The White Iris

by Susanne Matthews

  “Stomach irritation, nausea, and vomiting at first. If they ingested more, you’d see difficulty breathing, vomiting of blood from the irritated membranes of the stomach and esophagus, convulsions, and if the dosing continued, death. Actually, the symptoms would quite closely mimic a severe case of dengue fever.”

  “So, the more tea they drank, the sicker they got.” He frowned. “Any chance it was deliberate?”

  Silence. Had he lost the connection?

  “If you’re asking me whether someone could’ve intentionally poisoned these people, the answer is yes, I guess they could have because poison is often used knowingly to kill, but I have no proof of that. Oleander grows in the commune right next to other plants used in herbalism. We found lemon balm, roselle, a type of hibiscus, as well as jimson weed and St. John’s wort next to a stand of willow. A complete list of all the medicinal plants on-site is in the report, but if someone inexperienced were collecting the leaves…”

  Despite what Dr. James said, he couldn’t see anyone making that error. The people in the commune, like the Native Americans, would’ve relied on their medicine men and women. A trained herbalist wouldn’t screw up like that. To him, it looked like someone might’ve purposely killed most of the adult population of New Horizon, and the only man he could think of who would’ve benefited from such a thing was Duncan Lucius, the Prophet, the man the cult survivors believed had come back from the dead—easy to do if you rigged the odds in your favor.

  “Could someone drink the oleander tea and survive?”

  “Yes, of course. It’s all about the amount consumed. Death from oleander poisoning among humans is actually rare. Once the poison is flushed from the system, the patients recover quite nicely.”

  “You’ll send me all of this?” he asked. Hadn’t Jacob said that once his uncle recovered so had the others, and no one else had fallen ill? Interesting.

  “Yes, in fact, I can probably e-mail it to you now and follow up with the hard copies and other data later.”

  “Do it, please.” He rattled off his e-mail address, and she repeated it.

  “Were you able to identify any of the bodies?”

  “Three. Thaddeus and Ethan—although Thaddeus probably wouldn’t have lasted much longer. They were among the poisonings—and one woman, Elizabeth. I assume she was the sample donor’s mother. She died of cancer. What do you want us to do with the bones? Do you want them returned to New Mexico?”

  “No. Hang on to them for now. I have to speak to someone before I make any decisions. They may want some of them. By the way, what was the name on the empty grave?”

  “Becca. As I said, it’s an old grave, at least thirty years old. Whoever moved the body did so a long time ago. That soil hadn’t been disturbed in almost as long.”

  “And the woman who died of cyanide poisoning?”

  “Charity. The boy was Daniel.”

  “Thank you. Good luck in Africa. The next time we’re both in Washington, I owe you a steak dinner,” he said.

  “I’ll hold you to it. I’ll send you my contact information in Johannesburg when I e-mail the files. Goodnight, Agent Clark.”

  “Goodnight, Dr. James, and thank you. This information will be most helpful.”

  Hanging up the phone, Trevor turned on his computer, waiting for the e-mail.

  Julie had mentioned poison as a possible way to introduce the Great Burning, and it certainly sounded as if those who’d been poisoned had suffered. Could oleander be concentrated enough to kill quickly? Maybe it could be introduced into a water supply.

  He stared at the screen for several minutes before reaching for the phone. As much as he hated to intrude on her grieving, he needed Julie’s expertise on this. Could oleander be weaponized somehow? He opened his desk, removed the card she’d given him during the tour, and dialed the number on it. The phone rang five times before her voice mail kicked in.

  “You’ve reached the office of Dr. E.J. Swift. I’m unable to take your call at the moment. Please leave a message after the tone, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

  Trevor listened for the beep. Instead of speaking, he ended the call and dialed the airline. It was only a two-hour flight to Atlanta. He’d go down there and talk to her face-to-face. He owed her an apology, and he’d ask her again about coming to work for him. He should probably brief the acting director on the Great Burning, too.

