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Tuesday, October 25th
Charlotte lay in bed in the dark, staring up at the ceiling. Selim’s story explained a lot about the Order of Seth and what it had to do with Seamus O’Dair, at least partially answering the question, Why? But when it came to Jefferson’s death, it still left two big questions: Who? and How?
Now we’re going to bait his murderer—and I’m going to be the chum.
Her mind began to drift through the possibilities, mixing with patches of things that had happened and had been said over the past several days, then with more distant events, then with a few long-ago memories, and behind it all were the echoes of the concert, until she began to drift into sleep . . .
She half-dreamed of Ellis pulling away Selim’s collar to reveal the tattoo, the way Malik Kopff did with his own.
She sat bolt upright, once again wide awake.
How did Ellis come to see the tattoo on Selim’s neck in the first place? And why did it take her so long to go and pick him up?
Charlotte threw on her robe and checked Ellis’ room, but she wasn’t there. Ellis had gone to talk with Selim while he waited for the shuttle back to the Corton Inn. What if—? Her heartbeat stepped up. What if Selim’s entire story was a fabrication, and he decided that Ellis knew too much? Or the Order suspected she knew too much?
She made her way down the stairs. Ellis was not in the exercise room or anywhere on the second floor. She went down to the main floor, where Shamus meowed at her from the top of the checkout counter. He turned back to look out the shop window.
And there they were, sitting on the bench outside the bookstore, just talking like good friends. The moon was no longer full, but it was still as bright as the street lights. Selim was talking, moving his hands as if they could draw pictures to illustrate his words. Ellis’ expression held both appreciation and understanding, even amusement.
She heard soft footsteps on the stairs, and turned to hold a finger to her lips.
“Something wrong?” Donovan whispered, nodding toward Selim and Ellis. Shamus purred as Donovan petted him.
“No. Just wondered where Ellis was at. It suddenly dawned on me that Selim’s tattoo was not so easily seen without, you know—”
“I admit it was the first thing that crossed my mind.”
She saw his eyes twinkling in the faint light.
Selim began to walk toward the Corton Inn shuttle bus, but Ellis stopped him, and for a moment they just stood there, face to face. Then Ellis suddenly tugged at the front of his shirt and pulled him toward her and kissed him. Selim put his hands on her shoulders and forced her to step back. He tilted his head to one side as he looked at her, and she looked at him with a smile. Then he gave in, embracing her in a passionate kiss, and her arms wrapped around his neck.
Charlotte’s heart had gone from racing to near-standstill.
Donovan firmly gripped her upper arm. “Let’s get out of here. Now.”
“But—” she began to protest, yet allowed him to drag her up the stairs.
“Quickly!”
She followed, and then looked back to see that Ellis and Selim had parted, and Ellis was waving as Selim got into the shuttle.
Charlotte and Donovan raced back up to their bedroom. He fell onto the bed, wincing from the strain of the effort on his bad leg, but laughing quietly, as well.
“Oh, well and fine for you to think it’s funny,” Charlotte hissed, turning off the light and getting back under the covers.
“Funny or not, it would have been a shame to spoil it for her.”
“How am I going to talk to her about this?”
“You are not. She’s not completely naïve. That wasn’t their first kiss, not by a long shot.”
They stopped as they heard Ellis going down the hall to her room and closing the door.
“It’s just that he’s so much ol—”
Donovan turned to give her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “The age difference is borderline. The main thing is that Ellis is in the driver’s seat. Trust me, that’s a good thing. All you can do now is to trust her, and to be there to pick up the pieces if need be.”
Charlotte sighed. She knew he was right. Donovan had rolled over to go back to sleep, and she finally managed to do the same.
* * *
CHARLOTTE HADN’T PLANNED to go back to the Corton Inn after her talk, save for the O’Dair Awards on Wednesday, but now that she knew about the Order of Seth, Selim’s role, Tread’s role, and Margaret’s intent, as well, she could look at the entire conference with new eyes.
