The Slime Mold Murder

by Ellen King Rice

Mari barked a laugh. “No kidding. Most of them are full of preservatives.” She shuddered. “Formaldehyde and parabens.”

  “So why does he care?” Alyson asked. “About the rare liverwort?”

  “Good question,” Dylan said. He wandered along the drive’s edge, giving Nazeem plenty of time to continue at her slow pace.

  He tossed another branch deep into the woods with a powerful sidearm throw. “Aldo Leopold said the first step in intelligent tinkering is to save all the parts.” He pointed up to the trees. “What good is that raven you saw?”

  “We could eat it?” Alyson hopped on one foot, then the other.

  “I’d have to be very hungry,” Dylan said. “And it’s a smart bird. I doubt I could catch it. I’d rather just watch it.” He paused and asked, “How about a seagull? You want to eat one of those?”

  “Yuck, no!” Alyson laughed. “I like to see them, but up close they’re loud and gross. They fight over stuff on the beach all the time.”

  “They are the state bird of Utah,” Dylan said. “There’s a large population on the Great Salt Lake, probably the descendants of seagulls from the era of inland seas.”

  He stopped in front of the trail to the pet cemetery. “There’s stories from the mid-1800s about farmers who planted crops near Salt Lake City. Before they could bring in the harvest, they were besieged with crickets. The seagulls came flying in, which saved the crops.”

  Dylan grinned. “The seagulls ate crickets, threw up what they ate, then ate a lot more. Not many birds will gorge that way, but seagulls do.” He shrugged his shoulders. “There’s lots of leftover species around. And quiet species. It’s hard to know what is important, in part because we don’t look, and we don’t think in large time frames like a few million years or so.”

  They reached the side trail near the front of the property. Alyson blushed. “I’ll be right back. Too much lemonade. I need to find the back of a big tree.”

  “Go for it,” Nazeem smiled. “You give me courage to find my own large tree when I need it, which will surely be shortly.”

  Alyson disappeared behind a large cedar. To Dylan, it seemed best to just continue on. He was confident Alyson would catch up quickly.

  “Mari and I should start at the front, I think,” Dylan said to Nazeem. “But this is the trail to the pet cemetery. The tube is on a log just outside the ironwork fence. We can send Alyson along in minute, because she knows where I saw it.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Nazeem shuffled down the trail as Mari looked around the roadside.

  “How do you want to do this?” Dylan asked.

  “I’ll do the east of the drive, you do the west,” Mari suggested. “Photos, iNaturalist postings, then we unify the lists.”

  “Got it.” Dylan took out his smart phone. He knelt on the ground and began taking photos, muttering common names to himself. “Rattlesnake plantain,” “Thimbleberry bush. Orange honeysuckle.”

  Alyson joined him. “Are you going to do the science names?”

  “Scientific names. We’ll get the scientific names coming up with correct spellings as we enter these into iNaturalist.”

  The words were barely out of his mouth when they heard Nazeem scream.

  A plasmodium explores, moves and eats. When conditions change, the slime mold will enter the next phase of the life cycle.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Dylan ran down the trail to the pet cemetery. Nazeem was backing up the trail, hands held in front of her. Dylan reached her, putting his hands on her shoulder. She turned into his chest, heaved a big sob, then turned away to retch into the bushes.

  Mari and Alyson arrived as Dylan was helping Nazeem straighten. Her grip was fierce, as if he were her lifeline.

  “There’s a body.” Nazeem spoke with gasps between the words. “A man. He’s been strangled.”

  “Let’s go to the house,” Mari said, sliding an arm around Nazeem. “Now.”

  Dylan’s feet took him toward the cemetery.

  “Dylan!” Mari shouted. “Don’t!”

  “Just a look,” he called, picking up speed before her words could convince him of the wisdom of not looking.

  He skidded to a stop at the entrance to the pet cemetery. The iron gates still stood open, only now there was a body lying in the entrance. He recognized the man. It was Mitchell, the smaller of the two nudists.

  “Dylan, are you nuts?” Mari shrieked at him from just a few feet away. She, Nazeem, and Alyson had followed him.

  Alarmed by their proximity to death, Dylan started to retreat, but a tiny movement next to Mitchell’s body caught his eye.

