The Slime Mold Murder

by Ellen King Rice

  Mari’s eyes were skittering all over the landscape as she tried, frantically, to look anywhere but at male dangling bits. Alyson’s gaze shifted from speaker to speaker.

  The blonde sighed. “Cayden does believe in property rights. I would like the opportunity to speak with him and see if he will offer an apology.”

  “That’ll be the day.” The man with the bruised jaw turned to his partner with a sniff. “Let’s get dressed.”

  The two men stalked off, rear cheeks bouncing slightly, one set of cheeks broadly round and the other set flat with a small droop at the very bottom.

  “What a disaster.” The woman reached up and refastened the hair clip holding the mass of hair at the back of her head.

  “What are you going to do?” asked Alyson.

  “Talk to my neighbor,” the blonde replied. She looked at Alyson’s stained shirt front and said, “Alyson, you really need to take care of your things and not treat quality pieces like workout gear.”

  She eyed Dylan and Mari and gave a toss of her head before striding off up the hillside road.

  “She didn’t introduce herself.” Mari marveled. “What a snot!”

  “She’s a judge,” Alyson said. “I think she thinks everybody knows who she is.”

  “What’s her name?” Dylan asked.

  “Victoria Cunningham. She knows my Dad,” Alyson answered. She plucked at her smeared T-shirt. “She bought me this outfit. I didn’t ask for it.”

  “Great taste in fashion, no manners in person,” Mari said. “Speaking of manners,” Mari turned to Garrett and said, “I’m sorry. I am so, so, sorry. I should have never touched you. I should not have tried to kiss you.”

  Her voice was shaking, but she plowed on. “Dylan pointed out what I did was a form of workplace sexual harassment. He’s right, and I am completely mortified.”

  She looked toward the beach and said, “I am going to be a virgin-nun-ecologist. I’ll just stay celibate and socially incompetent.” She shuddered. “I never want to look at a naked man again. I won’t be a problem for you.”

  “Okay.” Garrett’s eyebrows went up in surprise “Appreciate the apology,” he said. “Although I’m a guy who lived through junior high locker rooms and even I think what just happened was an eyeful of awful.”

  “My retinas are scarred forever,” Mari said.

  The male lovers returned, wearing jeans and T-shirts just as an aging blue truck appeared, coming down the hill at a rapid speed. The smaller lover sighed. “Great. The stoners. All we need.”

  “I gotta go,” Garrett said. He fished out a business card from his wallet and proffered it to the man carrying the little white dog. “I’m Garrett. You can reach me at this email or phone number.”

  “Thanks. I’m Mitchell, and this is my sweetie, Mark.”

  The man with the jutting stomach and bruised jaw held out a hand.

  Garrett shook hands. “Sorry to take off. I have two more stops to make today.” Garrett turned to Mari and said, “See ya,” before climbing up into the cab of the flatbed truck.

  “Man, this place is busy,” Dylan said.

  Mari and Alsyson didn’t disagree.

  The arriving truck stuttered to a stop near the Natural Joy entrance sign. The passenger-side window came down with a screeching whine. A man with long, greasy hair leaned out and called, “Hey, Mitchell. Okay if we hang out?”

  “This is private property, Richie. And you guys aren’t members.” Mitchell had Killer tucked under one arm. The dog stayed quiet.

  “Hey, be cool.” The passenger in the peeling-paint truck spoke to the driver, who mumbled something. The passenger spoke again to Mitchell. “We’re just wanting to, you know, hang out on the beach a bit. We’re too broke to join, but we can like nature.”

  Mark spoke up, saying, “It’s no big deal, Mitchell. Nobody else is coming out today.”

  He looked at the men in the truck. “The restrooms are locked. I have to get home, so I can’t help you if you need the can.”

  Mitchell shifted Killer to his other hip and capitulated. With a shrug, he said, “I’ll stick around. I was going to do some litter pickup.” He looked at the men in the truck as he added, “For a little bit.”

  Dylan noticed Alyson’s face. She wasn’t looking happy. When the two men stepped out of the truck, he could guess why. The newcomers were filthy, with torn long rain parkas worn over T-shirts and blue jeans shiny with ground-in dirt.

  Alyson looked like a kid who’d had a good day in the woods. These men looked like they lived in the rough.

