by Gale Borger
13
Ian and Mag strolled out of the house. I steeled myself against the determined look in hers and Ian's eyes. The dogs looked up and I could feel them tense as they followed my emotional lead. I absently stroked their heads, silently reassuring them I was not going to shoot anyone in the next five minutes–or so I thought. I watched Ian and Mag approach and noticed something else. Mag was not crying. What could he have possibly told her that would make everything all right? This could be a positive sign, but it also could mean he lied to her and she was now pissed off at me instead of Ian. Ah, life can be hell. There is nothing in the world compared to sibling anger.
The dogs and I sat rigidly where we were, and didn't offer anyone a place to sit. Good thing we all had big butts, I thought, because we took up the whole swing. Ian glared down at me, hands on his hips, and cleared his throat.
"Just for the record, my mother really does live in Janesville, and I am a Forensic Botanist, only I work out of the Milwaukee office of the FBI, and I only do occasional research for UW Madison. I have lectured there but I do not teach on a regular basis."
I hate it when I'm right, but at the same time relieved that he was not a real bad guy–he was only a jerk. That didn't exactly make him one of the good guys yet, but we were gaining on it. I didn't say a word, just kept staring at him. He shuffled his feet and continued.
"I had orders to maintain cover, even though it wasn't much of one. I had no choice. I was supposed to recover the seeds and find out what they were. I didn't count on Mag, and you, your mom, the dogs, the town–geez! Every time I turn around I am fascinated.
"I haven't even been doing my job. I've just been bumping along behind you and Mag, absorbing all this damn Americana. I do have one question, though.
"What the hell is it with all the Jell-O? Every time I turn around, someone is shoving a plate of Jell-O with some sort of 'stuff' inside at me! I have had peaches, pineapple, cottage cheese, Cool Whip, cabbage, carrots, and one I couldn't identify, but it tasted like a party loaf from a wedding I once went to."
Mag and I giggled. Ian jumped and looked panic stricken. "That's what your mother did when I asked her. What is so damn funny?"
Mag and I looked at each other, and I did the honors. "Spam."
He gulped. "Spam? In goddamn Jell-O?"
"Yep. Spam, pickle relish, mustard and some other stuff. Wes loves it; he gets it most birthdays and on other special occasions because we refuse to eat it."
Ian looked ill. "Only in the Midwest."
"I don't know. You could be right," I said. "It's my grandmother's recipe. She has 101 ways to make Jell-O."
Ian clutched his stomach. "Ugh. Enough about Jell-O! Let's get back to business for a minute." He pulled a small notebook out of his jeans pocket and flipped through it. "The FBI doesn't know much more than you already figured out. The facts as we know them are as follows: We do not know who the Graffs are. We think the blundering cover Janelle found was a calculated move. Our people found out just as much, but it turns out little Robby has a past. Our guys are looking into that past now. I say we let them–it's one less thing we have to worry about, and those guys do it for a living. The FBI computer geeks can come up with a fuzz ball in a hermetically sealed room. The Graffs, or whoever is paying their bills, probably think no one will dig deeper if they figure the target is stupid enough to leave a trail like they did and end up dead."
I interjected, "Either that or they were originally used for short term and targeted for removal anyway."
"Exactly." Ian paced a bit, reading his notes. He sipped his coffee. "The Bureau also thinks like you do, Buzz, that the seeds are connected with Carole's death somehow."
"I knew it," I said.
Ian nodded. "Turns out she was hooked up with a research group in Texas, who in turn is connected to another one out of Mexico which may or may not be real–I'll get more into to that later. This group initially looks like a rare plant species preservation group, as they find rare plants and propagate them so they can be moved to places where their habitat is not yet destroyed. The problem they face, or that they might be hip deep in, is one of illegal exportation of rare species, thereby shrinking their already diminished numbers. Plants such as these are shipped to the U.S. and other countries, for cultivation and sale in the elite market of rare species. Now with the Internet, that market is endless. Plants can be marked and shipped as Barbie Dolls, if the sellers have a mind to, and international markets are big money."
