Now he uncrossed his arms. “No lecture on doing our civic duty? That’s not your thing?”
Einar’s laugh was a quick bark of acknowledgement. “Help me out, will ya? Pass my card on to the gendarmes. I’ll answer her questions by email. Best I can do.”
“And that leaves you free to wander about with no one telling you not to?”
“Yep. I’ll keep an eye open for anybody or anything that might mess with Alyson or Wade.” He sighed. “I like them. I wish I didn’t, because then my life would be easier.”
“How’s that?”
Einar snorted. “When I give a damn, I participate, which takes up time and energy.”
Dylan reached for the business card. “You coming to the art sale tomorrow night?”
Einar exhaled. “Bea will kill me if I don’t show.” He sighed. “Yes. I’ll get there. Eventually.”
“What exactly is your relationship to Bea?” Dylan asked.
Einar raised both eyebrows. “It’s an adult one. Mind your own business.”
Dylan had Einar’s business card by a corner. He waved it and said, “I’ll cover for you. I’ll deliver this to the detective, but tomorrow night? There’s a sour-looking botanist coming named Dr. Peter Ackler. I want you to say something nice to him. It’d help oil the gears of life for a friend of mine at the college.”
With a bigger sigh, Einar agreed. “What’s this Dr. Ackler look like?”
“My height,” Dylan answered. “About thirty or so. Brownish hair down to his collar. Loafers with worn heels. Old corduroy blazer. Talks about liverworts. Thinks he’s amazing.”
“God. My favorite. A scruffy academic with no money and abundant observations.” Einar shrugged. “Comes with the turf. Sure. I’ll make nice, and you can owe me.”
“I’m running interference for you with the detective. We’ll be even.” Dylan had sat in on enough graduate student poker nights to not be intimidated. It helped that he really didn’t know much about Einar. He would remedy that shortly.
Einar smiled his cryptic smile before giving a quick nod of acknowledgement.
Voices came from the direction of the patio door. Dylan turned to look. He saw Alyson pull the door open and step out onto the patio.
Dylan turned to speak again to Einar, but the photographer was gone.
The Myxogastria do embrace alternative life styles. Reproduction is often from two haploid spores fusing to form one zygote, in the typical, two-parents-one-offspring pattern of life. However, some myxogastria lead the way in partner-free parenting by simply producing spores with a full complement of chromosomes. Myxogastria can also alternate between these reproduction paths.
Chapter Eighteen
“There’s no phone number,” Detective Moubrey said, studying the card Dylan delivered. “Only Einar’s email address.”
The detective stood at the edge of the patio, having followed Alyson and Wade out of the house.
“He asked that I give you the card,” Dylan said. “Mitchell’s friend is named Mark, and Einar said he probably had Mark’s last name on a work document.”
“What sort of work document?” Detective Moubrey’s face was not radiating with approval. At all.
“Maybe a photo release?” Dylan shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t know.” He paused, thinking rapidly. “Do you have a contact number?” he asked. “I could give it to Einar when I see him again. I’m working an event tomorrow night, and Einar should be there.”
What he really wanted was Detective Moubrey’s cell phone number so he could check up on Killer.
“Yes,” the detective’s voice was cool. “Sure. I have a card. I’d very much like to speak with Mitchell’s friend, Mark.”
The detective was reaching into an inside pocket of her blazer when Dylan had an epiphany. “Urushiol! Damn!” He stared at his forearms.
Detective Moubrey’s face looked a question.
“I think Killer was in some poison oak,” Dylan said. “The compound in poison oak that makes a person itch is called ‘urushiol.’ Normally it takes several hours to cause a skin reaction, but I react quickly.”
He studied his forearms, prickled with small streaks. “It’s probably too late to wash off, but I should try.” He looked at Wade. “I can use a garden hose, but I’d really rather take a shower. Is there one I can use?”
“Of course. Alyson, why don’t you take Dylan up to the yellow guest room? I’ll find a T-shirt and some sweat pants so we can put your clothes into a wash.”
