Blind Trust

by Sandra Orchard

  “About that plant you had Patti researching?” His voice rose excitedly.

  “Um, yeah.”

  “Where did you find it?”

  “Uh . . .”

  “Ach, I thought I heard someone.” Grandma Brewster bustled through her garden gate, sparing Kate from answering. Her heavy gray stockings were rolled down to her ankles, or maybe she hadn’t gotten around to rolling them up just yet. “You here for your mama’s tincture, ja?”

  “That’s right,” Jarrett confirmed. “Is it ready?”

  She reached into the large pocket of her apron and pulled out a small bottle. “Ja, ja.”

  “Thanks.” Jarrett handed her a ten-dollar bill and took the bottle. Turning back to his car, he nodded Kate’s way. “See you around, Ms. Adams.”

  She sincerely hoped not around here but smiled anyway. She waited until he pulled out of the driveway, then reached for the picture of the plant she’d stuffed in her back pocket.

  Grandma Brewster was intently studying the ten Jarrett had given her.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “Nein. It good.” She removed her glasses and tucked the money into her apron pocket.

  Kate imagined everyone was looking at their money a little more carefully these days. She showed Grandma B the picture she’d brought. “Do you know what plant this is?”

  The older woman studied the picture a moment. “Not from here.”

  “I saw something like it down by the creek.”

  Grandma B squinted at her and then back at the picture. “Ja?”

  “Yes. I would have picked a sample, but since I didn’t know what it was, I didn’t want to risk it without a pair of gloves.” She’d made that mistake once as a kid while collecting leaves for a class project. She’d never itched so badly in her life—thanks to the poison ivy she’d pressed into her book.

  “Show me.”

  About to turn back to her car for a pair of gardening gloves, Kate remembered she was driving Patti’s car. “Do you have a pair of gloves I could use?”

  Grandma B pulled a bright floral-patterned pair from her apron pocket.

  “Great. Follow me.” Kate led the way down the same path she’d taken a few days earlier, and despite the uneven terrain and fifty-plus-years age difference between them, Grandma B kept right up with her.

  The stark change in humidity as they entered the forest caught her by surprise again. Thankfully she’d worn a light cotton blouse with her capris today, although her open-toed sandals weren’t the smartest footwear for traipsing down a creek bank.

  Grandma B took up a sturdy branch and used it as a walking stick, but otherwise she showed no sign of slowing.

  “It’s over there.” Kate pointed to a small patch on the far bank of the creek.

  A twig snapped to her right, and a frightening déjà vu feeling snapped to attention every hair on the back of her neck.

  She peered through the trees, half expecting to see Greg and Pedro, or maybe Jarrett, and praying it wasn’t Beck. After the last time, how could she have been so stupid as to leave her purse with her cell phone in it back at the car?

  Grandma B, apparently oblivious to the visions of ax murderers parading through Kate’s head, squatted in front of the patch of amen dios, or amendoso, or whatever it was, and uttered an unintelligible repertoire of German-sounding exclamations.

  Kate wasn’t sure what to make of the reaction and was too intent on safeguarding their flank to ask. She’d never forgive herself if she endangered Grandma B.

  Grandma B pulled on her gardening gloves and gingerly handled the plant—testing the turgidity of the stem, tracing the veins of the leaves, examining their underside before plucking a sample.

  She let out another rush of guttural sounds at the sight of the milky sap that seeped from the break.

  “What are you doing here?” a male voice sniped.

  Kate nearly jumped into the air at the sudden appearance of Brian Nagy’s real estate agent and another man, also in a business suit.

  “Oh.” Kate paused to catch her breath and give her careening pulse a chance to slow. They obviously weren’t stalking her in that getup, which meant the guy must be an interested buyer.

  “Well?” Westby’s narrowed eyes drilled into her, his forehead wrinkles inching their way up his bald head.

  “Um,” Kate mumbled, which even to her own ears sounded like a way-too-guilty stall tactic. He knew exactly why she was here, or at least could guess.

  “Picking plants for my tinctures,” Grandma Brewster piped up.

