Decaffeinated Corpse cm-5

by Клео Коул

  “That’s right. It first appeared on a Brazilian plantation around the late Nineteenth Century.”

  She didn’t have to quote me the rest of the history—that I knew, too. Farmers had planted Coffea arabica Maragogype like crazy during the Second World War. Because the marigo beans were twice the size of regular coffee beans, they produced a super-caffeinated cup of coffee utilized by soldiers and fighter pilots. Then the war ended, and the beans fell out of favor because the taste of the marigo was less than fabulous.

  “The Maragogype is a great example of classical breeding,” Ellie went on. “Here’s another example: let’s say you have a Coffea plant that’s got a high fruit yield, but it’s susceptible to rust disease. You can cross that with a Coffea plant that’s resistant to the disease, even though it may have a low yield. The goal of the crossbreeding would be to create a Coffea plant resistant to rust disease that’s also high-yielding.”

  “But you could also get a plant that’s low-yielding and susceptible to disease.”

  “That’s why it takes time and patience. With diligence, progeny from a successful cross can be crossed back with a parent to strengthen the desirable trait—that’s backcrossing.”

  “So that’s what Ric did?” I pressed.

  “Yes. Ric crossbred and backcrossed different species of Coffea plants to produce his decaffeinated hybrid.”

  “And is it viable?”

  “Oh, yes. It’s hearty, resistant to disease, and high-yielding. I’ve been working with him for about a year now to help him properly document his work.”

  “I see.”

  “Look, I understand why you made the assumption you did. I know Ric doesn’t come off as any sort of scientific genius. But he is gifted when it comes to living things. He grew up around coffee plants, and he’s a naturalist at heart. Did you know when he was just a boy, he hiked almost every inch of his native island to see all the flora and fauna?”

  “But he still needed your help to get his hybrid certified, right?”

  “Ric never finished his degree because he’s not very good at paperwork. If he wants legal protection for his hybrid, he needs to jump through a lot of documentation hoops—and, frankly, jumping through hoops is something I learned how to do well over the last ten years, and in more ways than one.”

  That was a loaded statement if ever I’d heard one, but I wanted to keep the focus on Ric. “So everything’s legit?” I pressed. “Ric made an authentic breakthrough and you’re helping him?”

  “That’s right. There’s really nothing more to it.”

  “And yet... Ric seemed cagey with me when I asked why he didn’t file for protection in Brazil. You already told me Brazil is part of the international treaty to protect plant breeders’ rights, so what’s the truth?”

  “The truth is... Ric doesn’t trust the officials in Brazil responsible for approving his protection certificate.”

  “He’s worried about theft?”

  “He’s worried they’ll charge him with theft.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “Brazil’s government is very concerned about biopiracy.”

  I’d heard the term before. I just didn’t see how it applied. “I’m not sure I understand...”

  “Biopiracy is basically hijacking plants from their native country and patenting them for commercial exploitation in another country. In Brazil’s case, plants have been taken out of the Amazon and brought to other countries for experimentation, cultivation, and marketing.”

  “But Ric’s growing his hybrid in Brazil. He’s not taking it out of the country.”

  “That’s not the issue.”

  “Then what is?”

  Ellie shifted uncomfortably. “Matt knows this already, and you’re his partner, so I guess it’s okay to tell you, just so you’ll stop worrying.”

  “Tell me what?”

  Ellie’s voice dropped. “Ric discovered a plant growing wild on Costa Gravas—a naturally decaffeinated Coffea stenophylla plant.”

  “Not arabica?”

  “No.”

  That surprised me. Notwithstanding my botanically inaccurate reference to the plant as a “tree,” I was fairly familiar with the basic aspects of coffee as a cash crop. I knew there were many species of the plant, some decorative and some used by native cultures for stimulant value. But as far as commercial importance to farmers, there were only two players: Coffea arabica (referred to simply as arabica in the trade) and Coffea canephora (referred to as robusta).

