11
“No escort today?” Nosey asked playfully when he answered his front door to find Stephanie Harrington on his front porch.
“Karl’s at work,” Stephanie said, then added for any possible eavesdroppers, “and Cordelia and I had an argument about how much junk she’s letting Athos eat. Just because treecats…”
She stepped inside and closed the door behind her. Nosey nodded to let her know that he’d done his usual sweep for listening devices, and the house and immediate grounds were clear, nor had the hidden cameras shown any sign of anyone around the house. Sometimes, he felt as if he was becoming paranoid but, even though the injuries from the beating he’d been subjected to were healing, he still only had to look in the mirror to be reminded of what had happened.
“And just because treecats?” Nosey asked, curious as ever.
“Just because treecats can eat human food,” Stephanie replied perkily, “just like we can eat a lot of what is natural to Sphinx, their diet should be biased in favor of native Sphinxian animals and plants, and not be overprocessed.”
Stephanie grinned, a genuine, friendly smile that made Nosey very happy. He’d never wanted Sphinx’s girl wonder to dislike him as intensely as she had done. By now, they’d had enough opportunities to talk about the issue of treecats as pets that they understood each other’s position a whole lot better, including that Stephanie was—contradictory as it might seem, given the whiskered face that peered over her shoulder—if anything, more passionate than Nosey about making certain that keeping treecats as pets was properly regulated.
“I brought the latest data chip,” Stephanie said. “Do you have anything for me?”
“A bunch,” Nosey said. “Come on into the living room. I have snacks, including some hardboiled eggs for the celery bandit.”
After he brought out the snacks, Nosey placed his coffee mug on the table to his right, then handed Stephanie a neat little file folder. He placed a minute data chip on top.
“The folder contains the first round of entries in the ‘Design a Uniform For the SFS Explorers’ contest,” he said. “Despite instructions, some entries were very low resolution, so I printed them. Some are incredibly hideous, a lot are repetitious, but some are actually pretty interesting. At this early stage, I’m leaning toward the ones that don’t involve an investment in a full outfit. That not only makes it easier for families on a budget but also encourages individuality, both of which I’m in favor of.”
“Me, too,” Stephanie agreed, leafing through the folder and pausing over one crayon drawing of a person of indeterminate age wearing a gray and white hat, complete with carefully drawn treecat ears. “While rangers need to be able to work as a team, initiative is also an important part of the job. Uniforms that remind us that while we’re all different, we’re all on the same team would be great.”
She closed the folder, then looked up at Nosey, her expression a little puzzled. “You sound as if you’re really into this contest. I thought the contest was just cover so that we’d have an excuse to drop over to see you.”
“I am into it,” Nosey admitted cheerfully. “When I haven’t been crunching data files, I’ve been busily searching the data net for information about scout groups, both in other systems and back into history. I like the idea of badges for various achievements, too, and was thinking about sponsoring one on constructing clear reports. From what I’ve seen, SFS rangers spend a lot of time dictating, writing, and otherwise providing documentation.”
They discussed the badges idea for a while, then moved on to the real reason for Stephanie’s in-person visit. After one exhaustive afternoon of trying to sort through the data they’d gleaned from the SFS archives and making far less headway than they had hoped, Cordelia had suggested that they enlist Nosey.
“He already has the skills and probably thinks crunching data is fun,” Cordelia had said, looking at the neat but still rudimentary database they’d taken hours to design. “And he doesn’t have homework, either.”
Nosey had been thrilled to help, but he had expressed concern that whoever had assaulted him might have some way to intercept data going in or out of his house or, at least, to spy on his net research.
“I’ve good security programs,” he said, “but I still suspect that whoever beat me up was a professional, and professionals might be watching me still.”
“Or maybe have flags set if you start researching certain topics,” Karl had agreed.
So they’d arranged that anything crucial on either side would be handed off in person. The SFS Explorers had proven good cover, and given that Stephanie had been heard to say more than once that she was determined to educate Nosey Jones on the realities associated with treecats, no one would find the duration of her visits in the least peculiar.
