Lethal Lineage

by Charlotte Hinger

  “Have any of you ever heard of a glebe?”

  Keith knew. I was the historian but I didn’t have a clue. Clearly Josie didn’t either.

  “In England, a Bishop was given a parcel of land for his own purposes,” Keith said. “It was called a glebe. It supplemented his living and could be passed down to his heirs. It was his.”

  “Exactly,” said Rice. “And the Episcopal Church in America carried on this custom here for a number of years. There’s only one glebe west of the Mississippi and it’s in Clay County, Kansas.”

  I sat bolt upright. I sensed where this was heading. “Please do not tell me that Talesbury is asking for a glebe. Let me guess,” I said. “The parcel of land on which we built St. Helena’s. The land that had such sloppy documentation.”

  “Right. That’s the land.” He looked at us all frankly, like a man used to dealing with strange situations. “It’s worse than that, Miss Albright. He claims he already owns it.”

  “And he claims it’s his why?” Josie asked.

  “He’s the sole heir of his great-great-great uncle, The Right Reverend Josef T. Salesburg, who allegedly owned it to begin with.”

  “That’s why the abstract work was off. Nothing made sense. The land would have been given before Kansas was a state. Territorial times.” Alarmed by the excitement in my voice, Tosca ran to Josie. “Paperwork from that era rarely survived. That also explains why an African Bishop showed up in Western Kansas.”

  “Yes, it certainly does,” Rice said. “Forty acres means nothing out here, but they would seem like a patch of heaven on earth to a man who survived the horrible Hutu/Tutsi wars.”

  I smiled. Land ownership again. It came up over and over in Western Kansas. Forty acres. The number of acres many ex-slaves believed they would own if they could make it to Kansas.

  Kansas. The Promised Land. To the formerly enslaved, and now to an African bishop.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  I expected Josie to start packing the next morning. If she couldn’t participate in the recall election, there was no reason for her to stay. Instead, I found her at the kitchen table, gazing out the window, drinking coffee and scribbling on a legal pad.

  I poured myself a cup and carried it out to the patio. She joined me about fifteen minutes later.

  “I’m not going in today,” I waved my cup. “Not to either job. Right now I’m worn down by both of them.”

  “Zola will be great. Sorely needed, I might add.”

  “Hate to admit it, but I’m exhausted.”

  “And you’re over Keith’s stepping in?”

  “Mostly. In fact, I’m beginning to see the advantages. I don’t have to worry about saying too much or too little. And you? Have you come to love this part of the state?”

  “No. And believe me, I want to get out of here, but Harold says we can’t back down on the charges we filed against Deal. He’s still an arrogant bastard and he still has to go. Spring Break isn’t over for another week, and I’ll tack on another week if I must. Harold can find substitutes for my classes.”

  “Maybe so, but you can’t hang around here until the next election.”

  “I know that, but Harold and I have talked. The petitions may be invalid and it was stupid to show our hands before we knew what we were doing, but the sentiments of persons in Copeland County are genuine. He wants me to talk to each person, explain how we screwed up, and find three voters brave enough to start the process again.”

  “Deal’s sly, Josie. Wicked mean. You’ll have a hard time convincing people to speak up after they hear about Keith’s oats field. Keith has quite a bit of clout, and if that clan crossed him, they’ll target anyone.”

  “I know that. You think I don’t know how to cope with mean people?”

  “Maybe, but as a psychologist, you’re used to being in charge.”

  “That’s true, but my reputation is at stake. Harold says I’ve got to see this through.”

  “We’ve got a lot on our plates,” I said. “Keith is trying to find out who plowed up his oats field, and I’m just sick about the church. All the people who thought they owned these little parcels of land. I still can’t believe I was this stupid.”

  “It wasn’t your fault, Lottie.”

  “In a way it was. I know better than to ignore serious snags in documentation. That land was a nightmare from the very beginning.”

