Smoky Mountain Mystery 01 - Out on a Limb

by Carolyn Jourdan

  He intended to leave before any unpleasantness occurred, but was being slow about it, so Waneeta faked a call to herself and then breathlessly warned Bruce that the LeQuire brothers were on their way over. As soon as he heard that, he made a mumbled excuse and left for the day. His car hadn’t cleared the parking lot before Waneeta was dialing Phoebe.

  But before Waneeta could say anything, Phoebe blurted out, “Waneeta, honey, I’ve found your 4th husband. He’s fun and smart and talented. He can make every frog noise you ever heard in your life. You’re gonna love him.”

  Waneeta didn’t need to think about it more than a few seconds before bursting into song:

  Froggie went a courtin’ and he did ride.

  He took Miss Mousey on his knee.

  Said Miss Mousey will you marry me?

  ***

  Henry headed to Jameson Knob to see if any of Ivy’s most recent specimens and notes might be there. He hoped to find something that would indicate what she was working on and maybe even where. He’d been to the Knob a couple of times and tried to enjoy the drive through the beautiful North Carolina countryside.

  The road was paved part of the way, but as he neared the research station, it became gravel. And the higher he got, the curvier the road was. Although the Jameson Knob Facility was part of the national park, you had to go outside the park boundary and take a long roundabout route through privately owned land before ducking back into the park for the last bit of the drive.

  Along the way he passed the typical Smoky Mountain jumble of trailers, log cabins, farm houses, middle class brick homes, mansions, chalets, and old abandoned home places that jutted out from the steep mountainsides. He remembered the road dead-ended at a clearing on a high ridge. Knob was the local term for such a place and they generally provided fabulous overlooks.

  When he crested the ridge he saw the stone and glass house set in a meadow with a 270 degree view of hazy blue ridges as far as the eye could see. The open field had been mowed close like a yard and was bordered with a picturesque split rail fence.

  The place was spectacularly situated and totally isolated.

  There was only one car in the small gravel parking lot next to the house. It was a black Mercedes Geländewagen. The car, one of the world’s most expensive four wheel drive vehicles, had a U.T. faculty parking pass dangling from the rear view mirror.

  Henry took a slip of paper from his pocket, and used the numbers written there to enter the access code. The lock on the front door clicked open. He stepped inside and gently closed the door.

  He found himself standing in a high-ceilinged living room designed in a style popular in the late ‘60s. The main feature was a large double-sided fireplace set three steps below the level of the main floor in what used to be called a conversation pit. The room was awash in orange as the last slanting rays of the setting sun streamed in through a wall of floor to ceiling windows.

  Henry didn’t see anyone or hear anything, but his gut told him Whittington was there, so he used a hunter’s tactic. He sat down quietly on a chair next to the door for the few minutes it took the sun to set. He waited without moving until his patience was rewarded. Only after the house had fallen into darkness did someone begin to move about. An interior door opened and closed, drawers were opened, rifled, and slammed shut. It sounded like someone was looking for something.

  Henry stood up, took a few of careful steps, and looked toward the source of the sounds. Suddenly an eerie blue glow appeared at the end of a short hall off the living room.

  He did his special silent catwalk toward the light until he could get a glimpse of what it was. He saw a large man staring at a glass-fronted cabinet that appeared to be some sort of high-tech storage unit. It was Professor Whittington. He was waving a purplish light source that Henry guessed was a black light. He appeared to be using it to examine the contents of the storage unit.

  Henry had no idea why anyone would do this, but he could tell from the intensity of Whittington’s concentration that something very significant was taking place. He decided to interrupt whatever it was. “Hey there Professor! How’s it goin?” he called out in a loud and hearty voice.

  Whittington whirled around, blurting out a startled, “Wha…?” and nearly dropped the UV light. He nervously switched it off, so the room was suddenly pitched into darkness.

  Henry clicked on the flashlight he carried on his belt and pointed it at the Professor’s face.