This time Mag jumped in. "Aw, come on. Do you mean to tell me that there are little plant geeks all over the world buying illegal plants and one of them offed Carole?"
Ian shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe, and maybe not. It's too early to tell. One plant Carole was working on has been illegal to export from Mexico for some time. The laws are still unclear as to whether the Mexican government is allowing the legal exportation of this rare little cactus even now."
He looked at his notes. "Mammillaria Luethyi could serve as a poster child for plant conservation. This is a small cactus, which only grows naturally in two small areas in the Mexican state of Coahuila. It clings to outcroppings of limestone.
"Two plant explorers re-discovered the cactus in 1996, and kept it a well-guarded secret until recently. According to Jonas Luethy, the guy it's named after, he did not receive a specimen until 2002."
He continued, "It was found that this cactus can be adapted to cultivar if grafted onto a more vigorous Mammillaria relative, but there has been no luck when trying to grow it from seed. They think it might have been because so few cultivars have been legally obtained. They do not know if cross-pollination even takes place. Here's where it gets interesting."
Mag said out of the corner of her mouth, "I've been waiting for it to get interesting for a while now." I elbowed her in the ribs.
Ian pretended he didn't hear her remark. "This research group has been smuggling first generation seeds out of their country and into ours, as they are easier to keep healthy and more easily hidden. Near as we can figure, Carole has been experimenting with the seeds up here, shipped through the Texas research group. She was working to be the first to raise this cactus from seed. Where her dealings with these people might have been a tad shady, we did not think it would warrant her murder. That is what brings me here. I needed to identify the seeds you found and report back."
He looked up at us. "That brings me to the last falsehood. Although I knew those were lutheyi seeds when I first looked at them at the morgue, what I didn't tell you is that the poppy seeds in the packet are opium poppies, and the others I am not familiar with."
I mulled over what Ian said. "So you already had a hunch that some of those seeds might be lutheyi seeds, right?" Ian had the decency to blush. "What the heck was she doing with opium poppies, and–oh no. Could Carole have either unwittingly stumbled upon or been trapped into being a pawn for something bigger, like drug trafficking?"
Ian thought for a moment and agreed this idea had possibilities. "Perhaps she didn't even know they were opium poppies, and thought all the seeds were lutheyi. After all, the package in her pocket was sealed."
A thought struck me and I dug in my pocket, frantically looking for a scrap of paper. "Oh my God, I think we have our first break!" I fumbled with the paper. "Lutheran, Luther, lutheyi; it fits! Look guys!"
I shoved the wrinkled scrap at Ian and Mag. "Malcolm and I saw what we thought were letters on the paper towel. We tried to make them out, but we only had a few to go with, but they fit–look!"
We discussed different theories as the sun sank over Mom and Dad's barn, in the distance. Since it was getting dark, we all gravitated toward the house. We ate some more leftovers and updated the whiteboard. Mag got some yarn and we taped our offshoot theories on the wall.
As I began filling the dog dishes with kibble, I paused at the sink. "So Ian, what are you doing later tonight?"
He raised an eyebrow and smiled. "Why, Miz Buzz, what did you have in mind?"
/> I strolled around the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee, feigning indifference. "I thought we might want to take a little drive in the country tonight. Check out the sheds…and the flower beds, with the Feds."
Ian said, "I'll wear my Keds. We'll knock 'em dead."
Mag joined in the game. "Who knows? We might be able to dig up a little dirt!"
I was laughing by this time. "As long as we don't get ourselves in a prickly situation looking for cactus!"
Ian looked at the two of us like we were bonkers. "What you two sick comics fail to realize is that what you are proposing is illegal. You know, like criminal trespassing? Breaking and entering? Criminal damage to property, illegal search and seizure?"
Still chuckling, I punched Ian in the arm. "Don't turn into a stick-in-the-mud law enforcement type on us now, Plant Boy. Tell me you weren't thinking along those same lines yourself. We're just giving you the opportunity of us helping you out and the pleasure of our company. You should be thrilled."
He shuddered. "What I am, is scared shitless."
