Greedy Bones Part 25

How was it possible that while the world of Sunflower County was falling apart around me, I could feel such elation and joy? "We've traveled a long road, you and I. You've made me believe in 'happy ever after' endings."

"Now that's a miracle." Graf's humor was perfectly on target, but this conversation deserved a face-to-face. The telephone, while an impressive instrument, wasn't cutting it.

"How is it that you're calling me at this time in the morning?" The shooting schedule for his film was rigorous.

"We're on break. One of the horses got overheated, so they're checking him over. We're leaving for a location shoot in the desert in a couple of hours. We'll be back tomorrow, but we'll be out of touch for at least twenty-four."

"Is this the big chase scene?"

"It is. They've already s.h.i.+pped the horses. Speaking of horses, how are Reveler and Miss Sc.r.a.piron?"

"Good. I haven't had much chance to ride. Things have been . . . busy here." I was tempted to tell Graf of my plan, but it would only worry him needlessly.

"Did you get a chance to read that script?"

d.a.m.n it, I'd put it on the table beside the bar and hadn't picked it up since. "I haven't. Things are hectic, but I'll look at it tonight."

"Just a gentle reminder, Sarah Booth."

Graf wasn't applying pressure, but even as little as I knew about the movie business, I realized the producer would want to start the process of gathering the millions necessary to put a film together. The pieces of the business plan had to mesh all at once; the actors and actresses who signed on were an important element in raising the cash and garnering studio interest.

"Tonight. We'll talk about it later." Instead of moving my car, I started to the health department on foot. It was only a short distance, and it was nice to walk and talk with Graf, to pretend that he was beside me.

"We may take a break in filming next week. Are you up for a visit from your fiance?"

My heart lifted. "I'd like nothing better."

"Then I'll make it so. Hey, they're waving me back to the set. I love you, Sarah Booth Delaney."

"Don't break your neck on a horse." d.a.m.n. Now that I'd finally given him my heart, I felt totally vulnerable and at risk.

"Horses are manageable. You don't get crossways with a villain. I'm a lot safer here than you are. We don't use real bullets, you know."

He made me smile, and I loved him even more for that.

I was tripping up the steps to the temporary CDC offices in the health department when my cell phone rang again. This time it was Coleman.

"No time to talk," he said, and I heard the tension in his voice. "Sarah Booth, There's something strange going on with Bonnie Louise's mentor, Dr. Jon Unger. I did some checking and he didn't exist until 1992."

"I told you he emigrated around that time. Did you check Germany?"

"No such person exists. It's like he was created out of whole cloth when he got his emigration papers."

"But he's been teaching at Mississippi State University. Surely they checked his credentials."

"He was never on faculty. He's been conducting research there. Boll weevil research. Private research."

"Bonnie didn't tell you this?" I asked as gently as I could.

"She told me a lot of things, but not once did she mention this private research." His tone conveyed the chill of an iceberg.

I wanted to tell him I was sorry, but I didn't. For all of the truth that I sometimes ran my mouth recklessly, this was one time I wisely refrained. The idea of being used by someone who pretends romantic interest is a painful wound that only the owner can lance.

There was an element I had to speak about. "Peyton thinks the illness may be related to mold. Has he spoken to you about it?

"He has. That strange green cast to the weevils at the Carlisle plantation may play into this somehow."

I hadn't seen it for myself, but I'd been told about it. "This could be the breakthrough we're hoping for, Cole-man." I hesitated. "You might want to check Bonnie Louise's past."

"I've done that." The silence stretched.

"So what are you thinking?" He had to say it.

"Bonnie Louise is my prime suspect. Have you seen her today?"

"I haven't. Where are you, Coleman?"

"I'm on the trail of a criminal," he said. "I'll speak with you in person before long."

There was the click of a disconnect and he was gone. I had my answer. Bonnie Louise was in his sights now, and no matter what he felt for her, Coleman would arrest her. Perhaps the whole ordeal for Oscar and the others was coming to a close.

"I need to borrow a hazmat suit." I sat in Peyton's office with the door closed.

He got up and left the office, returning with what I presumed to be Bonnie Louise's suit. "Be careful," he said, handing it to me.

"You aren't going to try to stop me?" This was a surprising twist. I'd figured he'd attempt to argue me out of my stated intention of examining the Carlisle property.

