smiled as the scent wafted past her.  If the mountain wouldn't come to Mohammed...  She frowned.  Or was it, if Mohammed didn't go the mountain.  She shrugged; she never got that saying right.  But that didn't matter.  She, Maud, was going to Folcroft.

Several hours later Mark Howard and Harold Smith stood in shock, looking down at the twisted body of Sarah Slate.  Mark paled; he swayed.  Smith grabbed a chair and put it under the younger man, breaking his fall. 

"I don't understand it."  Mark's gaze turned from the upset chair next to the body to the half-eaten piece of pie on the kitchen table.  "She was so careful..."  He reached over, picked up the pie, sniffed it.  "But--but this is apple  pie; she shouldn't have had a reaction to this."

Smith placed a hand on Mark's shoulder. "What do you mean?"

"Sarah had a few food allergies, but they were minor, except for peanuts.  Peanuts gave her a severe anaphylactic reaction within minutes.  She almost died as a child.  Where are her epi-pens?"

Smith took a bite of the pie and grimaced.  "I'm afraid this is one of Maud's.  I do detect the taste of peanuts, very faint.  Sarah probably couldn't taste it in time."

"But why?"  Said Mark.  "Who puts peanuts in apple pie?"

"I'm afraid Maud tends to be a little er, creative.  She thinks plain apple is too bland.  Usually it's raisins, but she’ll use anything that's handy.  She must have ground up some peanuts.  Where did Sarah usually keep her medication?" 

Mark pointed.  "One in the kitchen, naturally.  It should be on the counter somewhere.  One in her purse."

Smith checked.  Both were in place.

"I'm sorry Mark, she must have been stricken too fast to get to either of them.  I think you should leave now.  We'll put you in another room; I'm sure you won't wish to come back here.  After I get you settled I'll call in one of the doctors.  Then we'll make arrangements."

Mark stood up and allowed Smith to lead him out into the hallway.  Smith took Mark's keys and locked the door.  They walked slowly down the hall to another door.

"Mark," Smith said, "I hope you'll never mention this to Maud.  She'd be devastated if she knew her pie was to blame."

The younger man tried to smile.  "Of course not, Dr. Smith.  Mrs. Smith couldn't have known.  It's my fault really.  I should have explained about Sarah's allergies when I first knew she wanted Sarah over for dinner."

Smith didn't relax his usual stern expression, but his voice was gentle.  "It's nobody's fault Mark, it would be a mistake if you allowed yourself to feel guilty.  Try to get some rest, and report to me tomorrow morning at the usual time.  Hard work is the best antidote for grief."

It was dusk.  Smith had returned to his office, and was sitting in his chair.  He couldn't work, though; he swiveled his chair around to look through the one-way glass.  Though he was facing east, he could see the rays of the setting sun slanting across the sound.

He hadn't bothered to turn on the lights.  As he sat there in the darkening office, a strange noise broke the silence.  It sounded like a cross between a rusty hinge and a wheeze.  If anyone had been there, they would have seen a rare site:  Harold Smith was laughing.

It had been so easy.  Maud came into his office with her pie.  She hadn't known where to find Sarah's room.  He had explained she was living with Mark, but that she was out shopping and Mark was on assignment.  Once his wife had expressed her disapproval of young people living together, and her disappointment in Mark, it had been a simple matter to give her his master key that opened all the doors, and directions to their suite.

He suggested she just leave the pie on the kitchen table with a note.  And no, there was no reason for her to give away her secret ingredient; let Sarah and Mark be surprised.  Smith hummed while he waited for her to return, then sent her home with a gentle kiss that caused Maud to blush with pleasure.

Smith quickly made his way down to Mark's rooms, where he removed the note and both epi-pens.  Then he watched as Sarah returned.  That was the point where his impromptu plan stood the greatest chance of failure.  Sarah might not be hungry; she might not choose the pie if she were.  She might smell the peanuts before she took a bite; she might wait for Mark before cutting it.

It was lucky that part of the hospital was seldom used.  There were no other residents on that corridor.  Smith was free to stand outside the door until the gasping, choking sounds died, and Sarah died with them.  Smith waited a few more minutes, then unlocked the door.  Good.  Sarah had died so quickly she hadn't had time to leave the table.  Still, it was better he'd removed the epi-pens, just in case; now he put them back, relocked the door, and went to his office to await Mark's return.

He stood up, bones creaking, as the room became totally dark.  He'd go home for supper tonight; he owed Maud that much.  He owed her a lot more.  She was a good woman, and more helpful than he hoped she'd ever know.  The sun would rise again tomorrow, and it would be a new and better day.