After Selim told his story the night before, they had come to the conclusion that the only way to get either Tread or Margaret to reveal if they had anything to do with Jefferson’s death or the stolen thumb drive was to lay a trap. Selim would see if he could get Tread to open up about the Order by somehow letting him know that he was a member, too. It would also be useful to see how either Tread or Margaret would react to learning that Charlotte was given all the research from Jefferson’s computer.
She spotted Selim chatting with Tread Rose, and doing a good job of acting friendly. Charlotte walked over, hoping that her presence would not trip up Selim, and also wouldn’t give away that she saw him and Ellis kissing the night before.
Tread saw her first. “Ms. Anthony! I’m glad you decided to come back to the conference. Your talk was better received than you might think.”
“Absolutely,” said Selim. “It changed quite a few minds.”
Charlotte didn’t know if it was true or not, but she appreciated the compliments. “Well, thank you both. Very much.”
“And I hear you might be working on the code,” Selim continued, with a slight emphasis on the last word.
Tread looked at her with surprise. “You are? I thought you had decided against it.”
“I did, but Jeffers left me all his research in a folder in his computer. Detective Barnes found it and gave it to me, and asked me to see what I could make of it. Just in case, you know, it should have anything to do with his untimely death.”
Tread said nothing for two long seconds, then managed a nod of approval. “Well, that should frost Margaret’s cookies!”
They all laughed as if the joke was actually shared.
Charlotte quickly changed the subject. “I only stopped by to remind the conference about tonight’s Oktoberfest downtown, and to also invite a few people to our private Grand Opening wrap-up party at Sibylline. Please consider yourselves invited.”
“I will definitely be there,” said Tread. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“Nor I,” said Selim, with a smile, yet not looking directly at Charlotte. “I need to take off my jacket—” he looked around for a place to set his coffee cup.
“I’ll hold your cup,” said Charlotte, and he looked at her gratefully.
She watched as Selim removed his sports coat and pushed up the sleeves of his V-neck sweater, and then realized what he was doing: making his tattoo visible to Tread Rose. “There you go,” she said, handing back his cup. “Nice sweater. Cashmere?”
He shrugged. “It might be. Too warm with the jacket, though.”
Charlotte furtively glanced at Tread, and saw him zeroing in on the tattoo with barely concealed fear.
“I, uh—” Tread stammered, scanning the room as if looking for a way out. “I just remembered that I need to check in with the Endowment committee before it gets any later. I’ll try to make the party.”
Then he practically ran away.
“Wow,” said Charlotte, watching him head down the hall to the elevators. “That was sudden.”
“It was not the reaction I expected,” said Selim, looking concerned. “But perhaps he will come around, after the surprise wears off.”
Charlotte considered the level of fear she sensed in Tread, and wasn’t as optimistic. “I hope it wasn’t a mistake to reveal yourself to him.”
“I might have to make further inquiries about his story. It may be useful to know why he has failed so many times in his attempt to become a member.” He turned to Charlotte. “I hope you have better luck with Margaret Milligan.”
“I have a feeling that Tread might just take care of that for me. See you later,” said Charlotte, and she made her way through the crowd, toward the sound of Margaret’s voice.
Margaret was still schmoozing with various attendees, doing more talking than listening. Charlotte managed to get close enough behind her to listen in. To no surprise, Margaret was playing up her “work” with O’Dair’s code—and insisting that the code held mostly endearments to his lost loves, Adeen and Olivia, and various ideas about the universe and mysticism. It was a total crock, and she wasn’t convincing everyone.
“But how do you square it with the way Seamus O’Dair died?” asked an elderly male professor. “Given the appearance of the mummy shortly beforehand? And the theme that runs through his books? Surely something in the way of an ominous warning was intended?”
Charlotte smiled to herself. That was essentially what she said in her talk the other day.
Margaret tried to reduce the seriousness of the question, waving her hand. “Oh, but those are mystical matters, I’m sure, and I’m also sure we’ll never know the real reason for the mummy’s appearance, either then or now.”
