Furmidable Foes

34

July 1, 2019

Monday

Sitting at a lunch table at Keswick Golf Club, Harry and Carlton talked about everything. They knew so many of the same people.

Finally, Harry focused on what was bothering her.

“Jeannie Cordle’s death at the AHIP fundraiser. You kindly explained to us, as did the medical people, about the Solanaceae family. How easy would it have been to make, distill, crush, whatever, a lethal dose?”

“Pretty easy. There are three thousand members of this particular family. Potatoes, eggplants, tomatoes, and the killer ones, like deadly nightshade. Lots of choices.”

“Is there any other way she could have been poisoned? The sheriff’s department focused on the obvious method, ingestion, but no one else’s food had been contaminated. And there would have been no way to guarantee that only her plate was touched. Sheriff Shaw said they thoroughly questioned the waitstaff.”

“To be poisoned by one of these plants, it has to enter your system. Your digestive system. For instance, Hindu Datura, the common name, was used as knockout drops to snag virgins into prostitution, especially in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. And in answer to your question about formulating a lethal dose, if you know what you’re doing, it’s time-consuming but fairly simple.”

“Could Jeannie have drunk it?”

“It would have shown up on the glass. Since she died at the fundraiser, I am sure everything was closely scrutinized. Or at least everything from her table.”

“What about putting the dose on someone as a cream?” Harry wondered.

“The skin would react quickly. And to administer a lethal dose, I’d think you’d need a trowel to apply it. That I don’t know. Perhaps a toxicologist would or even a general practitioner.”

Harry, leaning back in her chair, watched the line at the driving range for a moment. “And this poison would have to have entered her system at the party?”

“Given the speed with which she presented her symptoms, yes. For instance, in murder the spouse is always the prime suspect. Frank, if he had wanted to kill her and had given her, say, drops or some food laced with the stuff, he would never have gotten her to Castle Hill. Not that I for an instant think he did it. If he tampered with her food or drink at Castle Hill, someone would have seen him.”

Harry shook her head. “She was the easiest person to get along with, helpful, fun. Just makes no sense. Of course, Frank didn’t kill her. No sense at all.”

“Murder sometimes only makes sense to the killer.”

“I agree. But what if this was a mistake? You know, they got the wrong person.”

“It’s possible. Let me go back a minute. You can die from topically absorbing the alkaloid, but it’s not that common and no one having stuff rubbed on them would ignore the rash, the discomfort.”

“Is exposure always fatal?” Harry leaned forward, a sliver of chicken on her fork.

“No. For thousands of years humans have understood the properties of various plants, herbs. In controlled doses hallucinations can occur, so let’s say someone is passing her- or himself off as a prophet or a witch. Slip a tiny bit of the stuff in tea or have your client smoke it.”

“So our killer went out, found or had planted angel’s trumpet, jimsonweed, what have you, and chopped it up or pureed it?”

Carlton shook his head. “These herbs can be dried and stored. When you go into an herbalist’s place, think of the plants hanging upside down. Again, Harry, humans have known about this stuff for thousands of years. Rarely is it fatal unless it is intended to be fatal.”

“All the symptoms, flushed skin, trouble breathing, dilated pupils—I checked, read everything I could—well, seizure and then cardiac arrest. Right?”

He nodded. “Harry, whoever wanted Jeannie Cordle dead knew what they were doing.”

She sat silently for a moment, eyes drawn back to a fellow at the driving range with a most peculiar swing. “I still can’t believe anyone wanted that woman dead.”

“Well, someone, somewhere, was supposed to die.”

Smiling sheepishly, Harry said, “Apart from the fact that I wanted to see you, I really asked you here for my book. I kind of wandered off into stuff. Do it all the time. Drives Susan crazy. My husband tunes me out, I suspect, but at any rate he is used to it.”

“I’m not tuning you out.” Carlton smiled.

“Okay. The Dorcas Guild—you met some of us at St. Luke’s—we are going to research everything we can for a written history of the church, the people, everything we can think of. I think I backed into being the editor in chief.”

“I see.”

“St. Luke’s has preserved its records and many of the old families, early congregants, still live in the area. So we’ll be asking to read family documents, Bibles, lots of stuff. I was wondering if you might be willing to look over what we pull together for the plantings, the garden designs. We could pay you.” She hastily added, “We intend to do so.”