  “We don’t know for sure yet that Talesbury’s claim is valid. It sounds fishy to me that this hasn’t come up before.”

  “Me too. I don’t buy Bishop Rice’s argument that forty acres would seem like a sanctuary to Talesbury after those wars. I can’t imagine why he would want them. It’s just forty acres in the middle of nowhere. He can’t make a living off it. It’s not good for anything.”

  “Are you sure? Is there any oil potential?”

  “I didn’t think of that. Keith knows some geologists who might be able to make a decent guess.”

  “Archeology material?”

  “Kansas has had great finds all right. The Penokee Man is just a couple of counties away. It’s an outline of a human figure about fifty feet long and thirty feet wide. A paleontologist from Harvard thinks it was made by Plains Indians. But archeology is worth checking. I’ll call the Kansas Archeology Association and see if they have ideas.”

  ***

  Harold called mid-morning on the house phone. I was in the laundry room sorting clothes. Enjoying the scent of Febreze, whittling down piles of sheets and towels. Chores that went like they were supposed to. After Josie hung up she hollered from the kitchen. “There’s been a new development.”

  “That figures.” I added a capful of Tide to the washer, and walked over to the table. “Do I need something stronger than coffee?”

  “No. And I don’t know why you insist on calling it coffee. It’s a really strange development.” She continued after I sat down. “Harold says there is no record of a woman like Mary in the witness protection program. But an American woman resembling her was supposed to go in and never did about twenty years ago.”

  “Folks can’t just leave the program, can they?”

  “Sure, if you’re never in it. Mary might have been this woman, but he says it’s doubtful.”

  “She just disappeared?”

  “This woman did. We shouldn’t jump to conclusions. He says it’s not likely anyone in danger would choose such a conspicuous occupation. He doubts it’s the same person.”

  “Why was the government considering putting her in this program to begin with?”

  “Harold is trying to find out. He would especially like to know why everything regarding this woman is such a secret.”

  “I know where I would start looking first. Bishop Talesbury. I bet he knows plenty.”

  “I’ll call Harold right back.”

  ***

  When Keith got home that evening, he said he’d gotten four calls that day with complaints about Deal. We were helpless, of course, because we were trying to thwart the sheriff of Copeland County. The top law enforcement officer.

  “The hell of it is,” he said, “a lot of this is propaganda. But when a business is hanging on by a thread, that’s all it takes.” He reached for a bottle of home brew and joined Josie and me at the table.

  “Mrs. Winthrop called me and said there was a rumor going around that a bunch of people got food poisoning at her café. It was a damn lie, but she couldn’t call her own sheriff and we can’t do anything about it. She lives in Deal’s county and even if I was the sheriff there, there’s not a damn thing I can do about a rumor.”

  “What are you going to do about your oats field?” Josie asked.

  “What do you mean do? Not going to do anything.” He rose abruptly and walked over to the window and stared outside. He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. The setting sun accentuated the lines in his face. He looked weary. Older. Beaten down.

  “It’s too late to replant
oats. I’m going to re-till that field and get it ready for corn. It’s the only thing I can do. It will be a pain in the ass because a lot of oats will come up volunteer, but I have no choice.”

  “No, I meant legally. How are you going to find the person?” Josie wouldn’t give up.

  He turned and looked embarrassed. “I’m discovering that as a law enforcement officer, my hands are tied in a lot of ways.”

  “Not easy, is it?” I said.

  “No. In fact, this whole thing is the pits.” He looked at Josie. “Here’s the deal. As a deputy sheriff investigating a crime, I need to have probable cause to inspect a man’s tractor and equipment and match the tracks in my field. I can’t just walk into a man’s barn.”

  “There’s got to be some way to do things in counties like this,” Josie said, “or police would be victimized all of the time.”

  “I’m not worried about myself or even you two women right now. I’m worried about all the people who signed that petition. Can’t believe I was that dumb. Can’t imagine I didn’t read all the fine print. Can’t believe I’ve caused that much trouble for people who finally got up their nerve to fight back.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Josie said. “We were all in on this. And I’m still more upset over the oats field than about the petition signers.”