  Kate’s pulse went from a wild rampage to a halting stop. If Westby found out which plant she wanted to protect, he’d probably have it eradicated by nightfall. But seeing the bouquet of coltsfoot clutched in Grandma B’s hand, Kate remembered to breathe.

  “Good for coughs. Loosen”—Grandma B patted her chest as if searching for the word.

  “Phlegm,” Kate filled in. “The tea is very effective. Some commercial cough syrups use the plant.”

  The other man grabbed Westby’s arm and hissed something in his ear.

  “She’s harmless,” the agent assured. “Just our local homeopath. A good one too. My wife’s used her tinctures a time or two.”

  The other man hissed something back, and Westby turned an apologetic look toward Grandma B. “I’m sorry. Now that the property is being sold, you won’t be able to wander about picking plants anymore. Understand?”

  “Nein.” Grandma B narrowed her eyes. “Fifty years I do. I don’t hurt nothing.”

  “I know, but you are trespassing.”

  “Nein, Verna say okay.”

  “I’m sure she did,” he said impatiently. “But she’s selling it. You understand.”

  Kate clasped Grandma B’s elbow. “C’mon, let’s go back to the house.” She tugged the older woman away from the plant she didn’t want the men to notice.

  The potential buyer with the beady eyes was already scrutinizing her far too intently for her peace of mind. Her skin crawled at the thought of the unfriendly city slicker taking over her neighbor’s property.

  Grandma Brewster let out an indignant harrumph but started walking.

  Westby gave Kate a surprised look. Clearly he hadn’t expected Brian’s sworn-to-block-the-land-sale neighbor to be on his side in this particular battle.

  Once she and Grandma B were out of earshot of the two men, Kate turned to Grandma B. “Did you get a sample of the plant?”

  Grandma B dropped her handful of coltsfoot, and with a smile teasing the corner of her lips reached into the giant pocket of her apron and produced the other plant she’d picked. “Ja!”

  Kate laughed. “What made you hide it?”

  Grandma B dropped the plant back inside her pocket and shrugged, but Kate wondered if she’d been thinking exactly what Kate hoped to prove—that this was a rare plant that needed its habitat to be preserved. And if potential buyers were already scouting the property, the sooner she figured out what plant they had, the better.

  Tom strode up the B and B’s driveway and rapped the door knocker. He eyed the street as he waited for Miss Betty to answer. For the past seventy-two hours, Kate’s father—her supposed stalker—had been the focus of the danger seeming to surround her. Now, Tom had no idea where the true danger might lurk.

  Kate pulled the door wide and her face lit with a welcoming expression that on any other day he would’ve been thrilled to see. Today, her joy only made the secret he harbored flare accusingly in his chest.

  “Oh, Tom, I have fantastic news! Betty is able to translate those webpages Patti printed, and from what we’ve gleaned so far, the plant is a miracle plant.”

  Miracle plant? That’s what Peter had called the plant Baxter never delivered to GPC. Did Kate’s father know it was here? Tom fisted his hands. Of course he did. It was probably what had brought him here. Tom jerked back a step, sideswiped by another possibility—that the plant was what brought GPC here too.

  Betty bustled toward
them, carrying a plate of freshly baked cookies. “Detective Parker . . . ” Her bird-like voice tapered off in a delighted twitter. “How nice of you to join us.”

  She handed Kate a dainty china plate that complemented the high ceilinged, richly ornamented entrance and motioned them toward the dining room. “Can I get you a cup of tea too, Detective?”

  “No, thank you. I’m fine.”

  Betty hurried off to the kitchen yet again, while Tom joined Kate at the massive dining room table papered with computer printouts. He perched on an antique chair upholstered in an uncomfortable floral needlepoint.

  Kate pulled a few pages toward them, her words tumbling over each other. “This is the information Patti found, and Betty’s agreed to translate it.” She paused for an instant to catch her breath. “But you’ll never believe what else.”

  The excitement on her face, in her eyes, tightened the knots coiling in his gut. “What?”

  She lowered her voice. “I think it might be the same plant Lucetta’s mom gave my dad.”