As Dylan stood up, Detective Moubrey asked, “Where is there poison oak on this property? Any near the pet cemetery?”
Dylan shook his head. “No. Poison oak tends to grow near the shore line in sunny spots, but more up on an embankment, not down in the tide zone. Wade’s property is too shady and isn’t waterfront. We could look, but I doubt there’s poison oak on the Natural Joy lot. It’s too flat and sandy.”
“Is the dog going to continue to shed this compound?” she asked. “Because I should notify the evidence technicians.”
Dylan thought for a moment. “Hopefully they’re wearing gloves and eyewear when they’re handling him.” He rubbed his arm, then made himself stop. “I would think Killer would be okay because he has a thick coat. But he might have some exposed skin underneath. And he’s a small dog, so maybe he walked through the poison oak. He could have urushiol exposure to his eyes or nose or even inside his ears. But the urushiol on his hair will stay there until it is washed off or wears off.” He paused. “They could give him a haircut.”
The detective sighed. “I doubt I’ll get a dog grooming out of the evidence techs. But we’ll see what we can do about getting him washed after he’s been combed for evidence.” She checked her watch. “I need to get going.”
She took a pen out of a pocket and scribbled a number on the back of her business card. “This is my cell phone number. If you find a patch of poison oak, would you let me know?”
“Sure.”
The detective departed. Dylan let himself be led through the Witecki’s home. He flexed his fingers as he followed Alyson and Wade through the living room to a grand staircase. It took concentration and will power to refrain from scratching.
Wade went right at the top of the stairs. “I’ll get you some clothes.”
Alyson turned left. Dylan followed her.
“In here,” Alyson said. She opened a door to a bedroom half-paneled in a deep walnut with cheerful yellow plaster above the paneling. A queen-sized bed with a cream, blue and yellow duvet filled a portion of the room. There was also a reading chair by the window and a handsome desk partnered with a deep office chair.
The adjourning bathroom was equally plush, with gleaming white subway tiles lining the space.
Alyson said, “There’re towels and some nice soap.”
“Is it the right soap?” Wade asked, appearing with a folded T-shirt, a sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants.
“It’ll do. Thanks.”
Wade turned to his daughter. “You petted Killer, right?”
“A little bit.”
“You should go shower too, and change clothes.” To Dylan, he said, “I’ll meet you downstairs in the kitchen in a little bit. We’ll put your clothes through the wash.”
Twenty minutes later, Dylan carefully wrapped his jeans and shirt in a towel and carried the bundle down the stairs. His arms still itched, but the rest of him felt fantastic.
It was past time to admit the water heater at his parents’ house was not doing its job.
Wade was in the kitchen. He stood at a vast granite-topped kitchen island, spreading hummus on crackers. “Laundry room through that door,” he pointed. “Getting some snacks going.”
“Thanks,” Dylan said. “This is great.”
It was the work of just a moment to start his clothes in the wash. He returned to the kitchen just as Alyson arrived, wearing jeans and a stark white sweatshirt.
“Hey, looking sharp,” he said.
She rolled her ey
es. “Designer sweatshirt. I’m hoping I can hit it with a splash of lasagna tonight.”
Dylan didn’t know what to say. He managed, “Ah. Okay.”
“Victoria gave me these clothes.” Alyson delivered another excellent eyeroll. “I don’t want them. Dad says I have to be nice, but it’s okay to show that I am too young and irresponsible to take care of them.”
“Ah. Passive-aggressive, but I see.”
“You say ‘passive-aggressive’ like it’s a bad thing,” Alyson said. “But you weren’t the one getting fancy bags of stuff.”
Dylan laughed.
Wade passed him a small plate of crackers and toppings. “My fault,” he said. “I should have told Victoria to leave Alyson alone. I choked.”
“Why does she care?” Dylan swallowed a cracker slathered with tapenade and moaned. “This is really great.”