As she drove over to the vet clinic to meet her dad, Stephanie mused over what Nosey had summarized for her. Even allowing for Nosey’s bias, it seemed pretty conclusive that younger people—ranging from mid-teens to mid-twenties—were being hit by an unusual run of stupid accidents. These were so widely varied that it took looking to find a pattern. Nosey had created a chart from the archived data as a comparison. Even allowing for other changes, such as increased immigration and tourism, there definitely had been an increase in accidents.
Less certain was the cause. Jessica and Nosey had pieced together all the details they could about the accident victims who had actually gone through the medical system, but their ability to dig deep was limited Not all cases had involved comprehensive blood work, and even if they had, patient confidentiality would have prevented them from getting a look at the results without patient permission—which they couldn’t get without explaining why they wanted it—or a warrant…which they couldn’t get without an official investigation of an actual potential crime.
If we had the data to support an investigation, we could demand more blood screens, but to get that data—or even evidence that there’s more and different drug use going on—we need blood screen results first. It’s frustrating that none of the people we’ve interviewed will admit to taking anything. Cordelia hasn’t had any more luck than we have. Sometimes I think we’re the wrong sort of people.
The vet clinic’s parking area was fairly empty today. The striking exception was a medium-sized air van ornamented with the logo of the Twin Forks branch of Wild and Free, a relatively new organization that rehabilitated injured animals, both native and feral. The latter category was pretty small, but the former was growing as human habitation expanded. Just the fact that such an organization existed showed one of the small ways that Sphinx was changing.
“A few years ago,” Richard Harrington had said, “between the final wave of the Plague and the general attitude of many of the earlier settlers, an injured animal either would have been left to fend for itself or found itself in the cookpot. Hexapumas and other, admittedly less dramatic, predators still prowled close enough to holdings or settlements to finish off any domestic animal unlucky enough to go feral.”
Had it not been for her activities as a probationary ranger, Stephanie might have signed with Wild and Free. Fostering wild animals, especially with the goal of releasing them into the wild again, definitely appealed to her. As it was, her dad occasionally brought a particularly critical case home, but most of his non-domesticated patients were fostered through Wild and Free.
I wonder what’s in today, Stephanie thought, letting herself in through the door marked “Staff Only” that led into the maze of examining rooms, kennels, labs, and offices that was the nonpublic face of the vet clinic. Lionheart chose to stay outside, swarming up a tall crown oak and heading toward a particular limb that was one of his favorites for sunbathing. Although the treecat was welcome in the clinic, Richard Harrington had suggested that he not come in all the time.
“There’s always the chance that Lionheart might catch something. We’re a long way from knowing all the possible treecat-dangerous viruses on Sphinx and even longer from having vaccinations for them.”
“Bleek,” Lionheart called down to her, twitching his whiskers and curling his tail around his toes.
“Bleek yourself,” Stephanie called back. “Be good.”
“Bleek!!” Lionheart replied with more emphasis.
That almost seemed like a warning, Stephanie thought.
When an exam room door popped open and she found herself nearly nose-to-nose with Trudy Franchitti, she had no doubt that it had been. Trudy was nearly a year older than Stephanie, but already had curves like those of a grown woman. She was very pretty, with dark hair and violet-blue eyes that could look knowing and innocent at the same time. Trudy and Stephanie had met when they were both in the hang-gliding club, where they had been, frankly, rivals.
Trudy wore a shirt printed with the Wild and Free logo. Behind her, drowsing on an examination table, was a magnificent near-beaver with a nasty set of stitches running down one flank, and another set girdling its upper left rear hind-leg. Stephanie had researched Terran beavers, and the Sphinxian version looked more like an otter than a beaver. However, since another creature had copped the name “near-otter,” and near-beavers did behave a lot like Terran beavers, especially creating landscape-altering dams, the name definitely fit.
The two girls stared at each other. Then, to Stephanie’s surprise, because she and Trudy had never been particular friends, Trudy motioned for Stephanie to come into the exam room.
“He,” Trudy said, pointing to the near-beaver, “had a nasty encounter with an automatic dredger. He was in such bad shape, your dad said to bring him directly into the clinic. We hope he’ll keep the leg. Your dad said it was gloved: that’s when the muscles detach from the bone and slide down.”
