Eat Your Poison, Dear

by James Howe

  Sebastian replaced the receiver and thought: Quiet and mysterious. That’s just the way the cafeteria manager acted right before all those kids got sick.

  He opened the bookbag and removed a plastic container. He shook it, wondering what exactly were Dorothy Swille’s secret herbs and spices.

  25

  FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, Sebastian poured a small amount of the mixture into an envelope, then hid the plastic container with the remaining herbs and spices in his sock drawer. Next, he called David and told him to meet him in front of his house at once. When David commented on this rather sudden return to normalcy, Sebastian replied, “The time for thinking is over. Now we’ve got to act.”

  “You know,” David said, joining his friend on the sidewalk, “there are other people investigating this thing—like the school administration, the Department of Food Services, the Board of Health, the police department. I don’t know what you think you’re going to find that they aren’t.”

  “Probably nothing. It’s just a question of who finds something first. Did you say the police are involved?”

  “Yeah. My dad just spoke to Alex,” said David, referring to Alex Theopoulos, Pembroke’s chief of police and a good friend to the Lepinsky family, “and he said they’ve been called in on it.”

  “You see,” said Sebastian, “my hunches are right. There is foul play involved.”

  “Not necessarily. Alex told my father it’s probably accidental food poisoning. Where are we going, anyway?”

  “Milo’s.”

  David stopped short. “What are we going there for?”

  Sebastian placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You have to promise not to tell anybody,” he said.

  “Come on, Sebastian. You know me better than that.”

  Sebastian nodded. “I think this may have been the cause of the poisoning.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, white envelope. “It’s Miss Swille’s secret herbs and spices.”

  “You think she poisoned everybody? Why?”

  “I don’t know if she did it. In fact, I hope she didn’t. All I know is that right before everyone started getting sick, I saw her look at the container in this really strange way.”

  “Like what?”

  Sebastian shook his head. “I can’t say exactly. Like … troubled. Anyway, I did something bad, David. And this part you really can’t tell. I took the container.”

  “You stole it?”

  “Calm down. I borrowed it. So we could get the contents analyzed, see.”

  “And that’s why we’re going to Milo’s.”

  “Right.”

  “To get the contents analyzed.”

  “Right.”

  “And then can we go somewhere and get me analyzed?”

  “Huh?”

  “For going along with these harebrained schemes of yours. Just kidding, Sebastian. Hey, wait a minute, isn’t Milo sick?”

  “Yeah. We’ll just leave it for him so he can take a look at it when he feels better.”

  When Milo appeared at the front door, he was wearing white pajamas that matched his complexion. “What do you want?” he said.

  “Can we come in?” Sebastian asked. “Just for a minute. It’s important.”

  “If we can talk in my room,” said Milo, opening the door. “I’m feeling chilled.”

  “Sure,” Sebastian said. David groaned and held his nose, as he reluctantly climbed the stairs.

  Moments later, Milo, wrapped in several blankets, examined the contents of Sebastian’s envelope. “You think this is what did it?” he said.

  “Maybe. You said you wanted to help out, Milo. Do you think you can figure out what’s in this mixture?”

  “I can try. If I don’t have the right books, Mother will, for sure. She’s a microbiologist.”

  “I don’t want her involved,” said Sebastian.

  “She won’t be. She has a laboratory and library here at home. I can use them without her knowing. I’ve done it lots of times. Don’t worry about a thing, Barth. Why are you so sure this is the cause of the poisoning, anyway?”

  “I’m not,” Sebastian said. “All I am sure of is that this poisoning was intentional, not accidental. And when I saw Miss Swille looking at the container of her herbs and spices, I put the two together, that’s all. Why was it only the eighth grade that was poisoned? The same food is served to the sixth and seventh grades after all.”

  “Good question,” said David.

  “Someone must have put something in the food between lunch periods,” Sebastian went on. “Who would have been there to do it?”

  “There was Miss Swille,” said Milo, “and Mrs. Dribowitz and Mrs. Goode. And, of course, Harley.”