  “We should get back to work,” Mari said, jerking her head towards the Witecki property.

  “Before you go, can I get your names and contact information?” Mitchell asked.

  Dylan noticed the flash of interest as the two rough men made eye contact with each other. The ‘Richie’ fellow eased the truck car door closed and leaned against it, as if he was taking life easy.

  He didn’t know why, but Dylan was suddenly uneasy about saying who he was or how he could be found. He wasn’t keen on Mari speaking her information either.

  He said, “Got some paper? I’ll write it out for you.”

  Mari shot him a questioning look. She knew how bad his dysgraphia was. Dylan didn’t offer to write out anything, ever.

  Dylan pasted an innocent look on his face. Mari looked over at the men lounging by the truck and back at Dylan.

  Dylan pulled his chin in, and stared at her, hard.

  He had to hand it to her, Mari was smart.

  “We really have a lot to do,” she said. “If you bring up your contact list, I’ll type in my number.”

  Mitchell brought up a screen and handed his phone to Mari.

  “Here you go,” she said. “We need to scoot. Lots to do.” She moved away, putting an arm around Alyson, who turned away without protest. Out of the side of her mouth, Mari whispered, “Dylan, I think we should visit my aunt.”

  Slime mold species are found in deserts, in snow banks and even squirming along stream beds, a foot underwater. Their adaptability and resilience can be scary. When creeping blobs of chrome yellow Fuligo septica showed up on Texas lawns in the early 1970’s, homeowners were unnerved, then horrified, as they discovered the blobs could be blown apart with a garden hose, only to continue on as smaller crawling globules.

  Chapter Ten

  Dylan, with his long history of ADHD, was well familiar with the sensation of adrenaline fizzing through his system. It was a sensation he’d often sought and occasionally regretted. He doubted Mari was as steady as she was acting. Alyson definitely looked pale and worried.

  He waited until they were walking past a metal art piece that designated the entrance to “Bea’s Sculpture Garden.”

  “Guys, stop a minute.” Dylan pulled out his phone. “I think we should check in with Wade.” He smiled, as if in delight. “Hey, look! My finger’s shaking!” He was surprised to see that it really was. He didn’t have to add any acting spin to the moment.

  “You okay?” Mari asked.

  Dylan nodded, looking down at Alyson. “Yep. Just some aftershocks of seeing old naked guys, a dog getting kicked, a brawl and then having a couple creepy-ass dudes show up.” He made his smile broader. “And, don’t forget – I think we found a pretzel slime mold.”

  Alyson managed a smile.

  “You know what we do next?” Dylan chose a calm tone of voice. “We yawn.”

  “Yawn?” Alyson looked up, doubt on her face.

  “Indubitably,” Dylan said. “I am an expert in post-trauma and post-drama recovery periods. Yawning activates the parasympathetic nervous system. It’ll decrease our respiration rates and calm things down. Go ahead. Make like a sleepy lion.”

  They yawned. Dylan threw open his arms. “Keep yawning. And now we make big movements. Stomp around. Let’s get some dopamine and serotonin going.”

  He led the way, yawning, high-stepping and swinging his arms. Mari shrugged, but followed. Alyson giggled and
fell in line.

  Fifty yards down the long drive, Dylan stopped. “Feel better?” he asked.

  Mari rolled her shoulders. “Actually, I do. Thanks.”

  “Let’s check in with Wade.” This time Dylan found his fingers under better control.

  “I’m gonna march some more!” Alyson headed back up the drive, knees lifting high as she added in lion-like roars.

  “I like her,” Mari said.

  “She’s great.” Dylan placed a call to Wade, putting the phone on speaker mode. “Just want you to know what’s been going on.” He told Wade about the brawl, finishing with, “Now that the excitement is over, we’re going to stop in to speak with Mari’s aunt.”

  “Alyson’s okay?”

  “She seems fine,” Dylan assured him. “I’d also like to send a photo of a possible rare slime mold to Nazeem Molla, a graduate student, for her opinion. She may be willing to come out and take a look.”

  “That’s fine,” Wade said, his voice carrying out clearly. “Be good to have her opinion.”

  Dylan said, “Nazeem is pregnant. Like really big. Would it be okay if her husband or her mom comes out too?”

