bushy V and gave me a narrow-eyed glance. “You know what this is?” He dropped a gallon-sized plastic bag on the counter. In it was stuffed a large wilted plant, roots and all.
I took the plant out of the bag. It had a hairy stem and alternate leaves, divided into three to five coarsely toothed segments, like parsley. It was too late in the year for the characteristic chalk-yellow flowers, but the plant had a single stem of seedheads in a cluster of four erect pods about a half inch long. I opened a pod and spilled the seeds into my hand. They were brown and irregularly shaped, with deep, flangelike wrinkles.
“Aconitum vulparia,” I said. “Wolfsbane. Where’d you get it?”
“In the park. Beside a pile of dead chickens. The chickens belonged to Miz Bragg, who ain’t too pleased that they’re dead, especially the rooster. She says that ain’t her plant, though.”
“It isn’t.” I hesitated. Mrs. Bubba was vice president of the garden club, and she’d tell him tonight when he got home. I might as well tell him first. “Check with Sybil Rand. The plant might have come from her garden.”
“How d’you figger that? I don’t see no owner’s I.D.”
“Wolfsbane isn’t exactly a common plant. People usually don’t cultivate it, and it doesn’t grow wild here. But Sybil Rand has a few plants.”
Bubba chewed his cigar. “Oh, yeah. The poison garden. Missus told me about that.” He frowned. “This plant, wolf-whatever. It’s poisonous?”
“Yes. Very.”
Bubba stared at the plant with suspicion. He glanced at me, and I saw the question coming. “Sybil Rand, she practice Santeria?”
“I doubt it. But you’d better ask her.” I could guess just how far Bubba would get with Sybil. He’d be called out before he got halfway to first base. It was odd, though. Had some Santera pulled up the wolfsbane to use it in a ritual, or was somebody trying clumsily to implicate Sybil in the slaughter of Mrs. Bragg’s chickens? Either way, I was sure that Sybil was home free. Even Bubba couldn’t believe that she was the type to hang out with Santeros and dead chickens.
Bubba scooped up the plant and stuffed it back in the bag. “Kinda dumb to grow somethin’ that can kill people, ‘specially these days, with all this Satanic crap goin’ around. ‘Less o’course you’re plannin’ to use it.” He gave a narrow-eyed glance at the jars and bottles on the shelves. “Any of this stuff poisonous?”
“Some of it.” I shrugged. “But then, so are bluebonnets.”
“Bluebonnets?” Bubba was dumbfounded. His mouth dropped open and his cigar clung tenuously to his lower lip. “You gotta be shittin’ me.”
“No shit,” I said. “Don’t eat the bluebonnets.”
The rest of the morning was uneventful—and miserably unprofitable. The gang outside went for lunch in shifts, the Reverend came back in a fresh white shirt for another round of haranguing and hymn-singing, and when Ruby and I closed up for the day, we had only a few dollars to show for it.
“I never would’ve thought a few pickets could make such a difference,” Ruby said, counting her receipts. She zipped the pittance into her bank bag. “This is peanuts, but I might as well take it to the bank. Want me to make your deposit too?”
“There’s not enough to deposit. I guess I’ll blow it on dinner. It’s my turn to treat McQuaid. Want to join us for an early one?” McQuaid had a meeting at eight. There was a big law enforcement conference at the university next week, and he was in charge. I hadn’t seen much of him in the past couple of weeks.
“Okay if I bring Andrew? He’s working tonight too, but we planned to take time out to eat together.”
“Sure.” I couldn’t help being curious about Andrew, especially after witnessing the little scene he and Sybil had played. But maybe my curiosity was more like suspicion. I care about Ruby, who is trusting and almost too susceptible, and I hate the thought of another
I took the plant out of the bag. It had a hairy stem and alternate leaves, divided into three to five coarsely toothed segments, like parsley. It was too late in the year for the characteristic chalk-yellow flowers, but the plant had a single stem of seedheads in a cluster of four erect pods about a half inch long. I opened a pod and spilled the seeds into my hand. They were brown and irregularly shaped, with deep, flangelike wrinkles.
“Aconitum vulparia,” I said. “Wolfsbane. Where’d you get it?”
“In the park. Beside a pile of dead chickens. The chickens belonged to Miz Bragg, who ain’t too pleased that they’re dead, especially the rooster. She says that ain’t her plant, though.”
“It isn’t.” I hesitated. Mrs. Bubba was vice president of the garden club, and she’d tell him tonight when he got home. I might as well tell him first. “Check with Sybil Rand. The plant might have come from her garden.”
“How d’you figger that? I don’t see no owner’s I.D.”
“Wolfsbane isn’t exactly a common plant. People usually don’t cultivate it, and it doesn’t grow wild here. But Sybil Rand has a few plants.”
Bubba chewed his cigar. “Oh, yeah. The poison garden. Missus told me about that.” He frowned. “This plant, wolf-whatever. It’s poisonous?”
“Yes. Very.”
Bubba stared at the plant with suspicion. He glanced at me, and I saw the question coming. “Sybil Rand, she practice Santeria?”
“I doubt it. But you’d better ask her.” I could guess just how far Bubba would get with Sybil. He’d be called out before he got halfway to first base. It was odd, though. Had some Santera pulled up the wolfsbane to use it in a ritual, or was somebody trying clumsily to implicate Sybil in the slaughter of Mrs. Bragg’s chickens? Either way, I was sure that Sybil was home free. Even Bubba couldn’t believe that she was the type to hang out with Santeros and dead chickens.
Bubba scooped up the plant and stuffed it back in the bag. “Kinda dumb to grow somethin’ that can kill people, ‘specially these days, with all this Satanic crap goin’ around. ‘Less o’course you’re plannin’ to use it.” He gave a narrow-eyed glance at the jars and bottles on the shelves. “Any of this stuff poisonous?”
“Some of it.” I shrugged. “But then, so are bluebonnets.”
“Bluebonnets?” Bubba was dumbfounded. His mouth dropped open and his cigar clung tenuously to his lower lip. “You gotta be shittin’ me.”
“No shit,” I said. “Don’t eat the bluebonnets.”
The rest of the morning was uneventful—and miserably unprofitable. The gang outside went for lunch in shifts, the Reverend came back in a fresh white shirt for another round of haranguing and hymn-singing, and when Ruby and I closed up for the day, we had only a few dollars to show for it.
“I never would’ve thought a few pickets could make such a difference,” Ruby said, counting her receipts. She zipped the pittance into her bank bag. “This is peanuts, but I might as well take it to the bank. Want me to make your deposit too?”
“There’s not enough to deposit. I guess I’ll blow it on dinner. It’s my turn to treat McQuaid. Want to join us for an early one?” McQuaid had a meeting at eight. There was a big law enforcement conference at the university next week, and he was in charge. I hadn’t seen much of him in the past couple of weeks.
“Okay if I bring Andrew? He’s working tonight too, but we planned to take time out to eat together.”
“Sure.” I couldn’t help being curious about Andrew, especially after witnessing the little scene he and Sybil had played. But maybe my curiosity was more like suspicion. I care about Ruby, who is trusting and almost too susceptible, and I hate the thought of another
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