  David regarded Sebastian for a moment, then said, “And you.”

  Sebastian smiled. “I was late. By the time I got there, lunch was already being served.”

  “What’s your alibi?”

  “I was with you, dummy, remember?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Milo, snapping his fingers. “The little devils were there, too.”

  “Huh?”

  “Jason Bruxter and Brad West. I was coming out of gym class when I saw them leaving the kitchen, five minutes before lunch period.”

  “Are you sure?” Sebastian asked.

  “Positive,” said Milo, his cheeks regaining some color. “Look, I’ll get on this right away. If I can, I’ll call you with the results tonight, Barth.”

  “You’re sick, Milo,” Sebastian replied. “Tomorrow will be okay.”

  “Why do you need it by tomorrow?” David asked. “What’s wrong with the day after?”

  “Did you forget?” said Sebastian. “Tomorrow’s Wednesday. We have a show to tape.”

  26

  “I CAN BREATHE AGAIN,” David said, as the boys walked away from Milo’s house. “One more time in that room and I may never wear my Mickey Mouse T-shirt again. What’s he see in mice, anyway?”

  “You’re hoping to understand Milo Groot?”

  “Good point. Where to now?”

  “Someone else’s house.”

  “Whose?”

  “Harley’s.”

  “Harley’s?”

  “Yeah. Let’s go back and get our bikes.”

  “He’ll beat us up.”

  “For what?” said Sebastian. “We’re just paying a little social call, as Gram would say.”

  David scratched his head. “Does that mean we should bring something?” he asked. “Cookies? Candy? Chains?”

  By the time the boys got to the old stone house off Route 7, it was shrouded in a fine mist, making it look like it belonged on the cover of one of those paperback novels found in supermarket checkout lines. Behind it, gray clouds swirled in an even grayer sky. Sebastian and David dismounted their bicycles hesitantly, neither voicing to the other the half-expectation that they would be met at the door by the Prince of Darkness or, at the least, a deranged governess.

  “Let’s get this movie straight,” David whispered to Sebastian as they waited for their knocking to be answered. “Are we in the middle of some teenage biker epic or Count Dracula?”

  When the door slowly opened and the yawning, stubbled face of a tiny, withered old man appeared, Sebastian whispered back, “Neither. Try Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.”

  “Okay, but which one is he—Sleepy or Dopey?”

  “What the hell you boys want?” the man barked.

  “Grumpy,” said Sebastian. “Excuse me, sir. We didn’t mean to disturb you, but we’re looking for your grandson.”

  “My grandson? I don’t have any.” The door started to swing shut.

  “Harley?” said Sebastian quickly. “That is, Edward. Edward Davidson?”

  “Eddie?” The door was now open just a crack. “Out back. He don’t live here. Out back.”

  “But–”

  The door slammed shut.

  “I’m glad we didn’t bring cookies,” David said.
“What do you suppose he means by ‘out back’?”

  “One way to find out,” said Sebastian. “Go—”

  “Out back. Got it.”

  As the boys rounded the side of the house, they were met by the sight of a large, run-down barn and adjacent chicken coop. Neither looked as if it had been used in years. “You don’t think Harley lives in a chicken coop, do you?” asked David.

  “I think it’s more likely he lives over there,” Sebastian replied, pointing.

  On the far side of the barn, in a field that probably once grew corn or oats, was a beat-up house trailer surrounded by even more beat-up looking cars and trucks and motorcycles. “He lives in a cemetery for motor vehicles,” said David. “First it’s dead mice, now it’s dead cars.”

  The door to the trailer opened, and down the shaky steps came a woman carrying a briefcase. When she spotted the boys, she moved quickly in their direction.

  “Hello. Are you friends of Harley’s?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Sebastian, in his best talking-to-adults voice. “I’m Sebastian Barth, and this is David Lepinsky. Is Harley okay?”

  “Shouldn’t he be?” said the woman uncertainly.