  Tom pressed his lips into a tight smile. Yeah, no wonder Baxter had refused to tell him what he’d done with the plants.

  “I don’t know for sure, of course.” Kate rushed on. “But it’s from Colombia, and the name is so similar to what Lucetta called it. I don’t think I should ask her, though. What do you think?”

  “No. Definitely not.” The last thing he needed was Lucetta taking her vendetta against Kate’s father out on Kate. And this discovery was just the kind of thing that might set her off.

  “Yeah, I’d just as soon not have to face her again.”

  Hearing the rattle of teacups heading their way, Tom lowered his voice. “If this is the same plant, Kate, you do not want word about it getting out. Can you trust Betty to keep what she learns to herself?”

  Kate gathered together the pages awaiting translation. “I’d planned to ask her, yes, because I don’t want Brian and his real estate agent learning of the discovery and destroying the evidence before I can file a conservancy petition.”

  Everything in Tom reared like a horse at the edge of a cliff. “No, you can’t. If—”

  Betty came in with a tray of tea, cutting off his explanation. “Oh,” she muttered to herself, setting the tray on the table. “I forgot the sugar. I’ll be right back.”

  “Of course I will,” Kate insisted, before he could finish what he’d been about to say. “The whole point of finding and identifying the plant was to save Verna’s property.”

  “What about GPC Pharmaceuticals?”

  “What about them?” She tapped the edges of the papers on the table, though with a little less confidence than a moment ago.

  “Kate.” Tom stilled her hands, let the question sink in. “Your father went to a lot of trouble to keep that plant out of GPC’s hands. If they catch wind of your discovery . . .”

  Her eyes widened. “I’d been so excited about getting the proof I needed to help Verna, I hadn’t thought beyond—” A strangled gasp cut off her words. “Do you think that guy—Beck—who followed me into the woods already knows?”

  Tom shook his head, although he wondered the same thing himself and planned to ask her father next chance he got. “Beck’s harmless.”

  “You found him?”

  “This morning.” Tom shifted uneasily. “He’s not with GPC. He won’t bother you again.”

  “Who is he? What did he want?” she quizzed him excitedly, oblivious to how difficult it’d been for him to grind out as much as he’d already told her. He needed time to figure out how he could handle the questions without betraying her trust, or her safety.

  As Betty poured Kate’s tea and shared how delighted she was to help with the translation, Kate snuck him anxious looks, clearly eager to hear everything he’d learned about the man who up until an hour ago they’d been sure posed a serious threat.

  Except that he still did—just not in the way they’d thought.

  And considering Baxter’s less-than-forthcoming answers to his questions, the more information Tom could glean about the plant, the better picture he’d have of GPC’s motives.

  Betty skimmed the top page of the stack Kate had made. “This is the journal of a missionary. He learned about the plant in a remote Colombian village where the local medicine woman made a tea from it to cure his dysentery. He says he drank the tea three times a day for three days. It not only cured his dysentery but also lessened symptoms of several other ailments.” Betty sipped her tea. “Hmm, I wonder if it would help with my arthritis.”

  “Isn’t the alfalfa tea I gave you helping?” Kate asked. “You need to give herbals time to work. They’re not usually quick fixes.”

  As Kate and Betty got sidetracked discussing the merits of alfalfa tea, Tom mulled over what Betty had read so far. There had to be more to it. Folk remedy stories like what she’d read were a dime a dozen. “Sounds to me like marketing copy for the kind of cure-all ads you see in magazines or those ‘discover the secret’ headlines you see all over the internet—too good to be true. Are you sure Patti didn’t just land on a Spanish version of one of those sites?”

  Shaking her head, Kate finished jotting down what Betty had translated. “There weren’t any ‘buy’ links on any of the pages. But you’re right, it would take, at the very least, a controlled double-blind study to convince the scientific community of its value.”

  Let alone to incite GPC to do what Peter Ratcher claimed.