  Arabica, which covered about 80 percent of the world’s coffee production, was the A-list star of the show. Grown at higher altitudes and considered high quality, arabica was the source for specialty coffees. Robusta was grown at lower altitudes and for years had been the source of cheaper blends and the basis for instant and canned coffees.

  Within arabica, there were two “original” varieties, Coffea arabica arabica (or typica) and Coffea arabica bourbon, out of which many unique forms had emerged, either through deliberate breeding or accidental mutations in the fields. Two such spin-off hybrids popular with farmers were Coffea arabica cattura and Coffea arabica catuai, both of which grew much shorter than the original varieties, so they were easier to harvest. They were also more resistant to disease.

  Coffea stenophylla, however, was new to me, and I asked Ellie to tell me more about it.

  “Historically, stenophylla was considered to be better than arabica,” she explained. “The plant was hardier, it had a higher fruit yield, and the final product had a better flavor.”

  “You’re kidding? What happened then? Why aren’t today’s farmers planting that?”

  “The English took it out of West Africa in the late 1800s and grew it in their colonies—”

  “That would include Jamaica then? And Ric’s old home—Costa Gravas?”

  “Yes, exactly. But rust disease was a huge issue back then. It wiped out many of the plantations cultivating it. The farms had no time to recoup their losses fast, and stenophylla takes nine years to mature. Even though it produces a hardier plant with higher yields, it was abandoned in favor of the arabicas, which take only five to seven years to mature and bear fruit.”

  “Okay, I follow, but where does that fit in with Ric’s breakthrough?”

  “The key to Ric’s hybrid decaffeinated plant is what he and I believe is a mutation from a surviving stenophylla plant. The plant itself wouldn’t have been useful to a coffee farmer. It still took nine years to mature, its yield was low, and it produced a decaffeinated bean.”

  “I follow you. A decaf bean wouldn’t have been an advantageous trait until lately, since decaf drinkers only recently became a larger percentage of the market.”

  “That’s right. It wasn’t worth a farmer investing time and effort into breeding a decaffeinated plant. But Ric never felt that way. When his family was driven off their estate, he smuggled this mutated stenophylla’s seeds and cuttings into Brazil. For years, he continued his experiments in crossbreeding using Coffea arabica plants, and finally he made his breakthrough.”

  “So you’re saying the key to Ric’s hybrid is a plant he smuggled out of Costa Gravas? And the authorities there might have an issue?”

  “Not just there. Brazilian officials are pushing for world sanctions on biopiracy in their own rain forests. They’d look like hypocrites if they granted protection to Ric, since Costa Gravas might very well charge him with biopiracy once the word gets out.”

  “And that’s why you’re helping him file for protection outside of both countries?”

  “Exactly. There won’t be any issues here in the United States. Ric’s horticultural work is real and visionary, and I can attest to its value and validity. He deserves the protection.”

  “You’re his champion then?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  I was about to ask Ellie another question when a startled look suddenly crossed her face. “Oh,” she said. “Norbert, where did you come from?”

  I turned to see
Norbert standing near a potted plant, next to our table. Ellie and I had been conversing so intensely, we hadn’t noticed his arrival.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, tilting his curly head. “I wasn’t sure how to interrupt you without appearing rude, but I wanted to drop off that little parting gift for your friend.” He held out a canvas tote bag with the words Brooklyn Botanic Garden embroidered on the side in forest green.

  “Thank you.” I took it from him. “It’s very nice.”

  “Anything else, Ms. Lassiter?” Norbert asked, rolling forward onto his toes a bit. “Anything at all?”

  Ellie’s eyes met mine for a second and I could tell she was recalling my Eddie Haskell joke. I could also tell she was suppressing another laugh.

  “No, Norbert. That’s all. Why don’t you take your lunch now, and I’ll see you in an hour.”

  “Certainly, Ms. Lassiter. I’ll see you later. And goodbye, Ms....”

  “Goodbye,” I said quickly.

