Someone handed him a chopstick from yesterday’s takeout, and he used it to poke the flowers into separate groups. “These are all dangerous,” he said.
“Not the Queen Anne’s Lace? I used to play with those when I was a kid.”
“Yeah, we all did, but this is not Queen Anne’s Lace. If it were, it would have a single dark purple bud in the very center of each flower. Remember that? These lacy items don’t have that bud. They’re hemlock blossoms.”
“Hemlock? Isn’t that a pine tree?”
“Yes, but it’s also a European plant from which you can extract a very poisonous sap. Remember Socrates and his fate?”
“The poison they gave him to drink in prison?”
“The same. In a liquid form, it paralyzes the lungs and causes suffocation. This plant is so lethal that just touching or smelling it can cause a violent reaction.”
“So that’s what . . .”
“Wait. I’m not finished. See these purple spikes with the clusters of hood-shaped florets? It’s aconite or monkshood. It, too, can cause a skin rash, but it’s deadly when someone brews any part of the plant into a potion. Just a minuscule drop can cause the pupil of your eye to dilate. Using a droplet in a lot of water lets eye doctors see into your retina. That's why in earlier centuries, pimps used to give it to their prostitutes to dilate their pupils and make them more beautiful—thus some still call it ‘belladonna.’ I prefer its honest name—deadly nightshade. It’s what Indians and jungle tribes used to poison their arrow tips or spear points.”
“This is dreadful!”
“There’s more. See these frilly leaves?”
“That looks like parsley—or maybe parsley on steroids.” Trevor grinned at his own feeble joke.
“In one way, you’re right. Some people call it cow parsley. But it’s hogsbane. The sap from the stems can cause burns that take years to heal. And if you get it in your eye, it causes permanent blindness.
“Those other leafy branches? They are poison sumac. It’s like poison ivy, only causing a reaction that's much worse. And then these small dark purple flowers in just one bouquet? Whose is it?”
“Mine,” Sarah answered.
“That’s lobelia. It’s not dangerous to humans, and people often use it as a filler in planters. However, it can kill a dog or cat. If you had taken this home, Sarah, your Elijah might have been the next victim.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Brokowski said. “Are you trying to tell us that someone is crazy enough to go after a pet cat?”
Sarah looked stricken. “It’s not the first time Elijah has been a target. He got a threatening card last Halloween, warning that his witch was coming to carry him off. Nothing came of it, although I kept him locked in the bathroom until Halloween was over.”
“Whatever the case, these bouquets are dangerous—and deadly. You can’t overlook this the way you guys did the itching powder on the toilet seats. Report this to the police and to the poison control folks. It’s illegal to have some of these in your possession or to grow them except for scientific purposes. As for you ladies and your rashes, you need to see a doctor. Call the nurse again and have her send for medical attention. Maybe she can also bring some baking soda to wash off the contaminants while you wait for the paramedics.”
Nurse McKenzie was first to arrive brandishing a box of baking soda. Hard on her heels were the campus police, followed by four paramedics carrying emergency equipment of all kinds. The medics took charge, checking the two women for any alteration in their vital signs. They paid particular attention to their oxygen levels, Sarah noticed, and counted every breath they took. Once they determined that the victims were not about to stop breathing or have a stroke from high blood pressure, the lead medic gave the go-ahead for the nurse to plunge their hands into a warm soda bath. That, he hoped, would neutralize some acids that were causing the rash.
Meanwhile, Lyle was briefing the two hazmat technicians on the identity of the flowers, while Brokowski was explaining the situation to the policemen who had just arrived.
“This is quite a different situation from what happened with the itching powder,” the hazmat chief observed. “That was an annoyance. This . . . I could see this as attempted murder.”
“That’s a little strong, don’t you think?” Brokowski was becoming irate as the threats seemed to multiply. “I mean, sure, these plants could be poisonous, but no one here is about to murder anyone. We haven’t poisoned a spear tip around here in a long time.”
“Don’t make light of it, sir. Depending upon the susceptibility of the victim, just breathing in the pollen from the flowers could kill. The exposure could be broader than you realize, too. What about the delivery person and the cleaning woman who accepted the bags? Do we know who and where they are?”
“I’m remembering something now about the cleaning lady,” Sarah said. “When I was talking to her, she kept wringing her hands. I thought she was just nervous, but she may have touched the flowers. We need to see if she has the same rash.”
“Housekeeping will know where to find her. She might identify the delivery person, too, if we had a picture of . . . uh, someone we know.”
“Do we? Have a picture, that is?”
“There’s a copy of last year’s yearbook on the end table by the couch. All graduating seniors had their pictures taken, but . . .”
“Let’s quit playing games,” a new voice barked. David Cohen walked from the back of the room and took charge. “This is the third time this department has called in the local authorities to handle a problem, and on both previous occasions, some of you hinted that you had a suspect. If there’s a student—or former student—who is causing trouble, you need to come out and say so. Doctor Chalmers?”