  Keith smacked his fist into the palm of his hand. “Before I took this job, I could have just found the bastard and knocked the hell out of him, then dared him to file charges. I can’t do that now.”

  Josie flinched, her eyes widened. “You can’t just go around beating people up.”

  “Keith, that’s ridiculous. It’s vigilante justice,” I said. But he knew that. It wouldn’t bring back the oats field.

  “No? What else would you suggest? I spent the afternoon reading up on my new occupation. The trouble I could get into as an ordinary citizen, and the trouble I would have doing exactly the same thing as a police officer are different situations altogether.”

  I pushed back from the table, and walked over to my colorful array of bibbed aprons hanging on pegs. I put one on, picked up a spatula, and waved it at them. “I’m the queen here and this is my kitchen. As my subjects, you are both forbidden to say one more word about crime this whole evening.”

  Josie rolled her eyes and Keith grinned.

  “I’ve got a roast in the oven. Josie made a pie. Get out of here. Shoo. Go check on the cattle, and by the time you’re done we’ll have supper on the table. Then let’s do something normal. Like play music. For the dog’s sake. Tosca needs a soothing evening.”

  Good food helped. But our conversations faltered.

  Later we alternated playing bluegrass, country western, and classical.

  I hadn’t thought it possible for the three of us to miss so many notes.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The next day at the historical society I was too edgy to do research. We were all miserable. Keith likes to be in charge and make things happen, but he was trapped by trivia. Spending bored days behind a desk, thinking they couldn’t go on forever, but they could. Josie was driving Keith’s pickup, backtracking to locate petitioners willing to take charge of the recall election.

  On Edna’s fourth tape, I finally pulled off my headphones, and stood up in disgust. I rifled through the printouts of her disconnected memoirs, trying to decide if some of the tapes were missing, or she was more addled than I had thought. She had just leap-frogged from her life in Iowa to her life in Kansas.

  My cell phone shrilled. I jumped, swore, spilled coffee, and made a mental note to change the ring.

  “Sam, here. Dimon called. Some news finally.”

  “Good? Bad?”

  “Neither. Just news. The poison was heavy duty. Totally unexpected. Off the wall. That’s what took the toxicologists so long.”

  My office phone rang. I let it go.

  “It’s from a poison dart frog. One of the most poisonous varieties known.”

  After we hung up, I called Josie.

  She listened. “I’ll call Harold. They are keeping him in the loop since he’s still a consultant for Carlton County.”

  I touched my fingers to the pulse in my throat and waited for her to call back. Bishop Talesbury’s face swam before my eyes. I had sworn there was no way there could have been a murder in that little church. No way. But there was and we knew it. The bishop had flown in from Africa. We knew that. And now we knew he’d known Mary Farnsworth.

  Ten minutes later, she called with background information. “It’s natural habitat is South America,” she said. “Not Africa. There has been lots of traffic back and forth between there and Africa since colonial days. Exchanges of products and goods. But even if there wasn’t this connection, Harold says there’s a thriving pet market for poisonous frogs.”

  “But how, Josie? How? Let’s go for a touch of reality here. Aren’t the secretions of these little critters used on the tips of poison darts? We were both there. Talesbury didn’t just suddenly whip out a blow dart gun and start firing away.”

  “No. That’s true. But here’s what we do know. The KBI says Mary Farnsworth absolutely did die from this poison and no other. She was in full view of over one hundred people. Maybe more. This particular poison is so lethal two grams can stop an elephant in its tracks. She had time to run from the rail to the anteroom. If she had been targeted with this in the sanctuary, she couldn’t have taken two steps.”

  “Is there another way to use this poison other than injection?”

  “Actually, there is, but it’s not like anyone handed her a cup of poison and told her to drink it five minutes later.”