"I've searched every inch of that place. Maybe you can see something I've missed. We have to conclude this business. I'll go with you, if you like, but first I want to take this information to Doc." A grin spread across his face.

"Hot d.a.m.n! You found an answer!"

His right eyebrow arched. "At least a partial answer, and one that sp.a.w.ns more questions."

"Tell me."

"The mold is a variant of a common species. That's what stumped me for so long--it isn't extraordinary. Yet in this instance, it's incredibly toxic."

"Where does it come from?" I asked. If we could find the source, then we'd have a better chance of uncovering how all of this happened--and possibly how to reverse it.

He picked up some reports from his desk. "It's too early to say. Doc will have to answer that, not me. He's the medical expert. What I can tell you is that the mold I've studied, taken from the weevils, produces spores, and mycotoxins." When I started to interrupt, he held up his hand. "Sarah Booth, the government has been studying molds for use in biological warfare."

"Holy c.r.a.p." In the research on Dr. Unger, I'd learned that he'd been involved in government work. The implications of this case extended far beyond Sunflower County and the revenge machinations of Bonnie Louise McRae. If she was actually behind this, then she'd opened Pandora's box. "Have you called Homeland Security?"

"Not yet. I want to discuss this with Doc and the sheriff." He straightened some folders on his desk. "Mold is extremely difficult to diagnose. In cases of mold-induced deaths, there's often no evidence found in an autopsy."

"Was this mold created in a lab or did it . . . sprout naturally?"

"Impossible to say at this time," Peyton said. "It could have mutated on its own, but that honestly doesn't matter. What is of importance is how quickly we can organize against it."

"How do you treat mold? In a person."

"That's a complicated issue. The delivery method needs to be determined, whether ingested or inhaled. That's why I need to talk to Doc."

"Time's a'wastin'," I said, already on my feet and at the door. "Let's tell him so he can begin to find a way to help the sick people. And we have to find a way to stop this right now. Before anyone else is exposed."

"I'm right behind you."

Doc sat behind his desk and listened to Peyton's explanation. He sipped a cup of the witch's brew he called coffee and made notes, but he didn't interrupt until Peyton had finished.

"The delivery system could have been ingested," he said, "but I'm willing to bet it's contact. Regina and Luann are well enough to speak, and they've admitted to cutting across the cotton field. Oscar walked through the fields, likely brus.h.i.+ng against the weevils and sending the mold into the air."

"And Gordon walked through the fields looking for evidence of foul play," I said. "All of them could easily have stirred the spores into the air."

Doc ran a hand through his wild hair. I'd hoped for some exclamations of joy, some jubilation that the source was revealed and now a cure could be found. Doc's behavior was worrying.

"This helps, doesn't it?" I asked. "It's mold. Like mildew. It can be killed, right? And if the mold is dead, then Oscar and the others will improve."

"Mold is tricky, Sarah Booth. Great strides have been made in understanding it. The genetic code of aspergillus mold was cracked in 2005, which may be how this particularly lethal variation was created."

He'd said created, as in masterminded in a lab. But that could wait. Curing the four sick people was the primary issue. "There are drugs, right? Pills or injections . . . medical things?" I didn't like the look on his face.

"The antifungal drugs themselves have side effects." Doc looked like a strong gust of wind could knock him over. "We've had the patients on steroids . . . Sometimes the damage is irreversible."

"But--" But what? Doc would do everything he could.

"Sarah Booth, mold can have serious consequences," Peyton said. "Most people aren't aware of invasive aspergillus." He glanced at me with pity. "It can attack the vital organs, including the brain."

Doc rubbed his cheek, drawing my attention to the stubble on his face. Usually he was meticulous in his grooming, which showed the degree of stress he was under. When he spoke, his voice was soft. "These weevils, where did they come from?"

"Ms. Delaney and I intend to answer that question immediately," Peyton said. "We're going out to the Carlisle place to take some samples and see what we can discover."

"I'm not certain that's a good idea." Doc squinted at me. "You look a bit peaked, Sarah Booth. I don't think you need to expose yourself. A weakened immune system is an invitation to terrible complications."

