by Ann Ripley
“Ethnobotanists, though some people call us jungle cowboys or worse.” Flynn’s face broke in a devilish smile. “‘Weird units’ is how they describe us when they’re really pissed off. We are weird, I’ll admit that much—that’s why our hotel room here is so chaotic. Clothes on the floor, room service trays stashed in corners, door left open . . . we’re used to living in the wild, our whole focus analyzing how indigenous people interact with plants. And you’re right, George and I have both been offered a variety of hallucinogenic drugs. Of course we take some on occasion; it wouldn’t be polite not to. We ethnobotanists have been trying hallucinogens for years in the name of science. That’s why, Mrs. Corbin, you are anesthetized so that some surgeon can operate on you—”
“I narrowly avoided that recently,” explained Steffi.
Matthew Flynn bowed. “I’m so sorry. I hope ever ything’s all right.”
Steffi made a wide circular movement with her hand around her lower stomach. “Colon problems, you know. They removed polyps and told me to improve my diet.” She raised a hand and crossed her middle finger with her index finger. “With a little luck I won’t have any more trouble.”
“Ah, good,” said Flynn. “But if in the future you do face an operation, you should know that the anesthetic was probably derived, or at least chemically copied, from a hallucinogenic plant rich in alkaloids that one of us rakish scientists brought back from the Amazon.”
“Yes, I’d heard about that,” said Steffi.
George Wyant, who had seemed uneasy with the turn of the conversation, happily added, “There are 121 prescription drugs derived from plants.” He enfolded them in a boyish grin. “And we’ve hardly tapped the possibilities—only one percent of tropical forest plants has even been analyzed.” Louise thought with his rakish good looks and his continued ability to think, stand, and talk—even if not to talk rapidly—George Wyant would make a good advertisement for a functioning pothead.
It was not too surprising to learn that the adventuresome Dr. Matthew Flynn and his assistant weren’t averse to trying the drugs and judging their quality, nor talking about it after the fact. Nor that Flynn seemed to have sympathy for, or at least an understanding of, the illegal “farmers” who raised the crop. For now she remembered reading a critical article about Matthew Flynn, part of a mass of background material gathered by the associate producer back in Washington, D.C. It mentioned how other scientists criticized his bold plant explorations and that drugs were just “part of the scene” when botanists hit the jungle.
In another vein, the article also gossiped about how well Flynn did with the ladies in New York when he returned to civilization. This did not surprise her, either.
“’Course, it isn’t always cool to take what’s offered in the way of narcotics,” Wyant slowly continued. “You have to remember that you’ve got to make it back down the river to your camp.”
It was ironic, Louise thought, that only limited native crops, such as breadfruit and taro, were raised on these islands for hundreds of years after the early settlers came. Two hundred years ago, sugar cane and rice and pineapples were introduced, providing jobs for immigrants and fortunes for the land owners. Now, illegal marijuana was one of Kauai’s cash crops, making this place no different from California and Florida. Tropical plants for tropical lands, she thought dourly, part of the dark side of paradise. She sat quietly back in her chair.
Seeming to read Louise’s mood, Flynn said off-handedly, “Guess I said more than enough on that subject.” He turned to George Wyant. “We’d better shove off, George.”
Steffi asked, “Are you going somewhere for dinner?”
George Wyant, feeling more confident now that he’d contributed adequately to the conversation, had a pleased look on his face. “We sure are. We’d tell you where we’re going, but then we’d have to kill you.” He guffawed, as a shocked look overcame their faces.
The younger man turned to Flynn and muttered, “Aw, me and my big mouth!”
The scientist put an arm around his assistant, as if to protect him from criticism. “That’s just an old joke George has reeled off,” he explained. “Haven’t you heard it? He’s trying to be funny but it doesn’t always come off when George tries to be funny. Actually, we’re going to Aroma in Lihue. You’ll have to try it before you leave.”
Flynn cocked his head toward a table near the center of the terrace. “I’ve noticed, though, that most people from the conference like to eat here. There’s the good Dr. Charles Reuter and his right-hand man Nate. They’re honored to have sitting with them the great Ralph Pinsky.” He might claim the man was great, but Louise noted that his tone of voice said otherwise.