  Whittington was blinded by the bright light shining in his eyes and didn’t see the phosphorescent green glow that arose from the specimens on the top shelf of the cabinet. It was as if a cluster of lightning bugs were winking at Henry behind the Professor’s back.

  Henry had no idea what the odd green glow was, but it lasted only a few seconds and then died. He toggled the light switch for the room and stood smiling at the Professor who was blinking and looking guilty.

  “Goodness, sir, you startled me,” said the Professor. “But I know you, don’t I? So sorry, but I’ve forgotten your name.”

  “Matthews,” Henry said. “Henry Matthews at your service.”

  Henry held out his hand. The Professor set the black light carefully on the counter and shook hands with him. “Is that coffee I smell?” he asked with the gentle distracted air that Henry was beginning to recognize for what it was – a cover for malignant cunning.

  “Someone must’ve left the pot on. Would you like a cup? I believe I could use one myself.”

  The Professor held out an arm to indicate Henry should leave the room. Henry didn’t have any hard evidence, so he decided to comply to prolong the man’s illusion of concealment. But Henry was becoming more and more convinced that Professor was involved in something he shouldn’t be.

  He watched the Professor, assessing him, and made small talk, following along as the man moved from room to room, tidying up. Finally, Whittington yawned and said it was time to go home.

  “I’ll follow you out,” said Henry, and he mimicked the Professor’s earlier gesture, holding out his arm to indicate that Whittington should leave the building first.

  ***

  After Henry and the Professor left, in an alcove in the far corner of the lab, clothing hanging from a row of hooks on the wall and the pile of boots strewn haphazardly below them seemed to become animated. A bundle detached itself from the rest as Leon moved out into the room. He’d been waiting, standing still, so he’d been indistinguishable from the jumble of windbreakers, rain ponchos, and fleece jackets.

  He walked quickly to the glass-fronted cabinet, took out the specimens that had briefly glowed green in delayed luminescence, and put them into an insulated lunch pouch slung across his shoulder. He spread out the remaining specimen containers to make it less obvious which ones had been taken. Then he left silently, through a window and walked a half mile down the road to where he’d parked his truck, returning the same way he’d come.

  Chapter 35

  Whittington would have to wait until the following day to resume his search of the Jameson Knob lab. Henry’s sudden appearance and questions had forced him to leave the building. And then the ranger had followed him on the long drive back to civilization, so he’d had to forgo any notion of turning around and sneaking back.

  Once home, he didn’t even try to sleep, but sat up mulling over everything he could remember Ivy telling him about her work, as well as everything she’d asked him. She’d left no clear indications in her notes about to how to differentiate the valuable specimens from the rest of them aside from some obscure remarks about delayed luminescence. And she’d never told him how she’d managed the preliminary tests to determine the efficacy of the substance secreted by the new species of slime mold she’d discovered.

  It was maddening.

  When he arrived back at Jameson Knob the next morning as early as he could without arousing suspicion, he immediately went into the lab area and picked up the black light. But as soon as he glanced into the cabinet, he could tell someone had b
een there during the night.

  Several specimens had been moved, and worse, several others were missing. Whoever had taken them had tried to hide what they’d done by spreading out the remaining containers, but clearly a significant number of cultures were gone.

  Professor Whittington was stunned. Who could possibly have known about the antibiotic discovery? Had the ranger done it? It was inconceivable that a person like Matthews would be able to determine which of the samples were valuable. But if not him, then who?

  And how had they known which ones to take? Was it an informed decision? Whittington was apoplectic. What if the thief damaged the important cultures? The thought was unbearable.

  There’d been no indication on the containers as to which ones were which, just code numbers. He wasn’t even sure which ones contained the source of the antibiotic. He’d have to run tests to determine that.

  Had someone simply guessed?