  “There’s a bag,” Dylan called.

  He approached Mitchell’s sprawled body, the man’s face pale with tiny red freckling on the skin. His tongue protruded, swollen and obscene.

  There was a rope wound around his neck, but no ligature marks.

  Dylan focused on the dark plastic bag. His hand went to his mushrooming knife. He pulled his knife out of its sheath and approached, kneeling carefully to make a slit in the plastic bag.

  White fur emerged.

  “Oh, no. Killer.” Dylan pulled the little dog from the bag, very still and apparently lifeless.

  But the bag had moved.

  He put his fingers into the dog’s armpit, and concentrated even as Mari yelled, “Dylan! Come on!”

  There was a pulse.

  Dylan started rubbing the little dog. He picked up Killer, holding the dog’s snout and jaw closed. He put his own mouth over the dog’s nose, breathing out some shallow puffs.

  Killer’s eyes slid open.

  “Good dog. Come on, you can do this.” Dylan gave the dog another body rub, and Killer came to life, looking around with confusion on his small, hairy face.

  Dylan stood up, cradling the dog as he returned his knife to its sheath.

  “He’s alive?” Alyson’s voice was high and strained.

  “Barely. I think he was supposed to suffocate in that bag, but he’s small, and the leaf bag is big. There was probably more air in there than they realized.”

  “Let’s go,” Mari urged.

  “Yeah, yeah.” Dylan tucked Killer into his chest and followed the others down the trail to the drive. Nazeem was huffing at their speed, but she didn’t complain.

  When they reached the drive, Mari led them to a large cedar. “Let’s sit here. Our backs guarded.”

  Nazeem sat down, heavily. Alyson knelt beside her, her round face pale.

  “We should call 911,” Mari said.

  “Can you do that?” Dylan asked. “I’ll call Wade for a ride back to the house.” He didn’t think Nazeem needed the hike back to the house.

  Mari tapped her phone and began speaking rapidly to the emergency operator.

  Dylan juggled Killer as he pulled out his phone. The little dog shook in his arms. “It’s okay,” Dylan crooned as he thumbed his contacts list for Wade’s number.

  Wade answered immediately.

  “Nazeem found a man’s body in the woods,” Dylan said. “It’s one of the men from Natural Joy. Mitchell. Nazeem’s okay. We’re all okay. But we’re at the front of the property and could use a lift back to the house. Mari’s talking to 911.”

  “Be right there.” Wade hung up.

  Dylan watched Mari’s face flush with frustration as she carefully answered questions. She finally tapped her phone off as Wade arrived, driving a shiny silver sedan.

  Mari huffed, “That operator didn’t want to believe me. They are going to send someone out, but it sounds like it might be a bit.”

  Wade parked the sedan and climbed out, calling to them. “You alright?”

  Alyson sprang up from the needle duff and embraced her father. “I’m okay. It was gross. Dylan gave Killer mouth-to-mouth.”

  “Oh.” Wade looked over to Dylan, who shrugged.

  “Let’s put Nazeem up front,” Wade suggested.

  They piled into the sedan. Wade eased the car down the drive, still headed to the entrance. He
pulled past the property end posts and gently took the car into a wide turn on the gravel of the community parking area. Dylan did a visual sweep. He saw no signs of the cruddy blue truck or its grimy occupants. The road leading up the hill was empty of traffic.

  Killer pressed himself into Dylan’s chest as Dylan kept up a steady stroking. The little dog was not himself. There was no perky confidence left.

  Wade took the sedan down the drive at a slow pace. “Was it a heart attack?” he asked.

  “No,” Alyson said from the back seat, her voice breaking.

  Nazeem’s hand flew to her mouth.

  Wade brought the car to a stop in time for Nazeem to open the car door and heave a few droplets of acid onto the drive.

  “I’m shutting up now,” Wade said. “Let’s get you to the house.”

  He was true to his word, parking the car near the house and carefully helping Nazeem up the stairs to the patio.

  She sank into a patio chair. Her voice shook. “Thank you. I’m not normally a fragile person.”

  “Let’s get you a cup of tea,” Wade said. “Or should we call a doctor?”