She turned to end the conversation, and walked straight into Charlotte. “Oh, ex—” She stopped when she saw who it was, and nearly growled. “Why are you standing behind me?”
Charlotte was ready for her. “Why are you lying about working with Jeffers on the code?”
Margaret pulled herself to her full height, still considerably shorter than Charlotte. “You can’t prove that I’m lying.”
Charlotte leaned down close to Margaret’s ear. “I don’t have to. All I have to do is give you enough rope and you’ll hang yourself.”
Margaret sneered. “You’re in over your head with this, and have absolutely no understanding of what’s involved—”
“And you do?” Charlotte had much more to say, but decided to leave it at that for the moment. There was more to come, later. “Do what you want, I couldn’t care less. I’m only here to tell the conference about the Oktoberfest.”
Margaret swept her hand toward the area next to the refreshments where she normally made the morning announcements. “Go right on ahead. Keep it short.” Then she abruptly walked off.
Charlotte rolled her eyes and made her way to the refreshments table, surprised when three people stopped her to say “good job” or some such sentiment about her talk—and nobody spoke negatively about it, either.
She managed to get everyone’s attention and let them know about the Oktoberfest. There were many murmurs of interest, but she was careful not to outstay her welcome.
* * *
BACK IN THE APARTMENT, Ellis was again at the dining room table, reading one of the compilations they’d made of Jefferson’s notes and typing something into her laptop. She looked up as Charlotte came in, and smiled as if she was happy as a clam. No surprise, after that kiss last night.
But Charlotte kept her own counsel about that. “I saw Selim at the conference. He was talking to Tread, and I think Tread took the bait.”
Ellis’ eyes widened in interest. “He saw the tattoo? Great! What about telling them that you have all of Jefferson’s research?”
“That too,” Charlotte confirmed. “Now all we do is wait.” She gestured toward the table. “Working on this again? You should be relaxing, after all that work for the concert.”
Ellis shrugged. “I know—but I can’t help it. There’s something musical going on with these passages, I’m convinced of it. As I said before, I’m getting a sense of counterpoint when I read Olivia’s words. Then, when I read the corresponding passages in O’Dair’s words, the counterpoint is more pronounced and reminds me of something, but I can’t identify exactly what. So in the meantime, I work on it this way.”
“Are you making any progress?”
Ellis nodded. “Slow but sure. Once I’ve entered the data that meets the criteria we’ve established, we’ll try several different code types until something matches. All we need to do is get close, and then we can refine it. Selim has already run it using Professor Jefferson’s data, and it proved you were right. So I’m taking a cue from you and Donovan, that Olivia wouldn’t have done it that way. But I’m also taking a cue from Helene. She told me how she first learned about counterpoint, and it was probably the same way Olivia learned it, as well, by singing Frere Jacques as a round.”
Charlotte decided to tease Ellis. “Around what?”
Ellis laughed. “Not around, but A. Round. Like, ‘Row, row, row your boat—’ where one singer starts and the next comes in a measure later. Basic canonical structure, and from there you can do it in any variation imaginable.”
“Too bad Malik Kopff has gone back to Germany. He wrote all that music inspired by—” She stopped when she saw how intently Ellis stared at her. “Just kidding.”
“It’s not a bad idea,” said Ellis.
“But—I really don’t know what I’m talking about!”
Ellis grinned at her. “It’s inspired, Mom. And Herr Kopff hasn’t left. I think he’s coming to the O’Dair Awards.”
“Oh! Well, that’s nice of him,” said Charlotte. “Are you going to ask him about this counterpoint idea of yours?”
Ellis seemed uncertain. “Maybe. I’d have to be able to demonstrate something concrete, first. If I go to him with just feelings about something, he will react in one of two ways, neither of which is good: either be completely dismissive and tell me I didn’t examine things hard enough, or he’ll take me into a spiritual wormhole and I’ll come out more confused than I already am.”
Charlotte laughed. “Well, then, we certainly don’t want that!”
A text came in on Ellis’ phone “It’s from Benny. He says there’s a guy in the bookstore asking for me, and you, too.”
