Smoky Mountain Mystery 01 - Out on a Limb (27 page)

Whittington sat with his knees wide apart, one arm flung out along the back of the couch. He glanced toward Henry, but didn’t seem surprised to see him.

Henry didn’t bother to disguise his mood. He took off his Smokey Bear hat and ran his hands through his hair while he gave the Professor an assessing look. He could understand how the man fooled people. He just didn’t look like a crook.
Or a killer.

Henry could hardly get it through his head what Whittington had done. He gave himself a mental warning to remember what kind of person he was dealing with. He knew that a sociopath could fool anybody, even the best forensic psychologists and the most hardened and street-wise law enforcement professionals.

He took a seat on the other couch and sat quietly, facing the Professor, waiting.

“Hello, Henry,” Whittington said, breaking the silence.

Henry nodded. “I need to ask you some questions, Professor.”

“About ferns?”
Whittington said.

“No,” said Henry, “This time I need you to tell me about
myxomycetes
.”

“Ah,” Whittington said, but then he fell silent again.

“What can you tell me about them?” Henry prompted.

“You came a long way for a boring lecture on an obscure topic.”

“Humor me.”

“Alright,” Whittington said, taking a deep breath and organizing his thoughts like the pedant he was. “The species that people often see most in their yards is
Fuligo
septica
. It’s commonly known as
dog vomit slime
and that’s exactly what it looks like and is often mistaken for. Its plasmodium is a mass of glistening vein-like material that creeps over or around leaves, wood, or anything else in its way.

“The public, if it thinks about
myxos
at all, generally pictures them in connection with low budget horror movies where blobs come to earth from outer space and we’re overtaken by green
Jello
, that sort of thing.

“Actually, most species grow on the bark of trees or on the forest floor in tree litter. They are quite small and usually go undetected. They are not mushrooms. They’re not even fungi but some of them do wind up on
mushroomer’s
radar screens.

“Several types are nutritious and easily cultivated. They could be used to combat world hunger if people were actually interested in doing that sort of thing, but of course they aren’t.”

Henry sat motionless, like a hunter.

“
Myxomycetes
are extraordinarily beautiful, but hard to appreciate without a magnifying glass. Some of them require a compound microscope with a thousand power magnification and an oil immersion lens to see properly.

“They’re not well understood by science. In fact, we can’t even agree about what they are! They occupy an utterly unique position on the Tree of Life.

“They’ve been classified in the Kingdom
Plantae
, Kingdom
Fungi
, Kingdom
Anamalia
, and Kingdom
Protista
.

“They contradict typical ideas about growth in that their species diversity is
minimized
in a tropical rainforest. Insects, birds, mammals, and flowering plants have increased species richness in the tropics.
But not so for
Myxomycetes
.

“They love temperate regions, and especially the mixed conifer-hardwood deciduous forests in the
US
, particularly the
Great Smoky Mountains
. They dislike the tropical jungles because they have too much rainfall and poor air circulation when the tree canopy is too closed. They prefer the deep leaf litter on the forest floors here in the
Smokies
.

“They exhibit something like
intelligence
. They’ve been proven to be able to find the shortest pathway through a maze. That’s quite a bizarre talent in a plant.

At that point, Whittington stopped talking.

“Is that all?” Henry asked.

“Hardly, but it’s an enormous topic.”

“I think you might’ve left out some key points.”

“Oh really?”

“Want me to tell you what I think you left out?” said Henry.

“Are
you
offering to lecture
me
, about biology?”

Henry nodded.

“How novel.
Please, proceed.”

“I understand that some kinds of
Myxomycetes
produce antibiotics.”

“That’s true,” Whittington said.

“And some of the ones that produce antibiotics make special antibiotics that can be used to treat diseases of the eye or the brain.”

The Professor pursed his lips as if considering this idea,
then
nodded, “That’s also true.”

“I’ve been told that the kind of antibiotic that can get to special places in the body is an extra-valuable critter.”

“Yes, indeed,” Whittington agreed. “They’re quite rare, and usually require tedious chemical procedures to synthesize the compound of interest, but yes, it’s possible.”

“I think maybe Ivy Iverson found one of these real valuable kinds of slime,” said Henry.

“Are you joking?”

“No, I think she found it when she was
climbin
a tree.”

The Professor smiled at Henry, but said nothing.

“And I think she told you what she found.”

Whittington shifted his gaze to stare out the window at the extravagant view. His eyes narrowed to slits under the strain of looking directly into the lowering sun.

“You were her teacher,” Henry said. “She trusted you.”