She turned her head to look. One of the two sitting with Charles Reuter was a muscular, attractive young man with lively dark brown eyes. This apparently was his aide, Nate. The other was a man who looked as if he’d never ventured out in the sun and wouldn’t dare to. He had curly dark-red hair and a pale-as-milk complexion. What interested Louise most was the way he held his table mates transfixed as he leaned forward and talked, emphasizing his words with rapid gestures of his long-fingered hands.
She said, “So that’s Ralph Pinsky. I read about him in the conference brochure. He’s an impressive man.”
Matthew Flynn grinned broadly: “Everybody thinks that Ralph Pinsky’s the botanical garden director nonpareil. Interestingly enough, he ranks right up there with Bruce Bouting in terms of the volume of his plant discoveries. But Pinsky’s discoveries take about four times as long to get to market, if they ever do. Not quite as nimble as he used to be in the field—something’s gotten to him—but he’s a clever guy. He’s made the Greater Missouri Botanic Garden outside St. Louis into probably the second best botanic garden in the country. A real knee-jerk true believer, just like Reuter and his crowd.”
As if conscious they were being discussed, the three men turned and looked over at Matthew Flynn. “Hi,” said Flynn and waved. Reuter and the young, dark-eyed Nate reluctantly waved back, while the man named Pinsky gave Flynn a dismissive glance with his gray eyes and turned back to his companions.
Marty Corbin stared in the direction of the Reuter table, his eyes narrowing ominously. “So there’s another Man Friday lurking around here. Lou, do you think Dr. Reuter will want his Man Friday on the program tomorrow, too?”
Dr. Flynn laughed and shook his head. “No way. Nate Bernstein’s a behind-the-scenes type guy. He does a lot of research for Reuter, as well as some of his boss’s best writing, it’s said. But neither Charles Reuter nor Nate Bernstein craves publicity. You’ll have enough of a challenge giving Charles face time tomorrow morning. He’s what you’d call ‘diffident.’”
“Shy?” cried Marty. “You’ve gotta be kidding, Dr. Flynn. I didn’t think there was a shy person among you. I just thought Reuter was an unpleasant SOB.”
Steffi and Louise exchanged alarmed glances. Marty was crabby and tired. It was time to change the subject. She looked up at Matthew Flynn and smiled. “So, Aroma is a good place to eat; we’ll remember that. I bet you two know lots of good places.”
John Batchelder piped up, “Louise will wangle it out of you—she always does. She’s solved a few crimes, you know.” He smiled smugly, as if he’d announced a secret that was only his. “She’s a real snoop.”
Matthew Flynn looked down at Louise with mock amazement. She felt her face coloring. “My God, an amateur gumshoe in our midst! I knew there was some reason I liked you from the moment I first met you.”
“John’s just kidding,” Louise demurred.
“I bet he isn’t,” said Flynn. “I’ll have to remember that and seek out your help if I need it. But seriously, dear Louise, we know lots of good places. I’ll jot down a list of them for you.”
“Thanks,” she said. She was grateful when she saw a waiter heading their way with a huge tray bearing four large plates with covered lids. As he turned to leave, Flynn cast a haughty glance around the terrace with its torches and p
alms, while the waiter looked relieved that the two interlopers were getting out of his way so he could serve the food.
Whether they were a little weird or not, Louise envied the two ethnobotanists. At least they had the good sense to strike out from this luxury hotel. She wouldn’t mind getting away from it one of these nights.
9
Soon after dinner, the four of them seemed ready to retire to their rooms for a good night’s sleep before the busy Friday. But first, Louise went to the hotel’s sundries store to buy a few items. The shop was called Island Rest, possibly because it had a large stock of medicines, including over-the-counter sleeping pills. Surprisingly, it was crowded with other guests doing the same thing.
Quickly snatching up her intended purchases, a hat emblazoned with “Kauai-by-the-Sea,” a tube of 45 SPF sunblock, and a couple of pricey rolls of film, she got in line behind three others. A quibble was taking place at the front of the line, something about the fact that the shop didn’t carry the man’s favorite headache pain relief. Since she was tired, Louise wished he’d get on with it, grab a bottle of Advil, and let her have a turn at the counter.