He held up his hand. “Harry, I am not taking money from St. Luke’s for doing what I love to do. Of course, I will read whatever you put in front of me. In fact, if any of the early design papers remain, I would love to see them. Having spent time in England, as you know, I am fascinated by the horticultural knowledge our ancestors brought with them as well as the adjustments they had to make.”

Harry soaked that up, then connected.

“Imagining the adjustment coming from a vastly different latitude? I think of that when I think of those early slaves. Losing a war or being captured by your enemy tribe and sold to some Portuguese who then sells you to the English slavers. Nothing would be familiar. Maybe not even a rose.”

He nodded in agreement. “I am continually humbled by how people survived.” Taking a deep breath, he added, “But I think some of those early slaves had a gift for growing things, a curiosity about plants. As animals we differ more than, say, giraffes. We are so weak, we need groups, and in those groups we all need different abilities for all to survive. Someone who can grow things, identify species, use herbs to heal, that’s a really valuable person. I truly think some people arrived here with those abilities, just like some people are natural healers.”

Harry thought long and hard about this. “Yes. It’s odd how we don’t want to think of ourselves as animals who must adapt like any animal must to survive. We think we are above other species. I don’t. I think we had to work together, create tools and stuff because we are weak and slow compared to other species. Your idea about inborn abilities makes so much sense.” She paused. “I’m not certain I have any, really. I bump along.”

“You don’t give yourself credit,” he generously replied.

“Ah.” She shrugged.

“You got me to open up. You have curiosity and you can get people to work together. I’d say those are inborn talents.”

“Well,” she thought, “good for me.” Then she laughed and he laughed with her.

Driving back to Crozet, Harry sang to herself the whole way. Her singing lowered to a hum as she reviewed what Carlton had told her about those dangerous plants and herbs. She just couldn’t believe anyone would want to kill Jeannie Cordle.

Reaching home, she bounded out of her Volvo station wagon, miles starting to show, and skipped into the house.

“Must have had a good time,” Tucker remarked.

“She didn’t bring us any treats,” Pewter grumbled.

Pirate stood up, putting his head under Harry’s hand, his tail wagging.

“Suck up,” Pewter complained.

“Go eat crunchies,” Mrs. Murphy advised.

“I have a delicate system. I need steak tartar, not something manufactured by a large company. Who knows what’s in that stuff?”

“Susan.” Harry reached her friend on the phone. “Carlton said he would do it. He doesn’t want a penny. I had the best time with him.”

“Good for you. He will be a big help.” Susan liked hearing good news.

“We talked about a lot of stuff. He’s so thoughtful. Kind of intellectual. I’m not.” She paused.

That pause gave Susan her chance. “Have you only just figured that out?”

“You can sit on a tack,” Harry fired back, then laughed, and Susan laughed with her.

“I have news.” Susan baited her.

“Tell.”

“Maybe.”

“Susan, I hate it when you do this.”

“Okay. The bones we uncovered, well, dug up, really, at Old Rawly appear to be related to the bones buried under the red oak. Ned pushed the medical examiner’s office and they were interested, so they hurried things along.”

“What can that mean?” Harry paused. “Our unknown woman was a slave?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. She could have been exceedingly beautiful and had freedoms not shared by women not so blessed by nature. Think of the gorgeous women in New Orleans, all living in houses kept by white men, men married to white women. A beautiful woman is a trophy in any century.”

“New Orleans wasn’t ours until 1803.”

“Harry, that doesn’t mean women weren’t kept no matter whose flag they were flying.”

“True.” Harry inhaled. “Instead of making things clear, this is more confusing.”

“Gran is going through all the Bibles, all the records, grain purchases, you name it. Given this information, she is even more driven to read everything. I guess some of this will show up in our St. Luke’s history.”

“The Selisses were Catholics.”

“I know that, but Jeffrey Holloway was not. After Maureen died and he married Marcia West, he attended St. Luke’s. They are buried there.”

Harry paused. “They are. Seems we have a lot of interesting dead people. Susan, the head of UVA’s theater department won’t have answers about bones, but rather clothing and fashion from other centuries.”

“Yes.”

“Let’s get them to look at the necklace. That might help us with one set of bones.”