Greedy Bones (28 page)

"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 crap." 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 brushing 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 damnedest 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 hell that is, get it away."

"Old-fashioned 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. Pushing 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 assist 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."

"I'm not ill." Having to repeat myself made me grumpy.

"Sarah Booth, if anything happened to you, I'd have to blame myself."

He was certainly intense. I looked down the hallway. "I'm fine, Peyton, but thank you. I want to get this resolved. Can I pick you and the suits up in about fifteen minutes? I need to speak with Tinkie first."

"I'll be waiting."

Taking a deep breath, I went to see my partner and best friend. I had good news for her. I could only hope it hadn't come too late for the man she loved.

Tinkie stood, straight-backed and stoic, looking through the hospital window at Oscar. I told her about the mold, about the potential for treating it, and I promised I'd find the person responsible for bringing this plague to Sunflower County.

She said nothing.

"Tinkie, you can't give up now. Doc can fix this. He will fix it."

Eyes riveted on her husband, she finally spoke. "Regina is drinking fluids on her own. Luann is sitting up and even talking on a cell phone. Their families are celebrating, and I'm happy for them. But look at Oscar and Gordon."

In contrast to the women, Oscar appeared worse. His pallor matched the sheets, except for the oozing pustules on his skin, which were red and angry. Beside him, Gordon seemed equally bad. How had this mold thing taken
down two strong, healthy men yet passed over two women with lesser devastation?

"I'm helping Peyton with something, but I'll be back." I resisted checking at my watch. "We're going . . . to look for the source of these weevils." Tinkie was so depressed, she didn't bother to question where I was conducting this great research.

"It's too late." She spoke so simply.

While I wanted to argue with her, I couldn't. If I had to guess a time schedule, I didn't think Oscar would last through the night. "He's fought hard," I said.

"He's tired."

She was killing me. I could actually feel the tissue that held my heart in place begin to rip. When was it right to offer false hope and when to help a friend accept what appeared to be the inevitable? "Tinkie, what can I do?"

"Will you help me with all the . . . necessary arrangements?"

"We can talk about this later."

"I have to let him go, Sarah Booth. I've held him here, selfishly, because I can't imagine my life without him. Now, though, I accept he has to leave me. He won't be far."

Tinkie, unknowingly, had just stomped all over my own private wounds. Despite the fact that my parents had been dead for two decades, I hadn't let them go. I couldn't.

"How do you know Oscar is ready to go?" My voice quavered. There were times that Tinkie seemed to brush against another reality. She had a strong faith and a true belief that the veil between this world and the next was penetrable. When I was in Tinkie's company, I could believe it, too.

"I sense it," she said. "He's fought so hard. Trapped inside his body that's shutting down around him, he still
fought. I felt the struggle. Now, he's still. It's almost as if a part of him has already left."

Hell, why not scoop out my heart with a soup ladle? "He's still because he's tired. I'll tell Doc to hit him with some speed. Now isn't the time to throw in the towel. Let me have the rest of the day."

At last she looked at me. "I can't ask him to suffer longer, Sarah Booth."

I would not have this. "You damn sure can. Think of the things he put you through. Think of the ba--" Oscar's passion for a planned life had cost Tinkie greatly in the past.

She put her hand over my lips. "You fight dirty." She looked a little shell-shocked at my tactics.

"You're damn right. I'll fight dirty
and
underhanded. Make him hang on. Just until midnight. Give me that, okay? Doc is going to start the antifungals now, even before the cultures and tests come back. And I'm going to find out who did this. Oscar would want to live to see justice, I can guarantee that. Sure he's tired of suffering. He's been through it. But he isn't the kind of man who folds his tent and slips away into the night. And you're not the kind of woman who would let him. Buck up and put the pressure on him to stay."