The dark-haired young man standing in front of her finally swung around in disgust. It was as if he had to find something in the rear of the shop to interest him and help relieve his impatience. This gave him the opportunity to stare at a whole wall full of hats of various styles, all of which carried the logo, “Kauai-by-the-Sea.”
That was how she got acquainted with Nate Bernstein.
“Kind of late, isn’t it,” she said, “to get in a tizzy over pain pills.”
“Insane,” muttered the young man, without even looking at Louise. “He should have brought his OxyContin from home.” He had an intelligent face. Any mother would love those liquid brown eyes.
“You’re Nate Bernstein, aren’t you? I’m Louise Eldridge. I’m the, uh . . .”
“I know who you are,” said Bernstein, finally deigning to look at her. They were the same height. “You’re part of that TV shoot tomorrow at the National Tropical Botanical Garden. I had to sit and wait while you all met this afternoon to talk over things.”
“Yes,” she said. “I host the program. Are you coming to the shoot?”
His lip curled, as if this were a foolish question. “Of course. Dr. Reuter will want me there.” He gave her a suspicious look. “Quite frankly, he thinks he’s being set up.”
“Oh, no, I mean . . . why would he think that?”
Bernstein’s glance slid over to another part of the store, where scores of postcards were on sale. A pause, during which Louise wasn’t even sure the young man would resume talking. “Well, at heart, Ms. Eldridge . . .”
“Mrs. Eldridge,” she corrected.
“At heart, there’s no difference between those two characters.”
“You mean Dr. Bouting and Dr. Flynn.”
“Yes. Bouting Horticulture constantly needs new products to market.” He waved his strong-looking arms in a surprising gesture. “How else would they continue to make their millions and keep a throttle-hold on the wholesale plant market of North America? You got to have your bright new orange-with-yellow-tipped echinacea from New Mexico, or your hot new purple-with-green-spots species tulip from the mountain slopes of Turkey.” Those brown eyes widened. “That Bouting fellow is a sleight-of-hand artist; he goes to those places, swaps a few nonimportant Bouting brands that he doesn’t care about for priceless finds.”
“Is there something inherently wrong with doing that?”
A shrug. “It’s what he does and doesn’t do next. Doesn’t test ’em long enough to determine whether they’re invasives. Doesn’t remunerate some poor, benighted country that he’s filched them from after he makes a ton of money off them.” Nate Bernstein smiled, but cynically. “Otherwise, there’s nothing wrong with that.”
She said, “But Matthew Flynn has a different slant. He’s only interested in plants with medicinal value.”
The young man pointed an accusing finger at Louise. “That’s not the whole story. He’s got two games going. He also goes out and plunders the wilds for ornamentals for fun and profit, don’t think he doesn’t. As for the ‘valuable’ medicinal plants he’s always touting, you have to ask, plants with value to whom? To Matthew Flynn first and foremost.” He shook his head. “No, if you knew the whole story, you’d see he’s a phony. Nothing, or almost nothing, has panned out—no medical miracles or breakthroughs—despite all the money he’s taken up front from the NSF and from pharmaceutical companies.”
“Huh,” said Louise. “Then why does he have such a great reputation in the scientific community?”
Bernstein, after his animated disclosures, seemed to have wound down. There was a long pause before he continued. “I predict he’ll be passé before the year’s over and that golden boy image will begin to fade. Pretty soon, the funding won’t be renewed.” Another dry and humorless laugh. “Without NSF and pharmaceutical company money behind them, who’ll pay for Flynn and Wyant’s druggy little trips to the middle of nowhere?” He caught Louise’s eye again. “Those trips cost big money, you know, the boats, the special equipment, the professional crews from Manaus . . .”
“I heard Dr. Flynn and Wyant discovered a promising new species. Something in the uncaria genus.”
Bernstein nodded. “A subspecies of Uncaria quianensis; I’ve read all about it. Maybe it’s a breakthrough, but I don’t think so, despite all the hoopla in the scientific press about it. If it did become a bona fide cancer cure the way they’ve been touting it, it will be an all-out steal from those poor Peruvian Indians who live where they found the plant. But watch and see. I bet their promises come to nothing. Time will tell if I’m right.”