When Trudy mentioned the near-beaver being in danger of losing a leg, Stephanie stiffened, wondering if she was being taunted about how Lionheart had lost his left front true-hand. But, there was no mockery in Trudy’s wide violet-blue eyes.
“I’m waiting for the beav to come around, so Richard can give the go-ahead to take him back to Wild and Free. It’s creepy sitting with an unconscious creature; they look way too like dead. Wanna talk? I could seriously use some company.”
Stephanie sank onto the bench built into the wall, accepting the invitation more from curiosity than out of a desire to be nice. “Sure. I’ll ping my dad that I’m here. I’m supposed to get some stuff from him, and take it home, but there isn’t a huge rush.”
Trudy, Stephanie decided, after they had chatted for a little, had definitely changed. They hadn’t had a lot of contact since Trudy had dropped out of the hang-gliding club after her boyfriend, Stan Chang, had announced that it had become too full of itty-bitty-kiddies to be any fun for advanced flyers. When they’d both been in the club, they’d been rivals from the start. It was bad enough that Trudy was a curvaceous boy-magnet, while Stephanie had been boyish. Worse was that Trudy was a complete snob who reminded anyone she could, any time she could, about how her father, Jordan, had been one of the first children born on Sphinx. The final straw had been that Trudy was the sort of kid who collected wild animals as pets, but didn’t bother to learn what it took to keep them healthy. Suspicion that the rubbish heap rather than the vet was the destiny of any of Trudy’s pets unfortunate enough to get sick, because “there’s always another one out in the bush” had sealed Stephanie’s aversion.
“I didn’t know you were working with Wild and Free,” Stephanie said. “That’s cool.”
“I started after the last fire season,” Trudy said. “I needed help because some of my pets got hurt—smoke inhalation, mostly.”
Because you had them caged and they couldn’t run away or get low, Stephanie thought, but remembering a woebegone Trudy sitting in the vet clinic’s waiting room with her animals around her—and the way Trudy had defied her father to save those animals from the fire, and been burned herself in the process—she didn’t feel the usual anger.
“Wild and Free helped me decide which animals could be safely released, which needed more care,” Trudy went on. “Later, I started volunteering. My dad doesn’t get it, but I don’t care.”
Stephanie found herself thinking how lucky she was to have parents who did understand how important animals and plants—the whole biome, if it came down to it—were. Trudy’s decision to volunteer at Wild and Free was, for a Franchitti, an act of rebellion.
They talked for a few minutes about some of Trudy’s various fosters, then Trudy said with a trace of her former slyness, “So, rumor is that you and Anders Whittaker split, that he went after Jessica, and that she’s not having much to do with him.”
Marveling at the efficiency of the local gossip network, Stephanie searched for a reply that would be both honest and not slam either Jessica or Anders.
“I guess Anders was lonely. I mean, I went off to Manticore for a school term.”
“With Karl,” Trudy said.
“Who isn’t my boyfriend,” Stephanie said firmly. “But, you know, I think that Anders isn’t the type for long-distance relationships. He’ll be going home to Urako soon. Jessica hasn’t said anything to me about this, but she’s probably decided that she doesn’t want a short-term thing.”
She held her breath, hoping that Trudy hadn’t heard anything about how Anders had been making arrangements for Jessica to go home with him. Trudy’s next comment was both a relief and a surprise.
“Guys! Sometimes I think they really are another species. Maybe like those types of animals that are sexually dimorphic, they’re really different from females.”
Stephanie was still trying to not show her astonishment at hearing the term “sexually dimorphic” from Trudy Franchitti, when Trudy went on confidingly.
“I’m really worried about Stan. He’s the first guy I seriously dated, and I really thought we were, oh, happily ever after and all that.”
Stephanie nodded, thinking about how she’d been so sure Anders was “The One.”