  After arranging for a 7:00 a.m. flight, he replaced the handset just as his computer indicated he had mail. Trevor settled himself more comfortably in the chair, opened the message, downloaded the various files attached to it, and began reading Dr. James’s report. Everything she’d told him was there, along with facts and figures Amos and Julie might understand but were way outside his area of expertise.

  He needed to talk to Jacob about this—about Dr. James’s findings, too. Charity had died around the same time as his father, so there was a good chance Jacob would’ve known her. Then there was Becca, short for Rebecca, he assumed. Who the hell was she? Why steal her body and none of the others? And what about the herbalism and the oleanders?

  Could Duncan Lucius really have orchestrated all those deaths? While Trevor hated the guy enough to believe him capable of it, he had no proof—yet.

  When he finished reading everything Dr. James had sent, he glanced at his watch and picked up the phone again. It was now well after ten in the morning in Australia.

  The phone rang three times before someone answered.

  “Hello?”

  “Good morning, this is Trevor Clark. Is Jacob there?”

  “Hi, Agent Clark. It’s Faye. Jacob’s right here.”

  “Trevor, to what do we owe the pleasure?” Jacob asked, his Australian accent more pronounced than it had been when he’d left Boston. “Do you want me to put you on speaker? We’re all here having a late breakfast.”

  “Yes, that would be good. I have some questions for you.” The line changed, and his voice sounded tinnier. “Good morning, everyone. I hope the weather’s better there than it is here. Some of Boston’s leading citizens are considering building an ark.”

  A woman laughed, but he didn’t recognize the voice.

  “It’s nice and sunny here, Trevor,” Lilith said. “I’ve even managed to get a tan without burning to a crisp.”

  “That’s good. You could use a little color. Rob, when I get off the phone, I want you to fill Jacob in on Lynette James.”

  “The forensic pathologist we sent to New Horizon?” Rob asked.

  “Yes. I was just speaking to her. It took her longer than she’d expected to complete the work, but her report raises more questions than it answers. I’ll forward a copy of it to you as soon as I get off the phone. I’m still making notes in the file, but I want Jacob to answer a few questions first.”

  “What do you want to know?” Jacob asked. “I’ve told you just about everything I can remember.”

  “Nothing about the commune itself. I’ve got question about the graves. Rob can explain why we had them all exhumed. Now we need to know what you’d like done with the remains. We can return them to the cemetery, or you may have something else in mind—the settlers might want their family members. I’m not sure what will become of the property. That won’t be decided until after your uncle’s been caught and we see who else has broken the law. Think about it, and let me know. Anyway, here’s my problem. As you might remember, the grave markers only have first names on them. The pathologist positively identified your father, grandfather, and mother from your DNA sample. Do you remember a young woman named Charity? She’d have died around the same time as your father, but not from the fever.” He wouldn’t mention the poisoning just yet.

  The silence was as complete as it had been earlier with Dr. James.

  “Faith, Hope, and Charity were fairly common names, but I think I know who you mean. She died about six months after the last dengue fever death. She killed herself—not sure how. I didn’t know her well. She was older than I was.�
��

  “Could she have poisoned herself?” Trevor said, disappointed at the lack of what he’d hoped would’ve been proof Duncan had killed before.

  “She might have. As I said, I was just a kid, and most of the remaining adults didn’t talk about stuff like that when we were around.”

  “Was Charity depressed?”

  “I think so. I vaguely remember my mother saying she blamed herself for everyone’s deaths. She was one of the women who had looked after the sick. Like me, she didn’t get the fever, so I suppose she might’ve suffered from survivor’s guilt.”

  “Was she an herbalist?”

  “She might have been training to be. We had two herbalists—one died during the epidemic. The other one came close, as I recall. I’m sure that doesn’t help much. I’m sorry. What did your pathologist say was the cause of death?”

  “Cyanide poisoning. She found two cases—the child we’d expected and Charity.”

  “You think my uncle released her?”