They moved to go down the stairs. “Did he say who?”
“Something—Berkus? Said that he was dressed a little odd.”
The oddly-dressed man turned out to be the Auracle, Mendelssohn Berkus, in his trademark Nehru jacket. He was reading the blurb of a Geoff Bower thriller, The Buddha’s Spy, then smiled when he looked up and saw them, especially at Ellis.
He clasped his hands together in front of his chest. “You were so wonderful at the concert. I am so glad to have heard you play.” Then his expression turned to concern, even as Ellis thanked him. “I’m so sorry to tell you this, my dear, but you are in greater danger than ever.”
Ellis groaned, shutting her eyes and throwing back her head. “Not again!”
Charlotte was dismayed. “Are you able to tell us the nature of the threat, or who threatens her?”
The Auracle shook his head sadly.
“Now wait a minute!” Charlotte wasn’t going to let him get away with freaking out Ellis without trying hard to pin down why. “The last time, you said the threat came from the mummy.”
“Not quite. I said the threat was foretold by the mummy. And that you were in more danger than your daughter. This time, there is no mummy, but you,” he pointed to Ellis, “are the one in greater danger.” Then his expression softened. “At the same time, though, your protective forces are absolutely fierce.”
“Is there anything I can do?” asked Ellis, who looked on the verge of tears.
“More of whatever you did before—to draw the protective forces to you.”
Ellis pulled her amulet out from under her sweater. “Like having another made up?”
The Auracle held out his hand, and Ellis took off the amulet and handed it to him. He looked it over carefully, felt it, and sniffed it. Charlotte was reminded of Malik Kopff examining it in much the same way.
The Auracle returned the amulet to Ellis. “It might have helped—certainly for romance. At any rate, your amulet needs adjusting—possibly even replacement. There’s a different color in your aura.” He turned to Charlotte. “Yours has remained exactly the same.”
“You do realize how disturbing this sort of thing is, don’t you?” asked Charlotte.
He crossed his hands against his chest. “Again, I am so, so sorry. But I saw such a powerful aura around her that I felt I ought to tell you that you needed to take extra care of her in the next few days.”
Ellis sighed, and managed a small smile. “I understand. The universe works in strange ways, and all that.”
Charlotte felt confused. “When did you see her aura?”
The Auracle looked confused, himself. “Why, just a little while ago, when I was walking by—”
“But Ellis was upstairs, with me.”
“I wasn’t talking about your daughter.”
“Then who?”
He raised his arms as if embracing the sky. “Sibylline.”
“Oh.” The bookstore? How odd. “What about Sibylline? What did you see?”
“Change. Much change. Take extra care of her.”
Charlotte tried to take in what he said, but had nothing to say back, other than a nod.
The Auracle looked down where he had set The Buddha’s Spy on the library table. “I must put this back where I got it—”
Charlotte felt something tug at her heart and placed a finger on the book. “Have you read it?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Would you like to?”
“Well, yes, but—”
She went to select a different copy, then handed it to him. “This one is signed by the author. A small thank you for the heads up. And for your support during my talk at the conference.”
He looked completely charmed. “I shall cherish it. Goodbye.” He turned and left the shop.
Ellis looked down at her amulet, then at Charlotte. “Am I crazy to want to get this thing adjusted?”
Fifteen minutes later, they were taking the hills and curves of country roads in the Jeep, top down, hair flowing wild, and old disco tracks blasting through the speakers, Ellis’ idea of an “exorcism ride.” The Goodwitch herb farm was nearly twenty miles northeast, through areas Charlotte hadn’t driven in years. The autumn colors were still bright, the cornfields brown and crisp, and the sky had purple streaks coming down from the north, as often happened in the fall, even on brilliantly sunny days.
“I forgot how pretty it is out here,” said Ellis, pulling her hair off her sunglasses. “This is fun.”