  In my heart, I wanted the killer to be Talesbury because I despised the man. But my head took over. “We’ve got to pull out all the stops and find the man kneeling next to Edna.”

  “It’s a little late for that.”

  “Yes.” I rubbed the bridge of my nose. “I just wish we’d known from the beginning that Mary’s death wasn’t simple. There were so many steps we could have taken.”

  “You couldn’t have known that, Lottie. You did everything you could.”

  “Not everything. I’m going to start calling everyone I can think of who was there that day and see how many had cameras. Maybe someone has a picture.

  “My money is still on the bishop,” Josie said. “But Harold says the KBI is going to send someone out here right away to help with the investigation. Until now, they’ve just supported us with lab work.”

  “Our fault on that. One of the agents should have observed the autopsy. But we blew that too.”

  “Harold told me to warn you not to go off half-cocked. Let the A team take over. We have to do this by the book and not make any accusations before we can back them up with proof.”

  “I understand.” As soon as we hung up, I called Keith.

  He listened. “That’s incredible. I know a little about toxins from my veterinary training, but an ag vet isn’t exactly up to speed on poison dart frogs. I know there’s one that secretes the most poisonous substance in the world.”

  I couldn’t remember the Latin name Josie gave me, but I was certain he would call her the moment he hung up.

  “It surprised me how long some of these poisons last on the tip of a weapon.” I eyed my computer and blessed Google. “I imagine we’ll have plenty to talk about at supper.”

  “Ah hell, there’s just no way it could have happened. But you can bet I’ll think about it all afternoon.”

  “Keith, why don’t you let Sam take over the next couple of days? I know you’re going crazy just sitting there, when you could be tilling the oats field. Or something.”

  “I don’t want to slight my job. Have that old bastard think I’m just dabbling.”

  I didn’t dare laugh. I had used those same words myself, when I was justifying my job to him. I suspected he remembered them. Verbatim.

  “Really, honey. Harold says we can’t d
o a thing on our end. The KBI is taking over. There’s too many things that don’t add up. There’s absolutely nothing we can contribute. Nothing.” I said again just in case he didn’t get it the first time. “Nothing.”

  “Yes, I can,” he said. “I’m going to set fire to that little son-of-a-bitching church. It’s been nothing but trouble from the beginning.”

  I didn’t bother to say goodbye.

  ***

  Myrna Bedsloe came in and asked to exchange her latest story. “I just remembered the great aunt on my Uncle Charlie’s side. His third wife? The poor soul doesn’t have kith or kin to put in a word about her. Am I limited to one story?”

  Her little boy started batting at her eyes and she blinked and tried to grasp his little fists without letting him drop to the floor.

  “No, you’re not limited,” I said. “As long as it’s about a different branch of the family, you’re free to submit all the stories you like.”

  I eyed the clock. I wanted to run over to Edna’s and grill her. That was the right word, too. So far, I’d been very careful, but with a different kind of questioning she might remember more about the stranger. Besides, by now she trusted me. There was no way a KBI interrogator could do a better job than I. Compiling oral histories was an important part of my training.

  “Gotta run,” Myrna said cheerfully. “Don’t we sweetkums?” The little boy shrieked and giggled and poked her in the cheek. “Mom’s in the car. We’re on our way to Dunkirk to the podiatrist. She’s having a little trouble walking and hollers half the night from the pain in her feet.”

  The other boy threw a truck across the room and she hurried to pick it up. “At least I think it’s her feet. I never know. Last week we went to the stomach doctor, but he said there was nothing wrong.”

  She grabbed the other kid and left, and I picked up my purse and a stack of files, turned out the light, then whirled around. Chip entered before I could get out the door.

  “Miss Lottie, he said. “Am I catching you at a bad time?”

  Trapped. I’d been stalking this man for over a year. The little gift photo album had done the trick. Short of spitting chewing tobacco, he could do anything he wanted to right in this office if he cooperated in transmitting his family history. They had even raised sheep.