Jack shrugged. “Like I said, I’m curious. There aren’t too many parts of New York City that still have cottages. Could they be a hundred years old?”

“Something like that, I suppose,” Flash said. “I think they must have been summer cottages at some point.”

Jack nodded as he tried mentally to visualize a group of old wood-framed houses built as summer cottages a hundred years ago. What immediately came to mind was that their plumbing might be rudimentary at best. In fact, they might even have septic systems instead of being connected to the city sewer.

“What was the address again?” Jack asked. “Was it Fifteen Oceanview Lane?”

“Yeah, that was it,” Flash said. “Why do you ask? Are you going to go out there?”

“I might,” Jack said. “Sometimes medical examiners have to visit the site of the death in order to reconstruct the series of events preceding it. But, of course, that’s usually when the body is still where it was found.”

“But I was told she died at Coney Island Hospital,” Flash said.

“That’s very true,” Jack said. He gave Flash a pat on the back. “But it was supposedly in her bathroom where she got into trouble. Anyway, I’ll keep you informed about whatever I learn.”

“Thanks, Doc,” Flash said.

Jack picked up one of the loose basketballs and took it over to one of the side baskets. He thought he’d warm up by taking a few jump shots. While he did, he mulled over the coincidence of Connie Davydov’s dying from some unknown poison, possibly in her bathroom in the same town where there was a die-off of sewer rats, also caused by some unknown agent.

Jack tossed the ball through the hoop and then watched it bounce in decreasing altitude until it was stationary. His mind was churning. As crazy as the notion sounded, he couldn’t help but question if Connie and the rats might have succumbed to the same agent. What if it had been some kind of gas and the drains in Connie’s bathroom didn’t have functioning traps? The trouble was, sewer gas stank, and the EMTs would have noted it.

“Ah, it’s impossible,” Jack voiced out loud. He went over and picked up the ball. He tried to think of other things, but he couldn’t. As he took practice shots his mind kept dredging up Connie and the rats and images of the Brighton Beach summer cottages.

Laurie put down the dessert menu and shook her head. “I’m stuffed,” she said. “I can’t possibly eat dessert.”

“Do you mind if I order something that we could both nibble on?” Paul asked. “I know how much you like chocolate.”

“Of course,” Laurie said. “As long as you understand that you’re going to have to eat nine-tenths of it. But I’ll have a decaf cappuccino.”