Charlotte laughed. It was fun, doing something like this just to defy the very idea of anything threatening them. It wasn’t a matter of believing in magic, she decided, so much as the act of making it—from making the decision to do something that signified something important, then making the effort to gather what was needed to perform the spell, the ritual, the whatever-it-was that focused some deep and elusive part of your brain and soul on overcoming the forces that stood in the way of your well-being.
Of course, there were residual benefits, as Donovan reminded her when she told him where she and Ellis were going. She could still feel where he kissed the back of her neck. The Auracle himself said the amulets were helpful for romance, at least.
Charlotte glanced at Ellis, whose face was mostly covered by hair and sunglasses, except for a subtle smile that suggested she was presently not haunted by whatever it was that bothered her when she first arrived. No doubt thanks to Selim. For a moment, Charlotte wondered if “adjusting” Ellis’ amulet was such a wise idea, then decided that if anything or anyone could help protect Ellis, Selim would be a good candidate. And if they were all wrong about him—why, then, it could protect Ellis from him.
“There’s the road we want,” said Ellis, pointing at the county road sign up ahead, and Charlotte made a left turn onto a much narrower and rougher road.
Hilda, the Goodwitch Charlotte had spoken to on the phone, said to look for the mailbox shaped like an Easter lily, as there would be no sign for the by-appointment-only operation. The fields in this part of the county were small and irregular, broken by hills and valleys and small patches of woodland. The Jeep stirred up the leaves that had fallen from the canopy of brilliant red and gold maples. Here and there cows and horses stood behind fences, but there wasn’t a single person among them, or other cars on the road.
The Easter lily mailbox came up suddenly, outside dense woods that framed a very narrow gravel driveway. Charlotte turned into it carefully, and hoped a house would soon appear along the overgrown vegetation that brushed against the Jeep.
Ellis looked dubious. “There wouldn’t have been some other mailbox shaped like an Easter lily, do you think?”
“I really doubt it. Maybe we should call them—”
The road sharply turned into a tight circle, and there it was: the Goodwitch house, gardens, and outbuildings.
Their brochure had made everything appear charming and soothing, and while those elements were present in the reality, there were also darker and more mysterious elements—a great and twisted oak tree, a small cemetery with very old headstones and markers, a tiny shack with black smoke coming out of its metal chimney—
“AH!” Ellis shrieked as a large crow landed on the hood of the Jeep, causing Charlotte to brake hard. The crow flapped its wings to avoid being thrown off, and inspected them with a tilted head. Then he flew off, and the cawing of many crows started up in the surrounding trees.
A movement in the large oak caught Charlotte’s eye, and she strained to believe what she saw. “Is that a dog in that tree?”
Ellis raised her sunglasses and squinted. “Yep. This place is seriously weird.”
The dog was large, thin, and white, with a long pointy snout, and it was watching them with its head down on its front paws.
“Hellooooo!”
Hilda—or perhaps it was her twin, Helga—waved from the front porch of the house, then came to meet them. Charlotte turned off the Jeep and walked up with Ellis.
They were embraced and the other twin also came out, and embraced them as well, then handed her twin a name tag. She was already wearing one that said “Helga.”
“So glad you have found your way here, dear hearts,” said Hilda. “Would you like a tour? We don’t get many visitors, of course.”
“Why don’t you have a sign at the road?” asked Ellis. “Wouldn’t that bring more visitors?”
Helga shook her head sadly. “It brings trouble. Mean boys who don’t know any better.”
“And mean men who know exactly what they’re doing,” added Hilda.
“No mean girls or women?”
The witches shrugged in the same way at the same time. “Not so much, no,” said Hilda.
“Well, there were those two, last year,” said Helga. “They put a dead black cat in our mailbox. But I think they did it on a dare and the cat had been hit by a car.”
“We gave it a proper cleanse and burial,” added Hilda.
Charlotte and Ellis followed the twins past the first set of outbuildings and greenhouses, and saw that the trees that surrounded the homestead opened out into a two-acre field surrounded by a high chain-link fence topped by barbed wire.
“That doesn’t look so serene.”