Louise thought for a moment, but a moment was all she had, for Nate Bernstein had reached the front of the line. She noticed he was purchasing a pocket knife with an attractive palm tree motif. Her newly aroused shopping “self” decided she’d buy one for her husband as a fitting gift from Kauai. She touched his arm. “Nate, we’ll give Dr. Reuter plenty of opportunity to state his positions tomorrow on endangered and invasive plants.”
Bernstein turned and threw the words over his shoulder. “I trust you on that, Mrs. Eldridge.”
Then, not caring that he was holding up a line of people, he turned all the way around and fixed Louise with his intense gaze. In a quiet voice that couldn’t be overheard, he said, “I don’t trust the others not to skewer the deal and dominate your whole program.”
“Oh, no, they—” she started to say, but he raised a warning hand that was as good as if he’d told her to be quiet and listen.
“Let’s look at the facts as they exist, Mrs. Eldridge. When it comes to botanists, Matthew Flynn is the young, womanizing glamour-puss with the compelling scientific spiel. And that old goat Bouting doesn’t do so bad for himself . . . either with the ladies or at conning the scientific community into thinking that he’s their great white hope. Charles Reuter and I consider those two are formidable opponents—and don’t think they’re not opponents. We’re on two different sides in the struggle to save this planet of ours.”
10
Friday morning
On the downside, it was an extraordinarily warm day in Kauai, with no prevailing breezes blowing for a change. Louise could feel the sweat forming in her armpits, probably because she was costumed specially for the shoot in a Calvin Klein blue denim dress with a big red kerchief at the neck for accent.
On the upside, the shoot was working like a charm. Marty Corbin, acting as producer-director, stayed just out of range, mopping his brow and waving instructions to their young associate producer, Joel, and to the audio engineer, a film major like Joel from University of Hawaii. The grip guided the perspiring cameraman as he walked backward down the road, the big videocam on his shoulder aimed at the Three Tenors. He was on the staff of KHET-TV in Honolulu.
On the scientists’ left flank was John Batchelder and on their right, Louise. The cohosts too
k turns questioning the three.
Louise was exhilarated, for Bruce Bouting, Matthew Flynn, and Charles Reuter were quibbling at every step. However, the sight of the camera must have cooled some passions within them, for it was not an angry exchange such as the one they’d had the previous afternoon. Intelligent, animated, but not angry. With a little editing, it was going to make an exciting program for Gardening with Nature.
What was a little unusual at this production was the cluster of spectators just outside camera range. They had congregated promptly at 8:30 to take in the action. Louise darted occasional glances at them as they walked quietly along, as instructed by Associate Producer Joel Greene, straining to hear every word the visiting scientists had to say to the camera. Some were visitors who’d arrived early and were lucky enough to get in on a video shoot. There was the Rubenesque Steffi Corbin, looking handsome today in a light blue flowing dress, laughing merrily at every break with the scientists from the Garden. Tom Schoonover strode along rather like the lord of the manor, with solid, swarthy Henry Hilaeo at his side and Tim Raddant and Sam Folsom following along.
Tim and Sam, like Schoonover, were lean, deeply tanned men, and Louise surmised it was because their jobs took them out of doors so much. Then, they most likely surfed or swam in their leisure time. Escapees from the mainland, thought Louise with a smile. Though they’d surely come to Kauai in the name of scholarship, they were living and working in paradise. There must be no more pleasant scientific job than one here in this island garden.
The other spectators included Bouting’s people, Christopher Bailey and Anne Lansing, who’d soon be before the camera themselves. Anne guarded against the sun with both a wide-brimmed straw hat and a cream-colored umbrella that matched her cream-colored sleeveless lawn blouse and pleated linen skirt. Matthew Flynn’s assistant, George Wyant, was looking as dazed as ever, and then there was Dr. Reuter’s aide, Nate Bernstein. Bernstein, who was becoming browner and more handsome the longer he was exposed to the Hawaiian sun, nevertheless seemed as tormented today as when Louise ran into him last night in the hotel store.