  “Not sure,” Trevor said, trying to hide his frustration. When it came to the Prophet, nothing was easy. “What about someone named Becca? She’d have died about thirty years ago.”

  “Becca was my grandmother, but I don’t remember her since I was only four when she died. I visited that grave every Sunday afternoon with my grandfather and father. Grandpa could sit there for hours talking to her, telling her about the people she’d have known. We’d bring her fresh flowers whenever we could. I kept it up after Dad and Grandpa died. I hope someone did after I was gone. I wouldn’t mind bringing them here—my grandparents and parents.”

  Trevor swallowed. What he was about to tell Jacob was going to come as a nasty surprise.

  “There was no body in that grave, Jacob,” he said quietly.

  “What?” Jacob cried out angrily. “What do you mean?”

  “According to Dr. James, someone removed the body from the grave, possibly around the same time it was buried.”

  “Why would anyone do that?” Jacob asked, and his voice, low and halting, betrayed his shock and confusion. “Grandpa and Dad didn’t know. They wouldn’t have gone there each week if they had. Duncan didn’t go as often, but…”

  “I don’t know why, Jacob, but there’s something else I have to ask you. As a child, were you ever warned to stay away from oleander? It’s a flowering bush that grows in gardens.”

  “I know what an oleander bush looks like, Trevor, and yes, we were told to stay away from them,” Jacob said. “Every part of the plant from its leaves to its roots is highly toxic—just burning the branches can be dangerous—but it didn’t grow anywhere on the compound. It grew wild in a few places, and we sometimes had trouble with the animals eating it out on the range. My dad used to get all covered up to uproot the bushes. I watched once, from about twenty feet away. He cut the pieces up small and placed them in a plastic bag. Those clippings and root balls were the only things the commune ever took to the dump. I remember Grandpa saying that nothing in this world was as poisonous as those bushes. I can’t believe anyone would purposely plant them in an herb garden.”

  Trevor’s excitement grew. If it hadn’t grown in the compound, then no one would’ve accidentally mixed up the leaves with those of medicinal plants. But it grew there now. Why?

  “According to Dr. James, only a dozen people died from dengue fever…”

  “But that’s impossible,” Jacob said, cutting him off. “I was there. I know they died. She must be wrong.”

  “She’s not wrong. She verified her findings several times. Thirty-two people, your father and grandfather included, died from oleander poisoning.”

  “Charity? You think Charity poisoned those people? That makes no sense. Why would she have done that? And if she did, why wouldn’t she have used the stuff on herself, too?”

  “I don’t know, but I intend to find out. One last question: How well did your uncle know Charity?”

  “She took care of the youngest children, I think. Trevor, I know where you’re going with that last question, but I don’t see how my uncle could have had anything to do with that. He himself almost died.”

  “But he didn’t, and you said no one got sick after he started to get better. I’m sorry, but right now, everything points to him, and possibly Charity as his scapegoat. Now, what did the doctor say?”

  “He said they were healing well, and so am I,” Lilith answered, taking over the conversation. “This has hit Jacob hard. Please send us Dr. James’s findings as soon as you can. There are a few things that don’t make sense to me. We need to look things over and talk about this.”

  “I will. Any idea when you can come back to Boston? The office is empty without you guys.”

  “Trevor, are you saying you miss us?” Lilith asked, the sarcasm in her voice sickly sweet.

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” he said and laughed. “But I’m sure the brass thinks it’s about time you start earning those big bucks they pay you.”

  Lilith chuckled. “Barring complications, we should be able to head back to Boston in a week to ten days. Faye wants to keep Rob longer, but I think she’ll have to hog-tie him to do it. We’ll talk after the guys and I—”

  “And me,” Faye added.

  “Yes, dear, and you,” Rob said, trying to placate his wife. “Faye has an interesting theory about Duncan Lucius. She thinks we’ve been going about searching for him the wrong way.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well,” Faye said. “You’ve been looking for someone who resembles that photograph. What if that’s the disguise? What if he’s right under your nose? Hiding in plain sight makes a lot of sense for someone who seems to be one step ahead of you all the time. It would explain a lot of things, especially if he’s like Jacob—a millionaire in his own right.”