“It is the only way we can assure our herbs and flowers are not tampered with,” Helga explained. “It took us many years to eliminate the contaminants from the soil and return the earth to its true organic nature. The nearest field, on the other side of that woods—” she pointed to the trees at the furthest point, “—is an organic vegetable farm, so we are reasonably safe from crop-spraying.”
“How long have you had this place?”
The twins looked at each other and smiled. “We were born here.”
They walked past the various sun-loving herbs, and then nearer the trees where the shade-lovers thrived, talking of the Auracle’s latest visit, and the events surrounding the O’Dairicon since the fair.
Then Ellis stopped. “Um, Mom?” She pointed back toward where they had been. “Did Shamus hitch a ride with us?”
Charlotte whirled to see a large tuxedo cat sitting in the path. It did, indeed, look exactly like her cat.
“Shamus?” she started to move forward, but the cat stayed put.
“Oh, that is Magic,” said Hilda, who went to pick up the cat and bring him over. “She came to us a few years ago, hungry and pregnant. Only three of her kittens lived, but they all looked exactly like her!”
Charlotte found a picture of Shamus on her phone, and showed it to them. “That’s my cat. He used to be the shop cat at The Good Stuff store in Elm Grove—”
The twins looked at her in surprise. “Larry’s cat? But we gave it to him! You must have one of Magic’s kittens!”
Charlotte and Ellis each got a chance to cuddle Shamus’ mother as they continued to the house.
But once there, the witches got down to business.
“Now, dear heart,” said Hilda, “let’s see what has changed, and what you need.” She drew Ellis over to one side of the workroom-slash-kitchen, which had tall shelves of bottles and bins of various kinds.
Helga took Charlotte’s amulet and sniffed it. “Did this work well for you?”
“Yes, actually—but maybe not the way I expected. My fiancé is rather inspired by it.”
Helga’s laugh rose from her belly and resonated through the room. “That’s okay—love is the best kind of protection there is! We’ll set you up with a fresh one. Let me look in my files—”
As Charlotte waited, she looked around at the unusual room, which was a blend of fantasy and utility—the labels on the many jars and boxes were of elements that would not have been entirely out of place in a children’s book, but also not entirely out of place in a comprehensive seed and feed store. Yet it was also their kitchen—in doubles. There was two of everything: large sinks, ranges, and refrigerators. The kitchen had to take up at least half of the ground floor of the house. And it was seriously clean: the walls, floors, shelves, and appliances were all sparkling white. On the wall, there was a permit from the county Health Department, and other certificates for food handling and safety.
“This could pass for a restaurant kitchen.”
Helga nodded. “Same requirements. We don’t let the cat in here, or anything that will prevent us from selling to the public. Rightfully so. Some of our customers have serious health problems, and we do our best not to complicate matters.”
It reminded Charlotte of the Garibaldi Lab in Elm Grove, which developed plants for medical research. “Do you sell to doctors or pharmaceutical companies?”
“No. We are too small for that, and there is also a limit as to how much control we would want to give up. We sell directly to our customers and also provide custom blends for alternative treatments.”
“What kinds of treatments are popular?”
“Oh! All sorts of things—fertility, energy, anti-aging, memory enhancement, arthritis, auto-immune disorders, Alzheimer’s—”
Alzheimer’s? It was worth a shot. “Was Aubrey Jefferson one of your customers?”
Helga looked up from her work, surprised. “The professor who died at the bonfire? He came here once. We have a lot of university customers, more than you might expect.”
“Do you remember what he came here for? I have a reason for asking.”
Helga paused for a moment, either trying to remember, or considering how to answer. “He came to see if we could help him with his problem, but we referred him to a trial. Why do you ask?”
“The autopsy revealed the early stages of dementia—but it was diagnosed some years ago, and evidently hadn’t progressed. The toxicology report showed an overdose of OxyContin. It shut down his heart. But there are a lot of reasons to think it wasn’t suicide, or accidental, for that matter.”