  Norbert nodded, giving me a forced smile, then turned and departed. I watched him like a hawk until he was well out of earshot.

  “Ellie, what’s the story on your assistant?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What’s his last name?”

  “Usher, why?”

  “How long has he been working for you?”

  Ellie looked to the sky, calculating. “About nine or ten months. He came on before this year’s spring season.” She sighed. “I know I’m a bit short and cold with him, but he’s got a bit of a crush on me, and I’m trying to discourage it.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “How deep a crush?”

  She waved her hand. “He asked me out a few times over the summer. Not directly, just dropping hints that I might like to go here or there with him—an outdoor movie in Bryant Park, a Sunday drive with him to Cape May.”

  “Doesn’t he know you’re married?”

  “He knows. He also knows about Ric, unfortunately. You’ve seen how quiet he can be. He snuck up on us a few times out in the Garden. I thought we were well hidden, but he saw us... all we were doing was embracing, but...”

  “But what exactly?”

  Ellie shifted uncomfortably. “It’s hard to explain, but when I’m with Ric... I’m a different person. He does something to me, Clare... he changes me...”

  Oh, boy, did that sound familiar. “He’s a drug?”

  “Yes. He is.”

  “And you’re addicted?”

  “Yes. I am.”

  The years seemed to melt off Ellie when she talked about Ric. Her expression was animated, her complexion more vibrant, her hazel-green eyes bright.

  My gaze fell to the gold wedding band on her finger, and I wondered how far things had gone with her old beau. She said they’d just embraced, but was that really all? Was it just a mutual admiration society? Or was it a full blown affair?

  “You know, Ellie,” I said, blatantly fishing, “I was always sorry that I missed your wedding. You had it here, didn’t you?”

  Ellie looked away—toward two reflecting pools standing in front of a beautiful glass structure that resembled London’s famous Crystal Palace.

  “Jerry and I took our vows on Daffodil Hill, in early April—the optimum time to see the blooms. The Garden staff was there, and Jerry’s entire lab came. We had our reception in the Palm House, and, of course, there was a Times listing. It was a perfect wedding.”

  The words painted a lovely memory, but Ellie’s voice was a monotone. Her buoyant expression had gone blank.

  “And how’s the marriage?” I asked carefully. “Every-thing still perfect?”

  “You’re asking because of Ric?”

  “You loved him so much years ago. You were devastated when he left without proposing. I remember how badly you cried.”

  “I cried so much because...” Ellie glanced down. She looked pained. “I was pregnant, Clare.”

  For a few seconds, I didn’t move, and I questioned whether I’d heard her correctly. “You were pregnant?”

  Ellie nodded.

  “But you never said anything... not to me, and we were close back then. Or at least I thought we were.”

  “We were. I didn’t tell anyone, not even Ric.”

  “Why not?”

  “I didn’t want Ric to stay in America and marry me just because of a baby. I wanted him to stay for me. I didn’t want to quit college and end up like—”

  Her run of words abruptly halted. She met my eyes, her expression somewhere between disdain and pity.

  “End up like me?” I finished for her.

  “I’m sorry, Clare. You have to understand... I was young at the time, and I had very little resources. I wanted to finish my degree, and I just couldn’t do it alone with a baby. My family was in no position to help me financially. They barely had enough to cover their own debts, and they hated my coming to New York—”

  She was talking very fast now, awkwardly trying to make up for her insult. I patted her shoulder. “It’s okay,” I said, but she kept going.

  “My family would have demanded I move back to West Virginia to have the baby, you see? And I’m sure I would have had to start working at some menial job to support my child—”

  “Yes, I understand.” Like managing a coffeehouse?

  “And I just couldn’t see myself doing that.”

  “No, no, of course not.”

  “The only future I could see was if Ric had decided to stay and marry me because he loved me... or asked me to go back to Costa Gravas with him. But he did neither.”

  “So you aborted your child?”

  Ellie nodded. Now her eyes were wet. “It broke my heart, but I didn’t see any other way.”