  Wade didn’t hesitate. “No problem. The more the merrier.” His voice lowered a pitch. “Thanks for looking after Alyson.”

  “She really seems fine,” Dylan said. “Want to talk to her?”

  “Sure.”

  Dylan waved to Alyson, who came stomping and roaring back. He held up the phone. “Your dad. I’ll put it on speaker.”

  “Hi, Dad!” Alyson called.

  “Hey, kiddo. Dylan told me about the fight you saw. You alright?”

  “I’m fine. I’ve been yawning.”

  “Ah, Okay.” There was a pause. Wade said, “I’ll make some sandwiches. Why don’t you guys talk to Bea and then come back here for some lunch? Tell Dylan that Nazeem and her family are welcome too.”

  Alyson looked up. Dylan’s stomach rumbled as he gave a thumbs-up. Mari smiled and nodded her head.

  “Okay,” Alyson said. “No bell peppers.”

  “Grilled cheese. No bell peppers. See you in a bit.”

  The sound of grinding filled the air as they walked further down the drive to Bea’s place. A giant metal horse with a car’s hub cab for a cheek stood frozen, mid-prance, in a swath of sword ferns.

  On the right side of the drive, a tall T-rex with massive spanner wrenches as its short arms, stood, half-emerged from the woods.

  The hood of a sports car peeked out from a huckleberry hedge, spotted and bent to look like a whale shark.

  “This is cool,” Dylan said, pointing to an owl made from gear wheels that was attached to a tree.

  “Wait until you see her bison and her warthog,” Mari said. “They are gorgeous.”

  The drive ended in a curve with a large metal-walled workshop to the left, a charming Craftsman-era house at the top of the arc and a path marked “Bea’s Garden $10 Entry” on the right.

  A slender woman in overalls, her thick ponytail of dark hair threaded with gray, stood bent over a project in front of the workshop, a protective mask on as a grinder sent up sparks.

  She straightened up, saw her visitors and turned off the grinder.

  “Mari!” She lifted her mask. “I was hoping you would show up. You brought help for our party set up. Excellent!”

  “Not exactly,” Mari said. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you back. I’m working next door on a biological survey. This is Dylan. I suspect you know Alyson.”

  “Of course.” Bea smiled at Alyson as she set down the grinder and divested herself of the mask, gloves and a jacket, revealing a sleeveless top of faded red. The long musculature of her upper arms contracted with a ballerina’s grace as she set the coverings aside.

  Bea had a strong, sharp nose and intense, dark eyes. Dylan watched her store equipment and thought of a sharp-shinned hawk.

  She removed a clip, shook out her hair, then turned to eye Dylan. Her biceps were impressive.

  A goshawk, Dylan amended, A species much larger, faster and more aggressive than a sharp-shinned hawk.

  He moved closer to the work area, intrigued by the jumble of tools and auto parts. “What party help do you need?”

  “A variety,” Bea said. “I’m hosting a dinner and art fundraiser tomorrow night. I desperately need set up help this evening. At the event, I need more young assistants to carry and fetch.” She arched an eyebrow at Mari. “You are planning to come to the dinner, yes?”

  “I could,” Mari said, slowly. “Dylan and I do have this biological survey to do today.” She exhaled. “Parties are hard for me. I never know what to say.”

  Bea said, “Can you help me out tonight?” To Dylan, she said, “It’s a nature-themed party. This will be a new fusion fundraiser where we seat some local business people with university people and several successful immigrants.”

  She continued, “It’s meant to be a refuge for former Republicans and an enticement to move forward with new community connections to underserved customers.” She laughed. “Liberals say underserved communities.”

  Bea’s smile had a sly edge to her lips. “But we will be doing some good. With some luck, we’ll unload a shit-ton of art as we fundraise for our immigrant services center. There will be copious booze and raging egos.”

  Bea’s eyes gleamed as she said, “Come on, Mari, you’re a biologist. Don’t you want to see territorial dominance behaviors in action? It’ll be like watching predators on the Serengeti.”

  Bea reached for a water bottle, took a sip, then said, “And that handsome party supplies lad will be working the event.”

  Dylan couldn’t help it. He snorted with laughter. “Mari, you’re about a million leagues outta your depth here.”

