you. I knew your schedule was crazy with the training you had to do and your regular job, and I didn’t want to risk interrupting your sleep. Figured I’d see you eventually, anyway, and here you are.”
“Here I am,” I say with a smile, wondering what this is all about.
He shuffles his feet, looking at everything but me. This is easy for him given that he’s a little over six feet tall. He mutters a couple of “ums” and then finally manages to get his words out. “When you and I went out to dinner that one time a few weeks ago, did you invite me simply because you wanted my help with that boy’s case?”
“No. I told you I was interested in you on a . . . nonwork level.”
He nods, shuffling some more and licking his lips. “I know that’s what you said, but I also know that women sometimes say things they think we men want to hear. In order to get what they want.”
“Then let me clarify things for you,” I say. “Bob Richmond, I would love to go out on a date with you. More than one, in fact. It’s going to be hard for me to fit it into my schedule now that I’m balancing two jobs, but let’s figure out a way to make it happen. Okay?”
He looks at me finally, smiling in a way that is oddly boyish. It makes my heart do an extra pitty-pat. “Okay,” he says. With that, he turns and continues toward the barn, leaving me to catch up with his long-legged stride.
“Head to the left, toward the back side,” I tell him. “There’s a cellar door there that will take you where the others are. And that’s where your possible motive is, as well.”
Though I’m none too eager to go back into that cellar with its dangerous and potentially poisonous payload, my curiosity gives me courage. I follow Bob down the cellar stairs and into the Garden of Evil. There are some brief greetings exchanged, and then I listen as Devo brings Bob up to speed with the entire case, starting with Mr. Fletcher and how we found him, and finishing with how Roscoe and I discovered the basement area. At that point, he turns things over to Laura, who is busy snapping pictures and cutting samples from the many plants.
“There are some interesting specimens down here,” she tells Bob. “Of course, the marijuana isn’t particularly harmful, though it is illegal to be growing it like this without a special dispensation. It’s good stuff, too. The guy who grew it has a green thumb, I’d wager, because the plants are healthy and robust. I’m guessing there’s enough down here to produce a thousand pounds of pot. He stood to make a good amount of money selling the stuff. Not now, of course. He’s dead, and I suppose all the plants will have to be confiscated.” She says this with a tinge of remorse in her voice.
“The more interesting thing is the other plants he was growing,” she continues without pause. “This is a castor plant,” she says, pointing to the red-stalked bush with the maroon leaves. “Its beans contain ricin. Behind that plastic curtain down there you’ll find jequirity bean plants, which contain something called abrin that is even more toxic than ricin, and a little tree called a nux vomica, which contains strychnine and brucine, both of which are deadly. I also found some aconite, sometimes referred to as wolfsbane or monkshood . . . also deadly. And several cassava plants, which can be used to make cyanide. So aside from the recreational pot plants, this area is a biological warfare factory. There’s enough potential poison in this room to kill a small country’s population.”
The list of poisons has grown since I was last down here and it’s all I can do not to turn and run out of the cellar as fast as my stubby, unfit legs will carry me.
“Now one might argue that our farmer was growing these plants to sell to a gardening center as ornamentals, but the fact that some of them aren’t native to and won’t grow in this area suggests otherwise. As does that.” She raises an arm and points accusingly at the enclosed laboratory area.
Laura pauses in her diatribe then—a rare event for her—but no one tries to jump in. They are all rendered speechless. Laura stares at Bob for a few seconds, then she goes back to snipping cuttings and placing them in evidence bags, resuming her work as if she hadn’t just scared the hell out of all of us with her visions of a bioterrorist Armageddon.
“Mother of God,” Richmond says. “What the hell was this guy up to?”
“I’m guessing he did it for money,” I say. “That is one of the oldest motives in the books, right? Though I suppose we can’t rule out the possibility that he’s an anarchist.”
Bob turns around and looks at me with astonishment, as if he either forgot I’m here and is shocked that I’m still present or is simply surprised that I would say anything.
“You should take a close look at his finances,” I go on. “Based on the lack of livestock and how clean the combine, tractor, and all their various attachments are upstairs, I’d wager this place hasn’t seen any legitimate farming action for some time.”
“Except there are crops planted in some of the surrounding fields,” Laura tosses out.
Bob looks thoughtful. The others all return to whatever they were doing before Laura listed off the ingredients for world annihilation, though everyone seems to be eyeing the plants with a new wariness.
“Laura, can you see what you can dig up on the guy’s finances when you get done with what you’re doing here?” Bob asks.
Laura also has an MBA and is an expert in forensic finance. She had a hard time deciding what she wanted to be when she grew up and entertained career changes several times while working as a teaching assistant for a university professor. As a result, she has acquired an amazing level of knowledge and expertise in a number of areas despite being shy of thirty. Her energy, determination, and intelligence amaze me.
Bob says to me, “You think this Danny fellow witnessed our victim’s murder?”
“It sure sounded like it,” I say with a nod.
“What connection does he have to this place?”
“I have no idea. I suppose we’ll have to ask him. Or I can call his sister and ask her, if you want.” I take out my cell phone.
“Kind of late to be calling anyone now, isn’t it?” Bob says, glancing at his watch.
“Normally, I’d say yes, but Allie is most likely awake and up. She just took her brother home from the ER a bit ago and she’s on call tonight for the funeral home where she works.”
“Okay, do it,” Bob says. “But put it on speaker. I want to hear.”
I look at my phone and see it has no service here. “I’m going to have to go back toward the house to get reception,” I tell him. He nods and waves a hand toward the stairs. I climb up, grateful to be back in the fresh air. As I walk back toward the house with Bob following me, I once again wave my phone around in the air, searching for a signal. We are nearly to the back porch before I manage to get a couple of bars. I dial Allie’s number and put the call on speaker as Bob requested. After it rings five times, I’m preparing to leave a voice mail when Allie answers with a breathless, “Hello?”
“Allie, it’s Hildy. Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“No, I just wasn’t by my phone. What’s up?”
“How’s Danny?”
“He’s sleeping right now. He seemed better