“Now, though, he’s really changed. I thought it might be that we’re almost seventeen, that we’re both getting a lot of pressure to ‘grow up,’ think about what we want to do with our lives. Stan’s really resented that. He’s got cousins on Manticore, you know, and he says that while they’re being encouraged to think about college and all, they aren’t getting the same pressure to be adult.”
Stephanie nodded, wondering if Trudy expected her to say something, but Trudy was in full spate.
“Lately though…” Trudy’s voice dropped, and she pinched her full lips together until they became a white line. “I think Stan’s fallen in with a really bad crowd.” Her expression became defiant. “I mean, he and Frank were always a little wild, but that bad boy vibe, it can be really tasty. This is different. A few times, we’ve had a date and he hasn’t shown up. Or he’s had way too much money. Or…”
Trudy defiantly eyed Stephanie, like she was daring her to criticize. “I think Stan’s doing drugs, the sort that mess with your head. I know you’re almost sort-of-kind-of law enforcement, but we’ve all been pals since we were kids in the hang-gliding club, right? You wouldn’t rat him out, just because I say I’m worried about him. I mean, maybe he’s not my forever-and-ever guy, but we’ve been friends since Stan’s family moved to Sphinx when we were both three and I’m worried, right? That’s okay, right?”
Tears, real, genuine tears, not a drama queen pretending, pooled up in Trudy’s eyes, and she dashed them away.
Stephanie heard her own voice saying, “Right, right. It’s absolutely fine to be worried. It’s okay,” as her mind was racing about the implications of this for her own investigation.
Trudy told me because I’m sort-of-kind-of law enforcement, not despite it. She’s desperate to tell someone, in case Stan really is in over his head, but she can’t go to her folks. Jordan Franchitti is the type to laugh and pat her on the head while saying “Boys will be boys” or something equally stupid. And she’s not going to go to the cops. Either they’d just dismiss her as a bimbo trying to get back at her boyfriend, or they’d do something that would get Stan in trouble legally or with his parents, and that would be the end of their romance, and probably of their friendship.
Awkwardly, Stephanie reached over and patted Trudy on one shoulder. “I get you,” she said, hoping the words conveyed her full meaning. “I do. It’s rough.”
“I knew you’d understand,” Trudy said. “I mean, you’ve been in love, too. You know what it’s like to care, to worry, even when he’s done you wrong.”
Stephanie nodded. “I do. I do indeed.”
At Stephanie’s suggestion, the next meeting of the Great Treecat Conspiracy was held at Scott MacDallan’s.
“Scott doesn’t have a lot of free time, but I think he really hates always having to cancel,” she’d said. “So if he can’t make it to the meetings, maybe we should take the meeting to him, right?”
Agreement had been both enthusiastic and general. And the actual meeting only further demonstrated why it was sometimes so hard for him to get there. Even though the meeting was set for after the doctor’s appointments were over for the day, Scott and Fisher were the last to arrive.
“Sorry,” Scott said, collapsing into his favorite of the two over-stuffed chairs near the fireplace and gratefully accepting the whiskey and soda Irina handed him. “Lately, if it isn’t one thing it’s another. It’s as if the world has gone down Alice’s rabbit hole or something, and people believe the normal rules of physics and good judgment have been suspended.”
That was all the opener Stephanie needed. Cordelia and Jessica helped Irina with putting the final touches on dinner, as Karl and Stephanie presented their case, much as they had to Chief Ranger Shelton.
They’ve gotten really good at this, Cordelia thought, trading grins with Jessica, who clearly was thinking the same thing. The initial presentation finished as Irina was ladling out a thick stew into stoneware bowls of her own making.
“Stephanie, I’m sure you have more supporting data you want to show Scott,” Irina said cheerfully, “but tables and charts can wait until after we’ve eaten.”
“Yes, ma’am!” Stephanie replied, shutting off her tablet and coming to wash her hands. “I stand appropriately reproved.”
The next quarter of an hour or so was devoted to properly appreciating the stew, crusty dark-brown bread, sweet butter, and mixed salad, the last augmented, as always when Stephanie was one of the group, by interesting cullings from Marjorie Harrington’s greenhouse. Only when seconds had been served to those who wanted them—which was just about everyone—did Scott open the discussion to the possibility that drug use might explain the recent rash of accidents.