  Being thwarted at this late date made him so furious he was unable to think. The situation was intolerable. Someone was attempting to interfere with him. But who would dare? And where had they taken the specimens?

  He tried to calm himself well enough to make a thorough and systematic search of the lab specimen cabinet and the drawers in the lower half. The identity of the person or persons who had helped her test the cultures had to be in there somewhere. The myxomycete community was not large. He knew every name of consequence. Possibly she’d gone directly to a synthesizing biochemist. But, whoever it was, he’d find them.

  He was almost certain she hadn’t had the opportunity to speak to anyone or conceal anything from him recently. He’d even reviewed the phone calls made from her cell phone after taking it from her backpack.

  This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. Someone was going to pay for this. He simply had to figure out who.

  ***

  As soon as she got up and going she dialed Henry. “Henry, it’s Phoebe.”

  “Hey girl.”

  “I found out somethin I think you should know,” she said. “A doctor friend of mine thinks the girl might’ve found a valuable slime mold that her teacher wants to steal.”

  “I think he’s right,” said Henry.

  “How come?” said Phoebe, surprised that he’d gone for Charlie’s theory so quickly.

  He told her what he’d learned and she told him the rest of what Charlie had said.

  “Well,” said Phoebe. “It’s all startin to paint a picture, ain’t it?”

  “Yeah,” Henry said. “And we can add the fact that when a discovery is made inside the park, half of the profits go to the National Park Service. So, if Whittington gets rid of the girl and lies about where the find was made, he doesn’t have to share with her or with the NPS.”

  “Do you think he knows where the girl is?”

  “Yep, I do.”

  “How can we get him to tell?”

  “I’m gonna go ask him,” said Henry.

  “You be careful, Henry.”

  “I will,” he said.

  “No, I mean it, honey, be careful. This isn’t an animal you’re dealin with this time.”

  “Sure it is,” he said, and hung up.

  Chapter 36

  Lunch was in full swing at Hamilton’s. Jill was busy taking orders, carrying plates to and fro, and ringing up checks. Phoebe waved at her as she came into the café and went to sit with Doc. “I gotta good story for you today,” she said. “A genuine mystery.”

  She told him about the discovery of the backpack, the apparently missing girl, and what she and Henry had learned so far.

  Doc frowned, but didn’t say anything.

  “Henry agrees with Charlie and he thinks Ivy might’ve made her discovery inside the park, which means the park would be entitled to half of whatever money’s made off it.

  “Henry figures the Professor didn’t wanna split the money with Ivy or the park. That would cut his share down to a fourth of what it could be if he claimed credit for the discovery and lied about where he found it. But he’d have to kill Ivy to get away with it.”

  Doc nodded slowly, taking it all in.

  “Henry’s been real worried about the girl. He’s afraid she might be hurt or lost out there in the park somewhere.”

  “Come with me,” Doc said, standing up, “I’ve got something to show you.”

  He led Phoebe into the back to Jill’s studio and opened the door, saying, “We don’t know her name.”

  Phoebe saw a young woman lying in bed with a bandage on her temple. “Oh my Lord! Is that her?” she asked, incredulous. It was the girl in her dream.

  Doc nodded. “Jill tried to call you. She knew you were worried, so she went over to Greenbrier toward where you saw that flash and found her up in a tree, unconscious from a head injury. Leon fetched her down and brought her here.”

  “Has she told you what happened?”

  “Some of it, but she’s only been conscious briefly. She doesn’t have any idea who shot her. Apparently they used a crossbow that’s part of her climbing equipment. Left her hanging in a tree, thinking she was dead or soon would be.”

  “She’s lucky to be alive,” said Phoebe.

  “She sure is,” said Doc. “That’s why Jill and Leon didn’t tell anybody. They wanted to protect her til they figured out what was going on.”

  “Do you care if I tell Henry?” she asked.

  “No, go ahead. This will all have to come out eventually. But be careful, especially til you know for sure who’s behind all this and what’s at stake.”