“All right. I’ll say what the rest of you are thinking. It’s bound to be Cassie McGehee who is behind this. I can say that with some certainty because she’s been pestering me all semester about apothecaries in medieval monasteries. She asked me if I knew where she could get some monkshood—the deadly spikey stuff there. I told her I didn’t.”
At the sound of David’s s voice, Sarah had turned her back on the room to bend over the sink of soda water. Unbidden tears ran down her cheeks. Julia glanced at her and then grimaced with understanding.
“Is this the first time you’ve seen him since . . .?”
Sarah nodded. “And the situation reminds me of the time I broke my arm on my grade school playground. I was stoic about it until my mother walked in. Then I was so glad to see her that I started to bawl. She was the one person I knew would comfort me. For just a moment there, I felt the same way when David arrived. But I didn’t expect to cry.”
“Well, splash some of this water on your swollen lips. Maybe that will disguise an occasional tear.”
“And I have a class to teach, too. What time is it?”
“What class is it, Sarah?” Even Trevor was looking at her with sympathy.
“American Survey at 11:00.”
“And today’s topic?”
“Uh, how the U.S. got dragged into World War I.”
“Hey, I’m free until mid-afternoon, and I can deliver that ‘Over There’ lecture with my eyes closed. I’ll take your class for you. You stay here and do what you can to help with the investigation.”
“Thanks, Trevor. That’s kind of you.”
David was still trying to clear the room. “Perkins? Mueller? We don’t need more police presence here. Get busy trying to locate Mrs. Cassandra McGehee. You may find her husband downtown at the homeless shelter, and her daughter will either be with her mother-in-law or with a baby-sitter—the husband can give you their addresses. Scour the campus and the downtown area. If you find her, arrest her on whatever trumped-up charge you can think of, and then let me know. Now, what’s the medical situation?”
“Both victims are doing well. Vital signs are within normal limits, although the rash will take time to heal.”
“Good. Then you and Nurse McKenzie can go by h
ousekeeping and see if the cleaning lady needs help. If she’s not around, you’re free to return to your station. And now, the hazmat folks. Do you have everything you need?”
“Yes, sir. We’re taking the flowers and everything they touched, including the bags they arrived in. The boss will want to do some further tests before we burn them.”
“Then I think we’re finished here. Sarah, I need to see you in your office, if you don’t mind.”
She flushed but nodded and led the way down the hall.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes, although shaken by events. You need not worry about me.”
“I always worry about you, and this situation is disturbing. I suspect you are the specific target of our poisoner.”
“Nonsense.”
“This is serious. You are to stay here in your office, with the door locked unless another faculty member is present. I’m heading out now to check the McGehee farm. I want to see what Cassie is growing in her garden. After that, you can reach me in my office if you need me. And you are not to go home until I can accompany you. I should be off work by 5:00.”
“I don’t need a baby sitter.”
“Yes, you do. And I will ask Brokowski to stay with you here until I can arrive. Do as I say, Sarah. This is a police matter now.”
“I know it is, but . . .”
“But what?”
“You’re putting me on a spot here. We have another one of those command performances this evening from five to seven. It’s the dean’s reception with cocktails and hors d'oeuvres in the Cloister Garden—to celebrate the end of the year, to say farewell to this year’s retirees, and to announce faculty awards and promotions.”
“. . . and you have a date.” David’s smile did not extend beyond his lips, and a muscle in his cheek jumped as he fought his emotional reaction.
“No, I don’t, although it is another ‘plus-one’ affair. I need to attend as moral support for Julia, who finds out tonight if she’s staying or leaving, but I didn’t plan on making it a social occasion.”
“Fine. I’ll be waiting in the parking lot next to your car when the affair is over. I’m still escorting you home as a safety measure.”
“Oh, this is so silly! Look, when you finish work, come to the Cloister Garden and find me, any time between five and seven. We’ll snag you a meatball or two from the refreshment tables even if you are late.”
“He shook his head. “I’m likely to be still in uniform.”
“That won’t matter. This isn’t the same formal occasion as the last time. Everyone will come straight from work. Please be my plus-one again, David. I admit I’ll feel safer going home after dark if you’re with me.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Investigations
Friday evening, May 1, 2009
Sarah felt as if someone had trapped her in a capsule, or perhaps a hamster ball. Outside of the transparent walls that isolated her, a party was happening. At the back of the garden, the new retirees gathered with their families and friends to reminisce about the good times and plan new adventures for their empty schedules. Gold watches lined the presentation table. Nearby, a few authors of published books were passing out autographed copies of their work and pocketing a little extra cash.
Middle-aged professors—those who were sure of having a job from year to year—concentrated on the refreshment tables. They knew the college menu by heart, which encouraged them to eat early and scoop up the best tidbits of shrimp and beef, rather than being left with the traditional selection of three cheeses.
Those waiting to hear if they were being granted tenure circulated with determined smiles on their faces, although they never strayed too far from a convenient exit—a planned escape route if the decision went against them. And Sarah’s cohorts—the newest faculty members—all displayed a certain shell-shocked stare, as if they couldn’t quite believe they had survived an entire school year.