“I know you don’t like Nosey, Stephanie, but he has a good grasp of the realities of emergency medicine. Usually, in the case of an accident, dealing with the damage comes first, what caused it comes second, if ever, especially if it’s obvious to the meanest of intelligences why the person got hurt.”
“I don’t dislike Nosey,” Stephanie protested. “I think I’ve even made headway—without giving anything away—in letting him understand that none of us think that treecats make great pets, but sometimes we get stuck with them. An added advantage to finding out if he’s right about why he was beaten up is then we’ll have made an even better ally of him.”
“Very calculating of you,” Karl said with a smile of approval, and she stuck out her tongue at him.
“I can’t get around the confidentiality rules and snoop through their records any better than you could, Jessica,” Scott said with a frown. “To be honest, I wouldn’t if I could. That’s not what ethical physicians do. But I can sort of float the possibility with the other doctors I know. See if they’ve seen anything they’re willing to share.” He shrugged. “That happens to be something ethical docs do do—a lot—when it comes to spotting new health threats. The ER docs are actually less likely to notice something like this, unless they’re already looking for it, because they usually don’t know their patients, recognize that they’re acting out of character, the way the family practice docs do.”
“That would probably be a good idea.” Karl nodded.
“But we don’t want too much public attention, yet,” Stephanie cautioned. Scott looked at her, and she shrugged. “We need to go public with it as soon as we can, before someone gets killed in one of these ‘accidents,’ but we also need to establish that’s what’s actually happening—and how to prove who’s behind it—before the ones distributing it figure out we’re looking for them.”
“Another good point,” Karl agreed. “Speaking of which, you texted that you’d thought of someone we might interview?”
“Well, not interview,” Stephanie replied, pausing in the middle of slathering soft cheese on her bread, “because he’d never talk to any of us, but check out somehow.”
Then she told them about her meeting with Trudy Franchitti, and what Trudy had said about Stan. “Basically, I think she knows he’s messing with drugs, and that his personality change lately is due to that.”
“Huh, remembering how Stan’s acted, you’d think any personality change would be for the better.” Karl snorted. “Trudy said something about him falling in with a bad crowd? That’s worrisome.”
“Hold on,” Cordelia interrupted, “I don’t really know these people, but did you say that Stan Chang and Frank Câmara are friends?” When everyone nodded, she went on. “Frank Câmara has been coming over to Mr. Ack’s. Is it possible that Frank could be getting drugs there? I mean, mushrooms can be drugs, can’t they?”
Scott MacDallan’s eyebrows rose until they merged with his fiery hairline. “Now that’s interesting. Mushrooms certainly can cause a wide variety of psychoactive and other reactions. The puzzling thing is that Glynis Bonaventure has an excellent reputation. She’s been posting regular updates on what they find, and on subsequent analysis. It’s hard to imagine her as a drug pusher.”
“Is what she posts available to the public?” Karl asked, leaning forward, eyes shining.
“No, it isn’t. Glynis herself asked that the information be restricted. She said that amateur ‘mushroom hunters’ make themselves sick so routinely that she didn’t want to be responsible for encouraging irresponsible behavior. Her long-term plan is to write a comprehensive guide to the fungi of Sphinx, and even teach courses on safe mushrooming.”
Cordelia felt deeply unhappy. Despite his essential weirdness, she liked Herman Maye and didn’t want to get him into trouble. But if he was involved, voluntarily or not, well, that couldn’t be ignored. She remembered seeing Dia crumpled at the bottom of the gully, how terrified they’d been that she might be badly injured—or even dead.
“If the GBMRAC is involved, Dr. Bonaventure might not know anything about it,” she said. “Herman Maye might be doing something behind her back. If what he’s told me isn’t just griping, he’s the one who does most of the primary analysis, while she gallivants around finding new samples.”
“It’s just a two-person operation, then?” Scott asked.
“Pretty much,” Cordelia said. “I think Glynis planned on hiring some more help, but she found that Mack and Zack are very serious about their role as landlords and she knows they need money, and so she gives them any work she can.”