I started to argue the hazmat suit, but Peyton signaled me to remain silent. He cleared his throat and drew Doc's attention back to him. "I've given this some thought. Perhaps the whole plantation should be sprayed with chemicals strong enough to kill the weevils and the mold. The crop is lost, anyway. An aerial spraying would remove the threat of the weevils spreading."

Doc sighed. "I'm not the one to make that decision, Mr. Fidellas, but I'll support you. As much as I hate the idea of spewing chemicals across a thousand acres, I think we have to stop this any way we can."

"I'll speak to the sheriff," Peyton said as he rose. "If I have any additional breakthroughs, I'll be in touch."

"Thank you, Mr. Fidellas. I'll start the evaluation now for the best route to fight this. Because I'm out of other options with Oscar and Gordon, I'll start treating them while I set up a CT and some cultures for mold. I'll consult with authorities at the Mayo Clinic to develop a protocol." He stood up slowly, obviously eager to be on his way and as obviously near exhausted collapse. "If you'll excuse me, time is running out. I need to apply this information now."

"How are the patients?" I asked.

Doc wouldn't look at me. "As I said, Luann and Regina are improving."

"And Oscar and Gordon?" My voice cracked, because I knew by his phrasing that things weren't good.

"No improvement. In fact, we've found some bleeding in Oscar's lungs."

"Why?" I asked. "Why haven't they improved? If the realtors are better, why not Oscar and Gordon?"

"I have no idea, Sarah Booth. That's the d.a.m.nedest part of it. I have no idea."

Peyton put his hand on my back, a gesture of support. "This is a mutant strain, Sarah Booth," he said. "What we're dealing with here is a wild card."

As I stepped toward the door, the room spun. Doc said something and someone grabbed me as I toppled sideways. Whether I hit the floor or not, I couldn't say. I telescoped swiftly into a black void.

"Sarah Booth! Sarah Booth!" Doc called my name.

The most noxious odor, sharp and caustic, made me start and struggle to sit up. Blindly I reached out and captured the hand with the bottle easing under my nose. "What ever the h.e.l.l that is, get it away."

"Old-fas.h.i.+oned smelling salts," Doc said. His face came into focus and I saw relief in his eyes. He wafted the bottle under my nose for good measure. "Ladies who wore tight corsets often carried a bottle in their reticules."

"I'm not wearing a corset," I grumbled.

"Then we'd better run some tests and find out why you swooned," Doc said.

"I agree." Peyton hovered just behind Doc's shoulder, his face a mask of concern.

I'd forgotten where I was or that he was with me. Pus.h.i.+ng myself up, I reconnoitered the room. Sure enough, it was Doc's office. The coffeepot was a dead giveaway.

"I didn't swoon." I was insulted by the term. "I just got a little dizzy." I sat up the rest of the way. From this angle, Doc's office was even more cluttered than I'd thought.

"You're going to have some tests done, Sarah Booth. I'm stepping in as surrogate parent." Doc looked about as frazzled as I'd ever seen him. He was worried about me, and he already had a plateful of worry.

"Okay," I agreed. "Tomorrow morning."

Doc considered. "You promise you'll show up?"

I studied the possible turns of phrase I might use. Lying to Doc wasn't an option. "I promise."

"Be here at eight. We'll get some labs, go from there. But before you leave, I'm checking your blood pressure and drawing some blood."

He disappeared into the hall and returned with a blood-pressure cuff, which he put around my arm. In a moment he removed the instrument. "A little low, but nothing to worry about."

"See, I'm fine. I haven't slept much or eaten properly. That's all it is. I'm not sick."

"We'll make that determination tomorrow." He tied off my arm and inserted the needle, filling a vial. Once he was finished, I got on my feet before he could change his mind and slam me onto a stretcher.

"Ms. Delaney," Peyton said as he opened the door of Doc's office, "let me a.s.sist you." His hand under my elbow was firm.

Great. The one image I didn't want to project to the man who controlled the hazmat suits was weak and ineffectual. I moved briskly away from his hand. So as not to put the wrong spin on it, I said, "Thanks, Peyton. Doc wanted to pop me into a bed on the spot."

"It isn't normal to faint, Sarah Booth. I'd hate to see you as collateral damage in this situation." His hand lightly brushed my forehead, and I stepped away from his touch.

"We're on for the Carlisle place, right?" I forced a smile.

"Are you certain? If you're ill, the consequences could be terrible."