Sarah was trying her best not to be obvious about it, but she could not take her eyes off the stone archway that marked the entrance to the Cloister Garden. Would David come? She was sure he would, although all kinds of events might have interfered with his plans. She jumped when she felt a touch at her elbow. He was standing behind her, looking apologetic. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to spook you. I came in the back way so I could park my patrol car next to yours in the faculty lot.”
“Still nervous, I guess but I’m glad you could make it. And from the looks of my fellow historians, they've been hoping to see you as well. They’re headed this way, pretending it’s just an accident.”
“There’s an empty table over there in the corner. Why don’t we claim it? When the others have joined us, I’ll provide a status update.”
After an exchange of greetings and refilled drinks, David began his impromptu report. “The bad news is that we have not located Cassie or her truck. I would like to think that she is trying to get as far away from here as she can, but I don’t believe that. She’s left a child here. She’ll be back.”
“What about the little girl, David?”
“Lizzie is fine. She’s been with her grandmother since last night. The elder Mrs. McGehee is none too happy that she is the babysitter, but she’s keeping the child busy and fed. We found Mr. McGehee, too, but he claims to know nothing of his wife’s whereabouts. He seems more concerned about his truck than about her. We continue to watch her friends and the places she usually goes. We’ll find her. Birch Falls is a small town.
“As for the rest of our investigation, there have been no surprises. Your plant identifications were spot on, Lyle. We also located the cleaning woman. She has only a tiny rash on one hand, but she has a vivid memory and picked the delivery girl out of that page of graduates. She also recalled that Cassie was wearing gloves—an important sign that she knew how dangerous those flowers were.”
“Do you have any idea where Cassie may have gotten these poisonous blossoms?”
“I was getting to that part. When I left here this morning, I drove out to the McGehee farm. No one was around, except for a few chickens scratching in the dirt, a cow out in the pasture, and a lazy hound who was taking a dust bath and didn’t even bark at me. I walked around for a while and discovered Cassie’s herb garden. To her credit, it lies behind a chain link fence and a padlocked gate, with ‘No Trespassing’ signs and a notice on the gate itself declaring that these are experimental plants and may be dangerous. The sign also warns of the need to wear protective clothing. All of that is what the law requires and may protect her from a charge of illegal possession. I confirmed, however, that the plot contains both hemlock and monkshood, and someone has pruned them recently. That’s circumstantial evidence, but clear.
“Then came the real topper. A sheriff’s deputy pulled his car up next to mine. Deputy Hanson was investigating a neighbor’s complaint that the McGehees have been growing plants that are a danger to small children and animals. The case in point—the neighbor’s old mule had a habit of wandering off and going for a stroll down the path toward the McGehee farm. They had found him there several times helping himself to the garden produce. But this time, the neighbor found the mule on the path, on his knees, foaming at the mouth and heaving up stuff. Then the poor animal just keeled over. The neighbor says the McGehees are growing plants that can poison an animal.
We found the mule and confirmed he was dead. I called your vet school and asked them if they could do a mule autopsy. They sent a crew out to get the body and have promised us results by tomorrow. So, we may well have charges of animal endangerment to add to your own case.”
“But you just said the fence and the signage would protect her.”
“To some extent it does, but growing a plant does not convey the right to distribute it. Then, too, chain link fencing does not keep a plant from growing through the fence, and the signs didn’t do the poor mule much good now, did they?”
A whistle of a microphone interrupted further questions. “Now that most of you ha
ve had a shot at the refreshments, we have one further set of announcements to make. Please welcome several new members to the ranks of tenured faculty, an award that also carries the title of Associate Professor. When Dean Wilkerson calls your name, come to the table to receive the new nameplates for your office doors.”
Shuffling sounds filled the pause as people settled into seats, and the faculty president turned the microphone over to the dean. At the table in the back, Coach Bert Wheeler moved to Julia’s side and pulled her close. She smiled to welcome his presence and clutched Sarah’s hand on her other side. They held their breath as the name-calling began: Craig Peters, Chemistry; John Lepanto, Music; Mary Louise Jacobson, Accounting; Paul Franz, English.”
As the dean picked up the final nameplate, Sarah felt Julia’s hand sweat. Then it came. “Julia Winthrop, History.” Quick tears sprang into Julia’s eyes as she squeezed her friend’s hand one more time. In one movement, the history faculty sprang to their feet to lead the applause. Above the other sounds, Bert leaned closer to whisper, “See? There is a future in our future.”
It was a happy way to end the evening, and Sarah was light-hearted as she and David walked to the faculty parking lot. When David grasped her arm to restrain her from opening the car door, she gave him a quizzical nose-wrinkle. “You’re behaving like a cop,” she teased him.
“I’m taking no chances with your life. You’ve already faced one threat today.” He examined the car before taking the key from her and testing it in the lock. “OK. It’s all yours. I want you to drive straight home. I’ll be right behind you the whole way. Be sure you push the gate lock button twice so I can follow you into the garage area. When you have parked in your slot, I’ll pull in behind you. Then I want you to wait until I reach your car door before you get out.”
She looked at him with a shake of her head. “You enjoy this cloak and dagger business, don’t you?”
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