Jessica added, “Glynis hired my mom to scout samples for her. I think Steph’s mom dropped a hint that my dad is a sweetheart, but not exactly the universe’s most reliable provider. Glynis probably has a few other people collecting for her. Finding an analyst would be a lot harder.”
“I could go talk to Herman,” Scott offered, “but if he is doing anything illegal, he’s not going to talk to me. He might let something slip to one of you, though.”
Cordelia grinned at Karl and Stephanie, “But not to the SFS rangers. Looks like this is a job for your undercover partner. Jessica, just in case something is hinky, I’d feel a lot better if I didn’t go alone. Do you have time?”
Jessica nodded. “We’re staying here tonight, and I’m off tomorrow until late afternoon. Shall we go see Herman first thing?”
Cordelia sobered. “Definitely. There are too many accidents going on for this to be chance. Despite how bad it looks for him, I can’t believe Herman is the one who beat up Nosey. To be honest, that doesn’t seem to fit in with Trudy’s worrying about Stan running with the bad crowd, either. Maybe all of them are in over their heads.”
When Jessica and Cordelia went to brace Herman Maye the next day, they weren’t precisely alone. Stephanie had wanted to set them up with both panic buttons and audio-visual links so that she and Karl could listen in and record the conversation, but Karl had shot that notion down instantly.
“Can’t do it,” he’d said firmly. “For that matter, I can’t even officially ‘listen in’ on a conversation, even one I don’t record, without consent from all parties or a warrant. The Constitution is deadly serious about privacy rights, Steph, and you know it. And I can’t get a warrant because we still don’t have any sort of probable cause to take the magistrate.”
“But what if they need help?” she’d demanded. “We can’t just send them in there without keeping an eye on them, Karl!”
“Didn’t say we would,” he’d assured her. “Just that there are limits on how we can do it.”
He’d turned to Jessica and Cordelia.
“We can’t listen in, but there’s no reason you can’t send out a ping on your uni-links if things get dicey,” he’d reassured them. “Normally, I’d consider letting you go in alone to question a possible member of a drug gang a really bad idea, but Steph and I will be parked discreetly out of sight, ready to come to the rescue, the minute you ping. And you won’t be alone, anyway. You’ll have Valiant and Athos with you. People who don’t know ’cats tend to underestimate just how dangerous they can be when defending their friends.”
“As I remember very well,” Cordelia had said, reaching up to scratch Athos behind his ears.
On the drive over, she and Jessica talked about anything except drug gangs and treecats. This was the first time since they’d met that Cordelia had had an extended time to visit with the younger woman, and she found Jessica fascinating. Jessica had lived a hand-to-mouth existence much of her life, and she appreciated the stability her family was finding on Sphinx.
“I think even my dad is settling down. I was too young to realize it before, but I think a lot of his inability to hold down a job came from his feeling that—other than a paycheck—he didn’t have a lot to gain from hard, steady work.”
“There’s something to be said for a paycheck, especially when you have a big family,” Cordelia commented.
“True,” Jessica agreed. “But I think that my dad was a big-hearted dreamer before Sphinx. Now that he sees that he can have both the paycheck and a chance to earn us a little place in the history of a new world, he’s more content. There are so many ‘firsts’ still left: first one to discover a new plant or animal; to found a certain type of business; to build something. He’s working harder than ever and he’s happier than ever. Even if my bond to Valiant hadn’t made it impossible for me to leave the Star Kingdom, I would never have taken Anders up on his offer. I want to be part of making a future here.”
Cordelia had been really small when her dad had died, so she didn’t precisely remember those days when her mom had done a bunch of data entry and other unglamorous work so she could bring in necessary extra cash and stay home with her own small children and the Kemper boys, but she’d heard the stories—especially when someone was careless with money.
Mom really was a hero. I don’t think I ever realized just how much she did to keep our family going and together. Sure, she had a lot of support from the community, but at the end of the day, she got into a bed that should have held her husband, and fell asleep, wondering just when baby Natalie would start crying.
“How is it going with Anders?” she asked Jessica, hoping she wasn’t treading on a delicate topic.