Wade poured a glass of red wine and offered it to Dylan, who shook his head. Wade shrugged and took the glass for himself. After a sip, he said, “My suspicion is her interest in Alyson is tied to my wallet, but I could be wrong. She might just be a pleasant neighbor who is trying to be kind to a young woman.”
“She has that house up on the hill. What does she need you for?” Dylan asked, reaching for more crackers.
“Elected judges always need donors.” Wade sipped more wine. “How was the shower? That bathroom hasn’t been used in a while.”
“The shower was fantastic.” Dylan hesitated. “The water at my place hasn’t been very hot. Not for a long time. Any idea what I should fix there?”
“Might be a heater element. That’s a job for a plumber.”
“Ah.”
“Your landlord should fix it for you,” Wade said. “You have a right to have hot water.”
“My landlords are my parents. They’re in Mexico.” Dylan picked up an empty wine glass and went to the sink to fill it with water. “My sister died after years of illness, and my parents left to be in the sun. They’ve been gone a couple years now.”
“I’m so, so sorry,” Wade said. “Houses take maintenance. Anything else not working?”
“I don’t use much beyond the lights, bathroom, laundry and microwave,” Dylan said. “The outside is starting to look really rough.” Then he exhaled and said, “And a guy showed up saying the house was on a pre-foreclosure list.”
“That’s not good.” Wade set down the wine glass. “Did he give you any details?”
“Not really.”
“Can you move to campus in a couple of weeks?” Wade asked. “Into a dorm?”
“Nah. Too expensive. I’ve only got one more semester to go before I get my degree. If I can’t stay at my house, I’ll bug Yousef to stay in his RV or pitch a tent somewhere.” Dylan finished the last cracker and hummus concoction on his plate. “It’ll work out.”
He glanced up at the kitchen clock. “I should get going. I’m supposed to be at Bea’s at five.”
“Me too!” Alyson said. “We called over. Bea said I could sweep and rake for her.”
Wade shook his head. “I don’t want you two walking through the woods.”
“I can take my car,” Dylan said. “Alyson can ride with me. I can give her a lift back too.” He didn’t add any caveats about the Civic’s irregular ignition habits. It was bad enough to admit to no hot water and the pre-foreclosure.
“I can come help Bea too,” Wade said. “Why don’t you guys go over now, and I’ll put your clothes in the dryer when the wash is done. I’ll finish up some paperwork and bring your duds over after a bit.”
He paused, looking at the streaks on Dylan’s arms. “You want some lotion?”
“It would not do any good,” Dylan said. “The urushiol has been absorbed into my body and is presenting to my T-lymphocytes, which is resulting in the production of cytokines. What we are seeing and will continue to see, is the results of an immune system response to an invader. The war is underway.”
Alyson’s face scrunched up with worry. “Your body will win, right?”
“Absolutely. There will be a few skirmishes with blisters, but my body will win,” Dylan reassured her. “If I get really itchy, I can take an antihistamine.” He grinned at her. “And then you’d see hyper-Dylan because antihistamines wind me up.”
“That’d be cool,” Alyson said.
“Not so much,” Dylan snorted. “My brain speeds up, but the real trouble is my mouth.” He laughed. “Warp speed opinions with no brakes.”
He set the snack plate into the kitchen sink. “Which can be entertaining. It depends on the audience. Sometimes it’s not funny at all.”
Documenting slime molds is challenging. Some species are seasonal. Many species will live on a log or a stump for one cycle of reproduction and will not appear in that location again. Also, a species may be present, but in the spore to zygote stage of the life cycle, and thus not easily noticed.
Chapter Nineteen
Mercifully, the Civic started without hesitation. Alyson pronounced the low-slung car “Cool” as they bumped down the drive.
Moments later Dylan parked next to Bea’s industrial workshop and waved to Mari, who wore gloves and a canvas apron as she stacked large metal gears into a wheelbarrow.
When Dylan and Alyson joined Mari, she said, “We need to get all this material into the building. There’s gloves and aprons in back.”
“Don’t need an apron.” Alyson dashed inside the building.
Mari moaned. “That sweatshirt she’s wearing? It’s divine.”