  “Oh, you know, that poisoning thing at school today and all. That’s why we came out. I work with Harley in the kitchen, and I didn’t see him after everybody started getting sick. I was afraid he was sick too.”

  The woman sighed. “I don’t think he’s sick. Well, I don’t know, to tell you the truth. Do you know where he might be?”

  “Isn’t he home?”

  “No. Do you have any idea where I might find him?” Seeing the boys hesitate, she said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Anne Solomon. I’m a social worker.”

  “The school called you,” said David.

  “That’s right. How did you know?”

  “Oh, just a guess.”

  “Have you tried the Mobil station?” Sebastian said. “He’s there most of the time.”

  “I went there first. His father said he hadn’t seen him. He didn’t even realize school had been let out early today.”

  “No one’s at home?”

  “His sister Bobbi. She says she hasn’t seen him either. But you know his sisters, they’ll stick by whatever story he tells them. I’m just worried that he’s run away again, the way he did last week.” She stopped talking suddenly. “I shouldn’t have said that. But as you’re friends of his, you know all about it, I’m sure.”

  “Sure we do,” said Sebastian.

  “Right,” David said.

  “Can I give you boys a lift? I’m going to try the gas station again, just in case he’s shown up there.”

  “We have our bikes,” Sebastian said. “Thanks, anyway. By the way, Ms. Solomon…”

  “Yes?”

  “I was just wondering something. Harley always told us that the old man in the house was his grandfather. But we never met him before today. He isn’t his grandfather, is he?”

  “No,” said Anne Solomon. “His name is Budge Daniels. He owns the Mobil station where Harley’s father works. And he rents them the land here to live on.

  “Would you take my card and call me if you hear from Harley? Believe me, you won’t be betraying a trust. I want to help him, I think he knows that. Harley’s such a bright boy, much brighter than he lets on. A mistake like this could ruin his chances of making things better for himself. Do you understand?”

  Sebastian took the social worker’s card. “I think so,” he said. “We’ll let you know if we hear from Harley.”

  “Thank you. You seem like nice boys. I’m glad to know Harley has friends like you.”

  27

  FRIENDS LIKE YOU.

  The phrase kept repeating it-self in Sebastian’s head during dinner that night. There was something about hearing Ms. Solomon say it, something about the look in her eyes when she did, that made him feel dishonest, the way he had when he’d taken the container of herbs from the cafeteria. He wanted to push the feeling away, but it kept coming back.

  “Sebastian isn’t with us tonight,” said his grandmother.

  “Can you blame him?” Katie said. “It’s awful, what happened at school today. Thank goodness, Justin Greer is doing much better.”

  “Is he?” Sebastian asked, coming to.

  Katie nodded. “He has to stay in the hospital for more tests. But he’s feeling better.”

  “Do they know what caused it yet?” Jessica asked.

  “I spoke to Will fifteen minutes ago. They don’t know much.”

  “Dad’s working late?” said Sebastian.

  “He should be home in an hour or so. He was going by the hospital to check on Justin and report back to the station. They’re covering the story as best they can, but there really isn’t much of a story yet. The Board of Health still needs another day to test all the foods that were served at lunch. And the administration, apparently, is being very close-lipped about the entire affair.”

  Sebastian said, “Really? What’s Mr. Hogan saying?”

  “Not much, I gather. You can ask your father.” Katie glanced at her watch. “I should get back to the restaurant. I have a new evening manager. This is the first night I’ve left her on her own. I feel like a new mother leaving the baby with the sitter for the first time. I want to call every five minutes and say, ‘How is everything?’”

  “Then I think you should go down there at once,” said Jessica. “Too much worry isn’t good for the digestion.”

  “When Will gets home—”

  “Yes, dear, we’ll tell him where you are. Run along, run along.”

  Sebastian tried watching television after dinner, but his mind wasn’t on it. His thoughts were in the past, on the trailer behind the old stone house off Route 7, and in the future, on the telephone call he was anticipating from Milo. When he heard the front door open, he jumped up.

  “Dad!” he shouted.