  Trevor frowned. “Faye, it’s an idea, but I don’t see a man of money doing that. Life in the commune wasn’t easy, and if he is made of money, wouldn’t the cult members resent that?”

  “I’m just saying there’s more than one way to live a double life. Think about it.”

  “I will.”

  “I’ll get back to you after we take a good look at the information,” Lilith said, “but I think Faye’s theory has a lot of merit. We know there’s money behind New Horizon and yet we can’t find it. Why?”

  “You’re right. It makes as much sense as anything else we have,” Trevor said. “Before I hang up, Jacob, what was your grandmother’s maiden name?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think I ever heard it,” he answered.

  “Damn. That’s going to make figuring out who stole her body a whole lot harder.”

  • • •

  Despite consuming the lion’s share of a bottle of wine, Julie tossed and turned, unable to sleep. She should request a leave of absence and go back to Carson Creek. Burying her cousin with Nana had made sense at the time, but now she had no grave to visit, nothing but a painting on the wall and three cats to remind her of family. God, how long could she go without proper rest? She’d lost weight—that was to be expected—but this overactive imagination? No. That was way out of character. She kept seeing dark SUVs all over the place. If only there was someone she could trust, someone who wouldn’t let her down like Trevor had back then—and now. Not a word from him about the Prophet. Maybe he was under POTUS’s gag order, and since she wasn’t supposed to know … She thought of the evening they’d broken off their engagement.

  Sitting on the sofa in Nana’s house, she stared into the flames, wishing she was in Trevor’s arms. Usually the sound of his voice eased her tension, but tonight, it was making things so much worse. Outside, the snow was still falling; there had to be six inches of it on the ground already with more to come. She needed him to reassure her that everything would work out between them, because right now she was hurt and angrier than she’d ever been. Didn’t she deserve to be treated with the same care and consideration he gave his damn cases?

  “If you love me, you’ll
come tomorrow. You only have to stay a couple of days.”

  “You’re being ridiculous, Julie. Whether or not I come to Carson Creek has nothing to do with the way I feel about you. Look, there’s more to it, but I’m not going to get into that with you on the phone—maybe someday I can explain it better. I just can’t go there right now. I’m sorry.”

  “But I need you, Trevor. Surely the department can get by without you for two days.”

  “I’m sorry. I wish I could, but I can’t.”

  “Then we’re done. I don’t think there’s anything else to say. I’ll send the ring back when I get to Atlanta.”

  “Julie, you don’t mean that…”

  “Then tell me the truth,” she begged.

  “I can’t. I love you, but I can’t.”

  “Then I can’t, either. You’ve made your choice, and it isn’t me.”

  She’d hung up the phone. A man who lied, kept secrets, and put his job before the woman he claimed to love wasn’t the man she wanted in her life, no matter how she felt about him. Misery might like company, but at least alone, she wouldn’t have to worry about getting hurt like that again. This huge festering wound would last a lifetime. Turning over on her side, she closed her eyes and hoped she’d sleep.

  Chapter Five

  “I’m really sorry about the craft fair, Julie,” Lenore said, swinging her backpack up on her shoulder. “If you’d mentioned it earlier in the week, I wouldn’t have offered to take Professor Oglethorpe’s seminar today.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” she answered, coming out of the kitchen, her wet hair wrapped in a towel, a mug of fresh coffee in her hands. “Like I said last night, Leon suggested it. If you still want to go, we can do it tomorrow. It’s on until five, and other than laundry, I’ve got nothing planned.”

  “That’ll work.”

  Lenore opened the door and gasped.

  “You startled me. I didn’t hear you knock,” she said, the surprise and shock in her voice freezing Julie in place.

  It wasn’t even ten yet. Who could possibly be at her door this early in the morning?