Mag walked up behind him and stroked the back of his neck with one fingernail. With her lips close to his ear, she whispered, "Is there anything we can say or do to make you follow our illegal and unlawful order, Fed Boy?"
Ian looked at her wide-eyed and swallowed hard. "Yeah, two things. Can we get rid of Buzz for an hour or so? And hell, no, you can't go. It's too dangerous."
She pouted. "You're a hard man, Ian Connor."
He smiled slowly. "Not yet, Honey, but we didn't get rid of Buzz yet, either."
Short of throwing water on them, I didn't know how to regain control of the situation. "Yo, get a room later, you two. I am not going anywhere. Hey, Mag, knock it off and listen a minute."
When I regained their attention I said, "We need to know what's in that locked shed. We know Rob and Glenn will not open it for us. As a matter of fact, Rob said Glenn was 'gone' but he called me on the cell phone. I wonder from where?"
Ian picked up the thought. "We also need to consider timing. Whatever is in there might be moved to prevent the issuance of a search warrant prior to its removal." He thought a moment more. "Buzz, you're right. Time is of the essence, so let's just do it and be done with it."
I felt a rush of satisfaction. "I agree. We are not going to be able to do it the legal way until three or four days from now, so let's just decide now to commit a felony and go for it. Ian, you stay here because this can cost you your career. Mag and I have known J.J. most of our lives, and my career is already finished."
He jumped out of the chair. "Are you nuts?"
"Yes. And your point being?"
"I'm Plant Boy, remember? Investigating plants is my career! You don't even know what to look for in that shed. Besides, I don't want to testify against either one of you after the arrests are made, so I am going. Oh my God, now I'm beginning to sound like you two!"
"Welcome to the family, Ian. Let's get packed and go."
14
Great, I thought, as I drove out of town. A plant geek, a schoolteacher, and a new member of the AARP are playing Matlock. We are going to either get arrested or killed. If the bad guys didn't kill us, Mom sure as hell would kill me for bringing Mag along. I shushed myself as we rolled into Graff's Garden Center. I cut the engine and the headlights and rolled quietly into the yard.
Mag's disembodied voice, coming from the back seat, blasted us like cannon fire into the new dawn. "Geez, Buzz! I didn't know that gravel could crunch this loud!"
I jumped and we had to peel Ian off the ceiling. In a stage whisper, I vented my spleen. "Geez, Maggot, why don't I just give you the bullhorn so you can yell it to everyone? Shut the hell up or start walking toward Mom's. And don't crunch the gravel when you leave!"
"Bitch," I heard as I quietly exited the car. I ignored her. I headed for the west fence. According to our plan, we each headed off in different directions. I reviewed our operation in my head, jogging in the direction of the house.
It was lucky for us the Graff's lands were neighbors of a sort to my parents' place. As kids, we had this entire end of the county's topography memorized. Any break in a fence, every empty barn loft, and every rusty gate was a landmark and a tool to enterprising farm kids with a little time and a little ingenuity. There should be an old break in the woven wire fence about half-way back to the property line we always rode our horses through. I headed there. On the chance the Graffs knew about the hole and had it mended, Mag headed for the broken-down service gate on the opposite fence line.
Since Ian did not know the territory he hung out at the entrance, seeing if he could quietly sneak in there. We were all to meet at the back door of the main building when we got through.
I thanked my lucky stars that the hole in the fence was right where it had always been. Wild rose and honeysuckle covered it, but I counted myself lucky. I only had to scramble through the bramble rather than haul my happy ass over the top. I stood for a moment breathing heavily and surveying the area.
I froze when I saw what appeared to be a light shining from the opposite position from where I stood. It swayed as it flashed . I thought, oh, shit, we're caught. "Five to ten rotting in the pen," I chanted to myself , making my way across the yard toward the closest building.
The light continued to sway drunkenly and flash intermittently. I stopped and hauled in a breath. "Wait a minute, that isn't the cops… Oh, shit. It's Mag," I whispered and took off at a run.
I skidded to a stop about twenty feet from the opposite fence line. Bent over, I panted, hands on my knees. If I weren't so pissed off I would have laughed my butt off at the sight my sister made dangling upside-down from the fence by one foot and furiously trying to S.O.S. us with the flashlight.