  Kate didn’t voice that last part, but when their eyes met, Tom knew she was thinking the same thing. Except for this “rare” plant to end up here, mere miles from where her grandparents had lived, Baxter had to have sent it somehow. Had he secretly profited from it too? Just because he was Kate’s dad didn’t make him innocent.

  “Listen, Betty,” Kate said. “I need to get back to the lab. Could I leave these with you to work on and pick them up later?”

  “Of course, you go on. I should be finished by the time you get off.”

  “It’s important that you don’t mention anything about this to anyone else, okay?”

  Betty walked them to the door. “I understand.”

  As they stepped outside, Tom braced himself for the inevitable questions about “Michael Beck.” The muscle in his jaw twitched, reminding him how easily she’d read his unconscious tell before. He pursed his lips. A year of small town living had left him sorely out of practice at the art of misdirection. His gaze swept over Kate’s soft hair and even softer eyes, lingered on the smile lines that spoke of her sweet temperament. A hard lump balled in his throat. She was the last person he wanted to hide anything from, but he’d never had so much at stake.

  “So what’s the deal with Beck?” she asked the instant Betty closed the front door after them.

  Tom’s cell phone rang. The chief. “Sorry, I need to take this.” He’d never been so happy to get a call from his boss.

  “Parker,” Brewster barked. “Sorry to call on your day off, but I figured you’d want to know we got another counterfeiting call.”

  Perfect—just the kind of excuse he needed to put off his explanation to Kate. “Where?”

  “A Cup or Two. I sent Hutchinson.”

  Tom swallowed a groan. The rookie was way too eager. “I’ll be right there.” He pocketed his phone and gave Kate an apologetic kiss on her cheek. “Sorry, we’ll have to have that conversation later.”

  The blush that bloomed where his lips had touched sent a matching warmth through his chest. He winced. Apparently he’d forgotten what she’d think of him if she discovered the secret he harbored. Lord, please let her father be wrong.

  Kate drove to the research station, brimming with too many emotions—a giddy schoolgirl rush at Tom’s parting kiss, relief that he’d caught her stalker and she could stop looking over her shoulder, and anticipation at being able to save Verna’s land . . . tempered by a strange mix of excitement and trepidation that she might have stumbled onto her father’s miracle plant. She felt as though understan
ding this plant would somehow connect her to him.

  Marjorie, the receptionist, jumped out of the way as Kate plunged through the side door. “Goodness. What has a bee in your bonnet?” She clasped Kate’s arm, a consoling look overtaking her surprise. “It’s all that whispering after that police car showed up after church yesterday, isn’t it?”

  Kate cringed at the reminder. With what had happened since, she’d just about managed to put the incident out of her mind.

  “You need to know that no one pays any mind to what Nella says. The woman would never deliberately hurt a soul, but her mouth is about as reliable as a leaky faucet.”

  Kate rubbed her arms. She hadn’t heard what Nella said, but just imagining made her skin crawl.

  “If anything,” Marjorie prattled on, apparently in no hurry to get started on her lunch. “Verna’s sudden admission into a home makes her look guilty, not you . . . in a way.”

  Kate groaned. Hardly. It made Verna look like an unwitting victim.

  “Trouble just seems to be finding you lately. Lord knows that whatever you did to get the mayor so riled last week sure got those GPC execs all fired up too. I heard you’d made Verna’s son mad too—that true?”

  “Probably, yeah.” Terrific. “I need to get to work.” Kate started down the hall before Marjorie could commiserate anymore. Her tally of Kate’s woes was downright depressing.

  Patti and Jarrett exited the lab as Kate rounded the corner.

  “Jarrett’s taking me out for lunch. I’ll be back in half an hour.” Patti’s brow furrowed. “Hey, where’s the sage?”

  Kate’s grip tightened on the small brown paper sack carrying her mystery plant—instead of the sage she’d volunteered to fetch. “Uh, the box is still in the trunk.” She handed Patti the keys. “Would you mind bringing it in after you finish your lunch?”

  Kate pushed open the door without waiting for a response. The last thing she wanted to deal with was a round of twenty questions with Jarrett over her visit to Grandma Brewster’s.