  Mari laughed. “No kidding.” To her aunt, she said, “If Cayden Kenyon, the County Commissioner, is on your guest list, you might want to know he just fought with the guys over at the Natural Joy Reserve. The commissioner socked one of the nudists and then he kicked a little dog.”

  “Killer? Cayden kicked Killer? Mitchell’s sweet, little dog?” Bea put the water bottle down as anger flashed over her face.

  Mari nodded. “I thought you should know.”

  “Thanks.” Bea said. “Cayden is such an ass.” She sighed. “And he is supposed to be here tomorrow night.”

  She looked at Dylan. “I really could use more hands tonight and tomorrow. On my team.”

  “Your party staff get to eat something?” Dylan asked.

  “Absolutely.” Bea’s predacious smile returned. “I pay well too. Interested?”

  “Sure.” Dylan looked around. “Tonight, you want set up help. I can do that. What would I do tomorrow? Food service? I’m okay with that, but I don’t have a food handler’s card.”

  “The caterer should do the food service. The yummy honey from the party supplies outfit will do the table and chair set up. He’ll also be the bartender. Talented guy.”

  She said, “We have an older volunteer named Thomas, who organizes the art. He’ll need help getting the smaller art pieces paraded around. You’re handsome, which helps in money making. Wear black. Look sexy. We’ll make a ton of money for a good cause.”

  Bea’s eyes raked Mari. “The way to become comfortable at parties is to show up and participate. Eventually it gels. You should come tote art around. When you have a task, you don’t have to talk much. Wear red. With cleavage.”

  Mari rolled her eyes. “Meet you halfway. Help tonight, yes. Tote art tomorrow, yes. Flash cleavage, no.”

  “How about me?” Alyson asked, bouncing up on her toes. “Can I help?”

  “Absolutely, my darling. You can come this evening. Come early tomorrow and you can prepare the name tags. But this is an adult event. Once people start arriving, you’ll need to go home because there’ll be booze galore.” Bea’s eyes gleamed. “Or have your father come sit with you. I’d love to see him.”

  Alyson folded her arms across her flat chest. “Do you want to se
e my Dad or his wallet?”

  Bea’s laughter pealed out with a great smile of delight. “Good! You are learning, darling. In your father’s case, I welcome him as a friend.” She winked. “But tell him that he can help us out by bidding things up a bit.”

  Dylan’s phone buzzed. Nazeem calling. “’Scuse me,” he stepped away from the group.

  “Hi, Nazeem.”

  “Hey. I looked at your photo. It’s hard to tell what you have.”

  “It was a tan-colored tube, no branching,” Dylan said. “About two centimeters long. Wade said it was okay if you came out and took a look. You can join us for sandwiches.”

  “I’d like that. Maybe a walk will get this kid to launch.”

  “That thought makes me nervous. Can your mom or Harris come with you?”

  “No, they’re both out this afternoon. How far into the woods is this log?”

  “Not far. There’s a big community parking area at the front of the property. You want the farthest drive. Go down the drive to a big house. We’ll be there in a little bit. We can show you the log or give you directions after we eat.”

  “Got it. I’ll give you a ping if I get lost.”

  “Great.” Dylan tapped the phone off and said, “Hey guys, I’m starved. Can we go eat Wade’s sandwiches?”

  Bea said, “Come back this evening about five. I’ll have a lasagna for dinner.” She pointed to her house, “There’s a short cut behind my place. It’s a trail that goes by a small pond and then comes out near Wade’s well house.”

  Alyson was skipping in a small circle. She said, “I know the trail! There’re rotting logs at the fence line. We might find more slime molds!”

  Dylan laughed. “Kid, you have potential.”

  “Einar hangs out there,” Alyson said.

  Bea had been using a small paint brush to clean off the filings from her grinding. Now her hand stilled. She spoke casually. “You’ve seen him there?”

  “All the time. He whistles when he’s walking that way.”

  “Yes,” Bea said, with a smile. “He does.”

  Plasmodium is the name for the mobile mass of nuclei that slides over decaying logs and leaf litter in search of food. A plasmodium sends out streaming threads of cytoplasm. Each strand is capable of a chemical evaluation of the conditions. The main mass of the plasmodium will follow the strands leading to the most promising locations.