Totally Buzzed

by Gale Borger

  Alejandro finished stuffing Huerta’s and Jose’s things back in the tack room. He put his own things in the backseat of the truck. He threw the bubble envelope into the glove compartment of the truck. When he leaned across the seat, he noticed something was wedged under the passenger seat. He grabbed the flashlight.

  Directing the light under the seat, he tugged on what appeared to be a briefcase. He yanked it out, stumbling backward when it tore loose. It flew out from under the seat, smacking him on the chin. He thought how ironic it was to have just injured the only spot on his entire body that did not already hurt. Rubbing his chin, he inspected the briefcase

  It was dark brown leather and unfamiliar to him. He wondered if it could have belonged to Dr. Huerta. The thought came to him that one could mistake this bag for the one holding the registration and health papers for the mares. Alejandro remembered the last time he saw Huerta. He was jogging around the corner of the barn with a briefcase in his hand. Was this the briefcase he carried? Did he take the wrong briefcase? If so, then what was in this one? Dare he look inside something that did not belong to him? He thought that after all that had happened to him over the last 24 hours, hell, yes, he dared!

  Just as he reached for the latch on the case, red and blue lights flashed on the main road. Alejandro stuffed the case back under the seat and walked around the trailer. He stroked and spoke to the mares before closing their doors. The squad pulled into the lot and caught Alejandro in the spotlight.

  “Hey, Buddy, are you okay?” The funny Midwestern accent injected a friendly note into the question. Alejandro smiled as he turned toward the squad.

  “I’m fine, officers. It seemed one of my horses was making a racket and I wanted to make sure they were all okay.”

  One officer was looking at the in-car computer. “Probably checking the plates,” Alejandro thought. He hoped Martinez had everything up to date. The other officer looked in the trailer windows as he spoke.

  “You got some nice horses in there. Where are you headed?”

  “To the,” he checked his notes, “Gamble Horse Farm in Gurnee, sir. I have brood mares to drop off.” Not knowing where the next statement came from, he also blurted, “Then I need to make a stop in White Bass Lake across the border. I am on vacation, but I might be checking out a new job, too.”

  “White Bass Lake? Nice town. Good folks. I know the sheriff up there. Mr.?”

  “Montoya, sir.” He handed over his driver’s license, thinking wouldn’t it be his luck if Martinez reported his truck and trailer stolen?

  The police officer strolled back to the squad and handed his license to the other cop. Alejandro thought fast. “I might see the sheriff when I get up to White Bass Lake, do you want me to send him your good wishes?”

  The cop smiled. “Sure. You tell Sheriff Green that Mark Olsen from Mundelein says he owes me a doughnut. He’ll understand.” The other police officer stepped away from the squad and handed Alejandro his license.

  “You can also tell that no-good weasel that he owes Harry Ballard a fish fry!” They both laughed at the ‘inside’ joke.

  Alejandro discovered from the officers he was only two exits away from the one he needed. He thanked them both and climbed into the truck. He pulled back onto the Interstate and within twenty minutes was pulling into the front lot of Gamble’s Horse Farm.

  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 te
ll 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.