“It’s also an expensive gift Alyson didn’t want,” Dylan said. “The woman who broke up the fight we saw – Victoria? Sounds like she showed up at the Witecki’s with gift bags of high fashion for Alyson, who is now on a campaign to show she’s too young for that kinda stuff.”
Alyson came rocketing back from the shed, wearing a pair of gloves and carrying an apron and gloves for Dylan.
Mari eyed Alyson’s bright white sweatshirt with a grief-stricken face. “Who are you wearing?” she asked, as if asking who was about to die.
“Somebody Bing,” Alyson said. “It’s comfortable.”
“Anine Bing?”
“Yeah. That’s it.”
“Do you think Victoria could adopt me?” Mari asked. “I’m close to your size.”
“Would it get her votes or donor support?” Alyson asked.
Dylan snorted. “Mari, don’t your parents live off Delphi Road?” I think you’re supposed to orphaned before being adopted.”
“If I tell my mother it’s to save beautiful clothing, she’ll understand.” Mari sighed. “Except she wouldn’t. ‘Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s house.’ That’s what my mother would say.”
She pointed to a pile of greasy gears. “You might as well start with those,” she said to Alyson. “But if you ever get a vintage Chanel jacket, could you please just let me know, and I’ll arrange for it to be stolen?”
They worked for almost an hour, with Bea coming out to direct and assist. Slowly, the large work space that had been covered with saw horses, metal parts and a jumble of equipment was transformed into a flat, clean field.
“You are marvelous, darlings,” Bea praised. “I’ll take the lasagna out of the oven to rest a few minutes. I have one more phone call to make, then we’ll eat.”
Wade drove up as they finished the last load. Alyson’s shirt front was a riot of grease streaks and dirt. She greeted her father with a happy wave.
“Looking good.” He beckoned to Dylan and Mari as he held out two envelopes. “Cash for today. With a little extra for dealing with the unusual stresses.”
Mari started to object, but she fell silent as she saw Dylan gazing reverently into the envelope. A dozen twenties meant he could eat for a month.
“Thanks,” he breathed.
Wade also had Dylan’s washed clothes and a black shirt on a hangar. He put the black shirt into the Civic as Dylan stepped into the work building and changed into his clean jeans and work shirt, bringing his bor
rowed clothes back out to Wade with further words of thanks.
Bea called them to the yard behind her house where she’d spread dinner plates out on a picnic table.
A few minutes later, Dylan was shoveling in lasagna, salad and garlic bread. He tried, and failed, to remember the last day he’d eaten breakfast, lunch, a snack and dinner. This world of employment was a major improvement over his many semesters of twenty-hour course loads and too many skipped meals.
He thought about Nazeem and her slime molds. A slime mold ate by flowing around a food particle, embracing the bacteria, yeast or bit of algae with a membrane, then pumping in enzymes to digest the captured.
It was a bit like discovering food with your feet then having the feet become a swimming pool pumped full of acids.
He helped himself to more garlic bread and gave thanks for taste buds.
Did slime molds taste their foods?
The plasmodium community certainly responded with further motion towards food when food was contacted. In fact, Dylan thought, the entire plasmodium’s life was one of exploration and retreating as the slime mold put out extensions to explore the surrounding landscape.
“You look like you’re thinking again,” Mari said.
“Slime molds on the brain.” Dylan wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and said, “Slime molds explore the surrounding terrain when in the plasmodium stage. The community is looking for food, but it doesn’t waste time on blind alleys. If an area is explored and there’s no food, the plasmodium pulls back and doesn’t send more protoplasm in that direction.”
He took a drink of water and burped slightly. “How does it tell itself where it has been? Is there memory?”
“Or a chemical residue,” Mari suggested. “Mice leave urine trails to show other mice where to travel.”
“Do slime molds pee?” Alyson asked.
“That is a good question.” Dylan scratched the inside of his arm before commanding his fingers to stop. “They must jettison their biological trash in some fashion.”
The Slime Mold Murder Page 11