  Will Barth started to laugh. “I haven’t had a homecoming like that since you were three,” he said. “What’s up, son?”

  “Oh, I was … I’m just glad to see you, that’s all. I was wondering if you knew anything.”

  Will’s laugh grew. “A little bit,” he said. “Less and less as I grow older. But if you mean, do I know anything about the food poisoning at school, I can’t say that I do. The Board of Health isn’t saying anything yet. And Hap Hogan isn’t talking either, which I don’t understand at all. He’s usually so easygoing; this thing’s making a nervous wreck of him. Dottie Swille has her phone off the hook—with good reason, I think. I spoke with her boss at the Department of Food Services, and she is one tough cookie.”

  “Who? Her boss?”

  “Yep. She’s new to her position this year, and I think she’s hot to prove her stuff. She doesn’t understand Dottie’s somewhat eccentric style the way the rest of us do, and she’s coming down kind of hard on her. The kitchen is being gone over with a fine-tooth comb, she tells me, and if anything is amiss, it could mean Dottie’s job.”

  “Gee,” said Sebastian. “Miss Swille’s been with the school a long time. They wouldn’t really fire her, would they?”

  “They might not have a choice,” said Will. “Look, son, I’m starved. You want to keep me company while I scramble up some dinner? There’s something I need to talk with you about.”

  “Sure, Dad. There’s something I want to ask you too.”

  Just then, the phone rang. Will picked it up.

  “Who?” he said. “Well, there’s more than one Barth here. Which one did you want?”

  Handing the phone to Sebastian, he said, “It’s for you. Someone named Milo Groot.”

  “I’ve analyzed it,” said the voice on the other end of the phone. “Can you come over?”

  “Was I right?” Sebastian asked. “Just tell me that.”

  “A toxic combination of herbs,” said Milo. “Not enough to kill anyone, perhaps, but enough to make a lot of people very sick.”

  “I’ll be r
ight over.” He put down the receiver.

  “Going out, Sebastian?”

  “Yeah, Dad, sorry. I’ve got to go, it’s important. Can we talk another time?”

  “I suppose we’ll have to. What I have to talk about is important too. What did you want to ask me, by the way?”

  Sebastian stood framed in the kitchen door. He thought for a minute, then said, “A reporter has an important job to do, doesn’t he, Dad?”

  Will nodded slowly. “What are you getting at?”

  “Well, what I want to know is, what is a reporter’s job exactly? I mean, what do you see it as?”

  “To find the truth and report it.”

  “As simple as that?”

  “As simple as that, although that’s far from simple. People have a right to know the truth, Sebastian. A reporter is simply someone who sees that that right is fulfilled.”

  Sebastian nodded his head slowly. “Thanks, Dad,” he said. “I’ll see you later. We’ll talk then, okay?” He grabbed a jacket, and ran out the front door.

  “We’ll talk then,” Will said to the empty room.

  28

  “HEDERA HELIX. Sambucus canadensis. Malus domestica.” Sebastian lowered the paper, and looked blankly at Milo.

  “Those,” said Milo, sitting cross-legged on his bed, “are the three culprits.”

  “Foreign exchange students?” Sebastian said. “I give up, Milo. What are they?”

  “They’re the ingredients in Miss Swille’s secret mixture. Hedera helix is the generic for English ivy, a common ground cover, the leaves and berries of which contain the triterpene sapog—”

  “Please, Milo, we’re talking about English ivy. Speak English.”

  “The leaves and berries can cause vomiting and diarrhea.” Milo held out a tiny particle of something green. “Crushed English ivy leaves.”

  “Next, the vernacular, or common, name for sambucus canadensis is elderberry, a tree that is plentiful in this area and whose bark has been known to cause poisoning in children. Behold, crushed elderberry bark.”

  “And malus whatever?” asked Sebastian.

  “Ah, this one won’t surprise you, Barth. Malus domestica is nothing more than the common apple.” He opened the palm of his hand, and said, “Ground apple seeds. They contain—”