“Not too terrible.” Jessica shrugged. “He’s actually a really decent guy. His dad can make mine seem like a prize, so Anders has seen up close and personal how destructive only thinking about yourself and your own goals can be. I think Anders is about ready to start hanging out with the gang again, and I’m glad. Romance is all well and good, but friendship is better.”
And romance and friendship would be best, Cordelia thought. Let Dia Zivonik do the emo brooding. I want someone I can feel all tingly about, but also talk to and share interests with.
She knew perfectly well that she’d been thinking about romance to keep her nerves in check, but now that the air car was approaching Mr. Ack’s, she had to focus on Herman—odd, nerdy Herman, who just might be dealing drugs.
Jessica was checking the handgun she had tucked in a pocket of her jacket. “I know you like Herman, Cordelia. Don’t forget, though, even if he’s completely innocent, he might be scared and scared people do stupid things.”
Cordelia surveyed the area. “Gotcha. Parking field is empty. Herman’s air car is around back where he keeps it, so likely he’s in.” She checked that her own gun was where she could get it, wondering if she could actually shoot someone she thought of as a friend. Herman wasn’t exactly a near-weasel.
But if he attacked me or Jessica, he wouldn’t be behaving very friend-like, would he?
They found Herman washing up his breakfast dishes. He blinked in surprise, but didn’t seem particularly wary at their early arrival.
“Cordelia, what’s up? Do you and your friend need something?” He did a double take when Valiant emerged from examining one of the small herb gardens Herman had started for his own use. “That isn’t Athos, but you aren’t Stephanie Harrington, so you must be Jessica Pheriss, right? From the fire season. Herman Maye, I’m pleased to meet you.”
Jessica smiled and gave him a firm handshake. “Can we come in, Mr. Maye? We have a couple of things we’d like to talk to you about.”
Herman glanced at the wall chronometer and nodded. “Sure. I have a bit of time before I need to begin my rounds of the propagation sheds. Come on in. I still have some coffee and the better part of a breakfast cake.”
Cordelia felt relieved. She’d been worried they’d find Herman in one of the propagation buildings. She and Jessica would likely be invited in, but not the ’cats. Last night, the group had spent a lot of time discussing the best way to approach Herman, and in the end, they had all—with varying degrees of hesitation—agreed that a direct approach would be best.
Cordelia accepted the coffee Herman offered, lifted her mug to her lips, then realized she was too nervous to swallow, and set it down. “Herman, what can you tell us about the new drug that’s contributing to the rise in accidents?”
Jessica added, “Some people are calling it baka bakari, because it makes you think stupid choices are perfectly reasonable.”
They’d made up the name the night before, because giving the drug a name made it seem as if they were talking about something they were sure about, rather than something they weren’t even sure existed.
They’d also discussed the next move, depending on Herman’s reaction. The one thing no one had believed would happen was that Herman would completely crumple.
“Baka bakari!” Herman said, nearly falling back in his chair, setting down his coffee mug so unsteadily that the dark brown liquid sloshed over the sides and started to drip onto the floor. “They can’t be branding it! I never agreed. It’s all wrong!”
He’s not only involved, Cordelia thought, amazed. He’s also in seriously over his head. I think we know who Nosey Jones got beaten up to warn what would happen if he talked about baka bakari.
Jessica put on what Cordelia recognized as her bedside manner. “Hey, Herman. Why don’t you tell us how you got into this? Maybe we can help you.”
“They’ll…” Herman began, and Cordelia would have bet anything that he had been about to say, “They’ll hurt me” or “They’ll kill me.” But he impressed her by visibly stiffening his spine. “I’ll tell you. I’ve been wanting to tell someone, but I didn’t know if anyone realized that there was a drug. I’ve been cross-eyed afraid, but I couldn’t see how I could both convince someone that there was a problem and admit I was part of it. I just didn’t have it in me.”
“Go ahead,” Cordelia said, trying to seem calm and matter-of-fact, although she wanted to cheer “We’ve got a lead!” “Tell us. Maybe we can help you figure a way out.”