  Phoebe stepped out of the room and dialed Henry’s cell phone. He didn’t answer. She left a message saying Ivy was alive and at Hamilton’s and asked him to call her as soon as he got her message. Then she returned to the makeshift hospital room.

  Doc was sitting beside the sleeping girl. He leaned forward to check the IV drip he’d decided to run to keep her from getting dehydrated and to give her the calories she needed to get well.

  He saw Phoebe’s worried look and said, “She’s gonna be fine. When she was conscious, she was able to speak and remember what happened, so there’s no damage to her brain. She just needs to rest now. She was out there a long time before Jill found her.”

  They backed out of the room and closed the door. “Killin a kid so you can steal credit for savin lives,” Phoebe murmured. “What a world we live in.”

  Doc snorted.

  “And to think a valuable medicine was out there all this time, growing wild.”

  “Modern people have gotten confused about where medicine comes from,” Doc said. “Drugs have only recently begun to be concocted in a lab. Until very recently, they were all harvested in nature.

  “It’s fascinating how things used to be done. We’ve lost the old ways, like The Doctrine of Signatures. People make fun of it because they don’t understand it. I’ve been reading up on it. Leon’s grandmaw was skilled at reading plants. For example, one of the most promising cancer drugs, Iscador, is an extract of mistletoe.”

  “I had no idea mistletoe was good for anything except Christmas decoration,” Phoebe said.

  “Mistletoe is a strange plant,” Doc said. “It was sacred to the Druids. It grows opposite to the way other plants do. It never touches the ground. It can only grow on the branches of certain kinds of trees.

  “It thrives suspended between heaven and earth. It happens that cancer patients need this same ability. That floating quality is what cancer cannot tolerate. Cancer is a dark thing, a heavy, earthbound thing.

  “Iscador lifts the patient up so the cancer goes away. There’s a company in Europe that cultivates mistletoe on apple trees to treat breast cancer and on oak trees to treat cancers in men. Sounds crazy, but it works.”

  “Is it expensive?”

  “That’s the other thing,” said Doc. “Plant-based medicines are cheap. The people who make Iscador want everyone to be able to have it, so it’s sold at a price anybody can afford. Pharmaceutical companies have gone crazy synthesizing e
xotic manmade medicines and then gouging sick people for profits, but Weleda, the place that produces Iscador, hasn’t done that.”

  “It’s a terrible thing when sick people can’t afford medicine,” said Phoebe. “There’s no excuse for it.”

  Doc nodded, frowning, and said, “When I was a kid, I got real sick once. Sick enough to die. The doctor came every single day for over a month to check on me, even though my parents had nothing to pay him with. Nothing, not even food.

  “Old Doc Greene not only bought my medicine and paid for it out of his own pocket, but he left a dollar under my pillow every day, so my family would be able to afford to eat.

  “He didn’t have much cash money himself. Nobody around White Oak had any cash to pay him with. And he knew better than to try to hand cash to my family. He was a good man and he didn’t want to humiliate my parents, so he slipped that money under my pillow to get them to take it. I decided that if I got well, I’d try to be a doctor when I grew up. I wanted to be like Doc Greene.”

  Phoebe smiled at him and said, “And you are.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that,” said Doc, embarrassed.

  ***

  In the afternoon Doc decided to make a visit to the Esso station.

  “Gentlemen,” he said, inclining his head toward Lester and Fate.

  “Hey, Doc,” Lester said. “Can I offer ye a drink? I’ve got some of Blake Hamilton’s finest, cured in a charred oak cask for more’n a year. Prettiest amber color you ever did see.”

  The ultimate moonshine for connoisseurs was not white, but was cured in a charred oak cask, so it had a reddish brown color like commercially-made whiskey.

  “I’d appreciate that, thank you,” he said, then took a sip of the high proof liquor as soon as it arrived.

  “I need to ask you gentlemen for a favor. “