Helga’s jaw dropped, and she immediately looked over to her sister, who had also heard what Charlotte said, and who had much the same expression. They rose and met in the middle of the room, talking quietly and rapidly to one another in a manner that Charlotte could barely understand.
Ellis walked over with her newly-adjusted amulet. “What’s going on?”
“They might know something about Jefferson’s health. It might shed light on why he died.”
Hilda went to the computer and brought up a website, then wrote down a number, which she gave to Charlotte.
“This is the trial program we recommended to Professor Jefferson. They have been using a chemical compound from plants called furanocoumarin in the treatment of dementia, with very promising results. That’s the same compound in grapefruit that can cause interactions with certain drugs. With some drugs, it prevents the uptake of enough medicine to work, and with others it increases the uptake to dangerous levels—even fatal ones.”
The possibilities flew through Charlotte’s head. “Enough to cause a heart attack?”
The twins nodded emphatically. “Oh yes—a drug that slows the heart could stop it altogether if too much is absorbed, or not eliminated quickly enough,” said Hilda.
“He would have had to be very careful about what he ate and drank, over the counter medicines, all that sort of thing,” added Helga.
Ellis was taking all this in, as well. “Somebody could have slipped him something in a drink—like a date-rape drug—and it would have done more than just knock him out?”
Hilda nodded and shrugged at the same time. “Depends on how the compound affected the uptake of that particular drug. Some things wouldn’t be absorbed very well—other things would have been absorbed at toxic levels.”
Charlotte wanted to be perfectly clear on the concept before talking to Barnes. “The amount of the compound—furan—how do you say it, again?”
“Furanocoumarin,” said Ellis.
The young are so much quicker, thought Charlotte. “Furanocoumarin. Got it. I imagine that the amount Jefferson would have received in the trial would likely have been more than, say, a few glasses of grapefruit juice?”
“You’ll have to contact the trial,” said Hilda, “but one would think that the amount needed to cause changes in brain cells would be considerable.”
“If that’s the case, it could have made him far more sensitive to drug interactions than someone just drinking grapefruit juice—”
“—Or consuming other citrus, like Seville oranges, and it’s in bergamot,” added Helga. “The compound is also in quite a few plants in the carrot family, like wild parsnip—”
“—And did you know it causes horrible sun rashes if you get it on your skin? Giant hogweed has it, too,” said Hilda.
“Wow.” Charlotte looked down at the name and number of the trial. “I’ve got to give this information to Detective Barnes.”
“But—” Ellis began, then stopped.
The twins tilted their heads in concern. “What’s wrong, dear heart?”
Ellis looked worried. “If even Detective Barnes didn’t know that Professor Jefferson was in this trial—then who did? Someone would have had to know about it in order to deliberately hurt him that way.”
Hilda agreed. “It would have to be someone he told, or someone who had access to his medical records.”
After profuse thanks and promises to let the twins know how the case was resolved—plus an extra tip because she and Ellis were satisfied with the results—Charlotte handed the keys to Ellis, who was glad to have a chance to drive on the open road. It was getting chilly, so they pulled up the top of the Jeep. She looked over her shoulder at the large oak tree, but the white dog was no longer there.
Once out on the road, Charlotte called Barnes and gave him the facts and the contact information for the trial. “The part that stumps me is that Jeffers was always very private about this kind of thing. I can’t picture him telling anyone at all that he was battling dementia, not when he wasn’t showing any obvious signs of it.”
“It was in his medical records—the dementia diagnosis, that is. But there wasn’t anything about the trial. He likely hadn’t informed his physician.”
“Grants,” said Ellis.
Charlotte looked over at her. “What?”
“Grant applications. I had to supply information about my health for mine, and Dad had to approve access to the records and sign off on it for me. Maybe Professor Jefferson had to, too.”
Of course! “Detective, Ellis said grant applications would require it. I’m sure Jefferson would have had to for the Rose Endowment grant.”
“Good thinking. And if he had to release his medical information, he would have wanted to show that he had the dementia under control, so he might have provided the trial information, as well. Thank your daughter for me. I’ll get on this right now.”