  “And did you ever tell Ric?”

  Ellie nodded. “He was upset. He said I should have leveled with him back then. That he would have married me.”

  “Do you believe him?”

  “It doesn’t matter if I do or don’t. I was afraid he’d end up resenting the child and me, or he’d end up cheating just like—”

  Once again, she cut herself off. So I finished for her. “Just like Matt did to me.”

  Ellie closed her eyes. “I didn’t mean to imply...” Her voice trailed off, and once more I said, “It’s okay. The truth is, I felt the same way you did. I just felt it after I married Matt. I found evidence of his cheating one morning, and I considered walking out, but I was afraid of raising Joy on my own... so I stayed.”

  “You’re happy now though?”

  “Yes. Maybe one day I’ll finish my fine arts degree. Maybe not. My life’s good. I love my work, and I love my daughter. I don’t regret for one second what I gave up to have her. If you recall, Matt asked me to marry him. He didn’t run off to another country like Ric... and because he asked, and I loved him, I gave the marriage a try.”

  “And now you’ve obviously forgiven Matt. You’ve gone into business with him.”

  “Yes, I have. And now you’re Ric’s champion.”

  Ellie looked away again. “I hadn’t thought of it as the same thing.”

  “But it is. Time passes, and we forgive... don’t we?”

  Ellie smiled but very weakly. “Sure.”

  There was something about her smile that unsettled me. She was holding back again, and I wondered for a moment if Ellie was being totally honest... or playing me.

  I hadn’t seen her in so many years, and she’d changed so much it was hard talking with her. But in the last two minutes what hit me the hardest was finally realizing why we were no longer friends.

  I understood what Ellie had done, and why she’d done it. And I wasn’t about to judge her. But Ellie had judged me. That was clear to me now. She had no respect for me or my choices. Oh, she’d never stated it outright. Not ever. But somewhere along the line in those years past, she must have sent out the signals because I’d stopped caring whether we saw each other any more.

  You’d think by now I would be a whiz at stumbling upon disturbing realities�
�like a pistol-whipped body in my back alley, for instance, or a homeless man’s frozen corpse. But chancing upon the truth about an old friendship was no less disturbing. I did my best to cover my reaction, but it shook me up.

  I began to wonder what kind of person Ellie Shaw had become and what she was capable of. Was it possible she hadn’t forgiven Ric at all? Was she playing him now for some kind of latent revenge?

  “Did you know that Ric was mugged behind the Village Blend?” I found myself asking, suddenly needing to see her reaction.

  “What?” Ellie’s weak smile disappeared.

  “Last night. Someone pistol-whipped him from behind.”

  “Oh my goodness, Clare, why didn’t you say something earlier? Does he know who did it?”

  I shook my head. “He says it’s no big deal. And he didn’t see the man’s face... of course it could have been a woman.”

  “What do you mean it could have been a woman? Women don’t mug people on the street.”

  “Whoever this was used a prerecorded message of commands. The detective I consulted thinks it means Ric would have recognized the mugger’s voice.”

  “You consulted a detective already?” Ellie asked. She seemed upset by this.

  I nodded. “What do you think?”

  “What do I think of what?”

  “Do you know anyone who might want to harm Ric or steal his cutting?”

  “What cutting? What are you talking about, Clare?”

  “He smuggled a cutting into the country to show to the press and the trade this Friday at the Beekman. He mailed it to Matt initially for safekeeping, but he said he had to borrow it to show to you.”

  Ellie shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. He never showed me any cutting. He wouldn’t have to. I’m well acquainted with his hybrid. I’ve been flying down to Brazil off and on for over a year now.”

  “You’re sure you didn’t need to see a cutting in the last few weeks?”

  “I’m certain, Clare. I don’t know why Ric would tell you—”

  A series of electronic tones interrupted her. Taken together, I realized they were cell phone ringtones playing a familiar melody—the Sting song “Roxanne.”