"Mag, you idiot! I should just leave you hanging there." I grabbed the flashlight out of her hand and shoved it light-side down into the weeds. I grabbed her by the belt and the back of the neck and tried to swing her back over the fence. She flopped around like a fresh-caught tuna on deck. I struggled with her and was finally able to shove her back over the fence. Her shoe flew off, her leg sprang free and she landed on her brains, on the opposite side of the fence. She sat with her cheeks puffed out and her eyes squeezed shut.
Ian trotted up next to me He took in the scene of me gasping and leaning on the fence, a shoeless Mag on the opposite side on her ass, the flashlight, the bent fence, and he slid to the ground, laughing. "Holy Mackerel!"
I looked at him and barked out a laugh. "Ian, you have no idea how apropos that is."
Mag slowly stood, rubbing her butt and looking martyred. She ignored us and scrounged for her shoe. Grumbling while she searched, she tripped over stalks. She winced as she stepped on rocks and field stubble. She finally located her shoe. She slid it on and stood, brushed off her pants. "Now what?"
Still steaming, I glared at her. "Now you go back to the car and stay there."
"I'm not one of the dogs. Don't tell me to sit and stay."
"Mag, I won't argue the point. Go back to the car. You can help tomorrow with something. You can be the lookout. I don't care what you do, but get out of my face and take you sore rear-end back to the car before I kick the shit out of it!"
"No way man! I am not going anywhere. I am a part of this team. This operation takes three people who know the plan. I'm 'Number Two'!"
In more ways than one, I thought. "Not anymore. You're fired. Go home."
"Just because I tried to take a short cut? That old gate is to hell and gone from here, and I didn't want to be late so I decided to hop the fence instead."
"Nice hopping, moron. Too bad you didn't look down the fence line a few feet more."
I walked about ten feet from where we stood and l leaned a hip on the old gate. It gave like an Irish Catholic on Easter Sunday (and with less of a complaint, I might add). Mag lowered her head and minced through the opening.
I felt the storm gathering in me and was about to let fly on her when Ian touched my arm. "Come on, Buzz, n
o use arguing. She's in and we're wasting time. Let's just go."
I knew, of course, he was right. I tried to relax and focus. Deep breath, slow exhale. It didn't work.
Deep breath, slow exhale. I looked at Mag and felt my blood pressure begin to skyrocket again. I thought, "One more time for the Gipper, Buzz." Deep breath, slow– "Forget it." I said. "Let's go."
I gathered my pack and flashlight and led off. Mag jumped forward. Ian grabbed her shirt and hauled her back. "If you value your life, Maggie, stay the hell away from her for now." Mag eyed me and stooped to pick up her flashlight. She followed in Ian's wake.
"Hmmph," I thought, "Smart boy, and he learns fast, too."
We made our way through the back of the property, to the long buildings serving as greenhouses in the winter and propagation houses in the summer. We stayed as a group in case we ran into any trouble.
I stopped at the first shed and looked down the side. Running about 60 feet long and 40 feet across, the buildings were substantial and very conducive to a garden operation.
Ian moved past me and checked down the other side of the building. Mag was positioned at the door. After a nod from both Ian and me indicating the coast was clear, we listened for movement inside. Hearing none, Mag tried the latch. It gave and we were in.
We had no need for the flashlights since the glow from the rows of grow-lights illuminated the inside like a football stadium. Running the length of the building were three rows of waist-high shelving. Hundred of flats with thousands of plants of every kind imaginable sat happily under the grow-lights, photosynthesizing to their little hearts' content. The building had pipes crisscrossing throughout. From them rubber misters hung intermittently above the flats, periodically emitting a fine spray over their small charges.
Ian stood for a second, taking in slow deep breaths of that moist, earthy, greenhouse smell. He wore a look of ecstasy and murmured, "Mmm. Hi, kids. Papa's home."
I looked at him and then at Mag. "Oh, no. Mag, Plant Boy is getting high or getting off. Slap him or something."