  Nazeem shook her head. “Herbal tea, please, if you have it, with some sugar. I think I’m a little shocky.”

  “I’ll get it,” Alyson headed into the house.

  “Make a lot,” her father called. “Everybody could use a hot drink.”

  Mari started across the deck to give Alyson a hand, pausing to ask, “Does the dog need anything?”

  “Trauma therapy,” Dylan said. “He’s really rocked. He’s still shivering.”

  Wade waited until Mari and Alyson returned with a tray of tea mugs and a plate of cookies.

  Nazeem accepted a steaming cup and sipped from it, breathing deeply between each sip. A few minutes later, she put the cup down and spoke. “I can tell you now.”

  She sat up straight in the chair, as if delivering a recital piece. “The man is lying in the entrance to the pet cemetery. He had a piece of nylon rope around his neck and his tongue was protruding. I think he was strangled.”

  “And Killer was stuffed in a plastic bag next to the body,” Dylan said.

  “Christ.” Wade blinked. He looked at Alyson. “You stay right here until we get this sorted out. No going in the woods.”

  Alyson nodded.

  “And the cops are coming?” Wade asked.

  Mari sniffed. “Yes. The operator was pretty cold-hearted. I told her it was a body in the woods, and she asked if we needed an ambulance. When I said, no, it was a dead body, she said there would be someone out later today.”

  “Later today?” Wade swore.

  “Looks like someone is coming now,” Dylan pointed down the long drive. “Swirling lights.”

  “Good!” Wade turned to Nazeem. “Can your hubby come out? This may take a while.”

  “Yes. Harris will want to be with me.” Nazeem paused. “No. He can’t come out. I have the car.” Her voice wobbled.

  “We’ll get you home,” Wade assured her. “Don’t worry about it.”

  As the patrol car drew nearer, Dylan had an idea. “They are going to want to talk to all of us, and they won’t be in a hurry about any of it. Why don’t I call Yousef, and see if he’ll ferry Harris over here?”

  Relief washed over Nazeem’s face. “I’ll call Harris right now. He can be ready.”

  “Super. Let me work on finding Yousef.” Dylan tapped Dr. Berbera’s icon and stood up, still holding Killer. He stepped away from the group and spoke when Yousef answered, rapidly explaining what was needed.

  Yousef didn’t waste time with questions. If Dylan said help was needed, Yousef was on his way, with trust that Dylan’s assessment was valid. If Dylan needed Harris delivered to Nazeem, then this would happen with a brisk competence.

  Dylan returned to the patio table as two officers came up the steps. Wade stood up and went to meet them. They stood at the patio’s edge, talking.

  Adjusting Killer in his arms, Dylan spoke to Nazeem. “I reached Yousef. He’s on his way to get Harris.”

  Nazeem’s color was back. “Thank you. That makes me think.” She re-dialed her husband’s number. “Harris” she said. “Yousef is on his way to collect you. Could you please bring out the black slacks Asim left? Yes. They are for Dylan. And I need my red salwar kameez. The party set.”

  A wan smile crossed her face as she listened to her husband’s response. She said, “I am feeling better, but the party set is not for me. Mari and Dylan will be helping with a fundraiser tomorrow night. Talk to you soon.”

  She tapped off the phone as one of the officers stepped closer. “Ma’m? Are you the person who found the deceased?”

  “I am she.” Nazeem spoke with dignity. “Nazeem Molla.”

  “Could we step into the house, please?” It was much more a direction than a question. “I’d like to get some details from you.”

  “Of course.” Nazeem stood with a ponderous grace.

  The second officer finished speaking with Wade and returned to the patrol car.

  Wade came back to the patio to report. “A detective is on the way. They’ll confirm there is a death. There’s also an ambulance coming to transport the body. We’re all to wait until the detective can interview everyone. Anybody have an appointment they can’t miss?”

  Mari shifted in a patio chair. “We’re going to help Bea later with party set up.”

  “If you still want to do that after talking to the police, I’m glad to drive you over.” Wade’s face was still very somber. “I don’t want you walking through the woods. Not until we know what happened.”

  “I’m good with that.” Dylan thought Wade’s offer made good sense. The little terrier sat still in his lap, and Dylan gently rubbed the dog’s ears before asking, “What about Killer? Does he go to Mitchell’s family?”