Henry sat patiently waiting for a response, but Whittington remained silent.

Henry’s phone had chirped a couple times during their conversation as messages came in now that he was back in range of a tower. At this point, his phone rang, but he ignored it.

“Go ahead, take the call,” said Whittington.

Henry opened his phone and listened as Phoebe talked excitedly, telling him she’d been trying to reach him and that Ivy had been found, was alive, and was being taken care of at
Hamilton
’s Store.

“What happened?” Henry asked.

“She hasn’t been able to say much yet, but apparently someone shot her with her own crossbow while she was
climbin
a tree,” Phoebe said. “Jill and Leon and Doc are
takin
care of her. She’s
gonna
be alright.”

“Did she say who shot her?” Henry asked.

“No, she didn’t get a good look at the attacker, but I’d say Professor Whittington’s a safe bet.”

“I’m visiting with him right now,” said Henry.

“Then you be
real
careful, honey,” Phoebe said.
“
Real
careful.”

“I’ll do that.
You too.”
Then he closed his phone and sat staring at Whittington.

After a long silence, Whittington took a deep breath and let it out. He said, “Do you know what the difference is between being an expert on ferns and the discoverer of a new antibiotic?”

“Everything?” suggested Henry.

“Exactly,” the Professor sighed. “Thirty years of
stupefyingly
boring academic slogging eclipsed by a kid playing hooky. One of my own students, and not a very good one at that, poised to become a rock star in the world of science.
Rich beyond dreams of avarice.
Famous.
And the source of a great boon to humanity.
A Prometheus.”

Henry’s lip curled.

“Do you dare to judge
me
?”

“Yep,” said Henry. He stared at Whittington then quoted, “I give you Scorn and defiance, slight regard, contempt
… .”

“Shakespeare?”
Whittington blurted, startled.

“Yeah, I went to college, too,” Henry said. “But I didn’t stay there. After graduation I went out and got a job. Whereas
you
… you just hung around the schoolhouse
forever
.”

The professor stared at him, obviously shocked to be spoken to this way.

“Never could make it out in the real world, could you? It’s because you’re sort of mediocre, aren’t you?
A mediocre scientist, a mediocre teacher, a mediocre husband, and as it turns out, a mediocre thief, liar, and killer.”

“An assessment coming from a man like you,” sneered
Whittington,
“means
nothing
.”

At the same instant he finished speaking, Whittington reached back to grasp the end of a hickory hiking staff that was propped against a console table behind the couch. He swung the six foot pole in a savage arc against the side of Henry’s head.

The blow ripped a gash in Henry’s scalp and stunned him. It also knocked him sideways. Whittington stood up with the wooden staff and gripped it with both hands like a baseball bat. He took a step toward Henry to deliver the
coup de grace
, but Henry had enormous experience dealing with large animals. His survival instincts were highly developed.

He launched himself at the Professor and took hold of the hiking staff. The Professor was a big man and he wouldn’t release his grip on the staff. Henry swept one of his heavily booted feet against Whittington’s ankle and knocked him off balance. He went down pulling Henry with him.

Henry landed on top. He could’ve crushed the heavy staff across Whittington’s throat and been done with it, but he didn’t want to kill the man. Henry didn’t believe in killing animals for trying to protect themselves, so he’d give a human being at least an equal amount of forbearance.

The tricky part was that most animals would stop fighting once they’d made their point, or saw that you’d made yours, but he knew better than to expect any mercy or rationality from Whittington.

The Professor wasn’t in nearly as good a shape as Henry, but he was crazed and fought like a wild man. Henry was able to stay on top because neither of them could roll over while holding the long staff sideways between them. So Henry concentrated on keeping his grip on the pole and keeping it at chest level between them. That way he was able to keep Whittington pinned, hoping to wear him down.

When the Professor realized Henry wasn’t trying to kill him, he let go of the staff and gouged at Henry’s eyes. Henry had to let go of the staff to protect
himself
.

It was hand to hand after that. Henry punched, but Whittington pulled hair and clawed. It was like fighting a huge, monstrously strong woman. Henry expected to be bitten at any moment, but of course he was used to that, too.

In their struggle, Whittington rolled atop Henry’s beautiful straw Stetson and crushed it. It was an expensive hat and its senseless destruction made Henry really angry.

The next casualty was an overturned a side table with a heavy lamp on it. The lamp toppled and hit Henry in the back of the head, making an awful crack. He momentarily lost his grip on the Professor. The Professor shoved him hard and Henry rolled down the steps into the conversation pit, hitting his head against the corner of the stone hearth. The blow knocked him unconscious.