  Wade lowered himself to a patio chair. “I suppose we should ask. I imagine there’s a protocol of some sort.”

  “We might want to give him a bath first,” Dylan scratched his arms. “He’s making me itch.”

  Slime mold plasmodia are capable of moving through very small openings. This ability allows the slime mold to penetrate into interior layers of rotting wood.

  Chapter Fourteen

  As Dylan scratched his arms, four vehicles arrived, each bumping down the long drive to the house.

  The first was a boxy ambulance. The driver parked in the gravel in front of the house, almost obscuring the following cars, but when Dylan scooted his chair to the left, he could see that there was an official sheriff’s office sedan, a panel van and Yousef’s shabby green Subaru Forester.

  Relief coursed through Dylan. He took a moment to wonder which biochemical he was feeling. Taking a centering breath, he closed his eyes and worked to affirm his safety.

  The mantra was easy. He was safe. Nazeem was safe. Alyson was safe. Mari was safe. Even Killer was safe. Things could change quickly, but Yousef was here, and that meant additional resources of intellect and pragmatic thinking were on hand.

  Dylan opened his eyes as he exhaled. He stroked the top of Killer’s small head and fondled the dog’s ears. He knew he’d been unconsciously accumulating data, but now he was ready to be serious and organized about data analysis.

  Mari looked at him. She raised an eyebrow in question, sensing his renewed focus.

  “Yousef is here,” he said. “He’ll want a report.”

  The sheriff’s sedan parked next to the ambulance and a dark-haired woman in a black suit jacket and slacks emerged from the driver’s side. She clipped on a name tag and badge and went to confer with the paramedics.

  Yousef brought his old station wagon to a halt next to the sheriff’s sedan. Harris, Nazeem’s linebacker-sized husband, filled the front seat. A slender man in a corduroy blazer sat in back. He did not look happy. Dylan recognized the back-seat passenger as Dr. Ackler.

  A smile tugged at Dylan’s lips. Yousef’s vehicle was a legendary rolling field-station. At any given time, there
could be anything from a crab pot to a live beaver in the back. The vehicle smelled of a thousand field trips and of a hundred sweaty athletic socks.

  It was no transport for the fastidious.

  Dylan loved the old Subaru. When Yousef had made noises about replacing the station wagon, Dylan had openly objected, pointing to the pandemic’s effect on vehicle prices. His campaign worked. Yousef postponed his upgrade plans.

  In Dylan’s mind, the retainment of ‘Yousef’s Rolling Field Station’ was one of the very few good things that came out of the horrid year of 2020.

  Now Dr. Ackler unfolded himself out of the car slowly as Harris came charging up the steps, asking, “Where’s Nazeem?”

  Dylan held up a hand to halt Harris. “She’s speaking with an officer inside. She’s alright. No contractions. Color is good. Respiration rate is normal.”

  Which could not be said of Harris. He was well over six feet tall, and easily two hundred and forty pounds, with much of the bulk in his upper torso and thick arms. His chest was heaving.

  Wade stood up and offered a chair. “I’m Wade. And I agree with Dylan. Nazeem had a hot drink and seems fine.”

  Harris looked pained, but he took the chair. “Sorry,” he said, gruffly. “When she started telling me to bring her party clothes, I should have known she was alright.”

  “She’s loaning the red outfit to me,” Mari spoke with a gentle, reassuring smile. “Which I really appreciate.”

  Harris swallowed, hard. He blinked back tears, then nodded.

  The dark-haired female detective came up the steps behind Yousef and Dr. Ackler. Dr. Ackler’s eyes roved, taking in the well-groomed topiaries and the upscale patio furnishings.

  Dylan, an expert in the poverty of academia, noted the fraying cuffs of Ackler’s tattersall check shirt, the flattened ribs on the corduroy blazer and the shabby condition of his brown loafers. He concluded Ackler was not tenured.

  He wasn’t even sure Ackler was much of a field biologist. While Yousef Berbera’s rotund front stretched a button-front shirt over a pair of jeans, Yousef also wore laced trail shoes. Ackler did field work in loafers?