"The reason Oscar and the others haven't responded to antibiotics is because this isn't a bacterial infection."

"But it doesn't appear to be viral, either," I said.

"True. None of the tests for viral agents have been conclusive."

I couldn't help jumping ahead. "If it isn't bacterial or viral, what is it?"

"Fungal."

After Katrina, thousands of homes in New Orleans and along the Mississippi Gulf Coast flooded and became infested with mold. Some owners became very ill. But we hadn't even had a good rainy spring in Zinnia.

"We're talking mold, right?" I wanted to be sure I hadn't gone off on a tangent.

"Some form of mold or spore. The patients must have inhaled the spores." He lifted both palms. "That's an educated guess. I don't have all the facts yet, but at least I have a direction."

"Where did this mold come from?"

He closed the office door before he sat on the edge of his desk. "This can go no further, Sarah Booth. I'm trusting you with information that I may not share--just yet--with the sheriff."

"You have to tell Coleman. He's working to resolve this just like you are." I didn't see why he would withhold any information.

"In good time, Sarah Booth." His tone warned me to back off. "I should probably keep this to myself until I have something solid."

"Someone deliberately infected the Carlisle plantation, didn't they?" I asked. Even speculation would be helpful to me.

He hesitated, then finally spoke. "That would be my guess. The problem is that I've not been able to identify a spore that would cause these exact symptoms."

"A mutation."

"Exactly. But until I have more information . . . I don't want to send this investigation down a rabbit trail, understand?"

I saw his point. Peyton was talking serious crimes. "The mold, by itself, is it harmful?"

He shuffled some papers on his desk until he found one sheet. Pulling it to the top of a stack, he looked it over. "Bonnie and Dr. Unger have worked nonstop on the weevils. They'd found a very different breeding cycle. It may be attributable to the mold."

"So how do we find out about this mold? What will counter the effects in Oscar and the others?"

"I'm running tests on the cotton. Bonnie Louise is working on the weevils. Now Doc can address the mold. Between the three of us, we should find an answer."

"How long?"

"Mold is insidious. Now that we know to look in this direction, we have a focus, but it isn't as simple as A follows B to conclude with C."

"Oscar and the others don't have a lot of time, Peyton."

"I know that. We'll get the answer you want, Sarah Booth."

I was about to ask for the hazmat suit when the door flew open and banged against a wall.

"I want to talk to the CDC." The tall, lanky man from Millie's Cafe entered armed with a bad att.i.tude. Joe Downs was making the rounds of Zinnia and, judging from the redness of his face, he was still p.i.s.sed off.

18.

"Who the h.e.l.l are you?" Peyton was as cool as a c.r.a.p shooter on a winning streak.

"I'm Joe Downs. Mississippi Agri-Team leases the Carlisle plantation. I have a murdered employee and some land that I'm told looks like a biblical plague struck." He jabbed his pointer in Peyton's direction. "If those weevils spread to other plantations, this could be the ruination of the economy here."

Peyton pulled up another chair. "Have a seat, Mr. Downs. This is Sarah Booth Delaney."

Downs gave me a nod of acknowledgment and eased his angular frame into the chair. "I know 'er. Knew her dad. He did some legal work for my father. Knew his business and treated folks fair."

I didn't get a chance to thank him before Peyton cut in.

"First of all, Mr. Downs, I regret the situation you're in, but I have nothing to do with it. The CDC is studying an illness, and I have to point out, the boll weevils are a secondary matter."

"Look, Lester Ballard was a friend as well as an employee. He's dead. Murdered. Shot in the back! People who went out to that plantation are seriously sick. A strange crop is infested with weevils, and all I can get from the sheriff is a bunch of guff. I want to know what you've found and what you're planning to do." Downs gripped the arms of his chair.

"We're doing everything in our power." Peyton went to a carafe, poured a gla.s.s of water, and handed it to Downs.

If what Peyton suspected was true, someone had created the problems with the cotton and weevils. And that someone had something to gain. "Did MAT have a written agreement with the Carlisle family for the use of the plantation?" I asked.

"Of course we did. Used to be a handshake was good enough, but not any more. We had a signed lease. Good for another six years."

"Were you aware that Luther Carlisle intended to sell the land?" I pressed.

"The first MAT heard about this was a week ago. Lester was fit to be tied. He tried to talk to Luther, but the coward wouldn't take Lester's calls. Lester had some business in Central America, but he returned and was on this Sunflower County matter quick as he could be."

"What are the terms of the land lease?" I asked. "Can it be terminated?"

"For cause. From our end. I find it mighty interestin' that contamination is about the only reason MAT would halt the lease."

I found that equally fascinating. "You've never had trouble with the Carlisles before?"

"Not a bit of it. Luther was glad enough to take our money and have us manage the land. That Jimmy Janks came in here and got Luther all goo-goo eyed with greed over his development scheme. Janks is the scoundrel who's trying to turn good farmland into a subdivision, and I'd lay money he's behind these weevils."

"Do you know if Mr. Ballard spoke with Janks?"

Downs sipped the water. Talking calmed him. "Lester said he was meeting Janks. Lester had found some other land that wasn't so fertile. He meant to propose a swap with Janks so he could develop the poorer land. He said he had a meeting set up, but Janks didn't show, so he was taking the meeting to Janks. That's the last I heard from Lester. This morning Lester didn't answer his phone. He wasn't in his hotel room. I knew something awful had happened."

I got up and refilled Downs's gla.s.s. He'd lost a coworker and friend, and he wanted answers. My sympathies were with him.

Downs sipped the water and continued. "Luther, that greedy gut, is tryin' to roll over his own sister." Contempt dripped from his words. "Still, I never figured him for a killer. Too squeamish. Goes against that genteel pose he strikes. But there's no tellin' what greed will do to a man. If he's behind this, he'll burn in h.e.l.l, because I'll send him there."

"Threats aren't necessary," Peyton said softly. "Sheriff Peters will find the guilty party."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Downs," I said. "I know this is a terrible loss for you."

"Lester was a good man. A decent man. He didn't deserve to be killed and thrown into a river. And you can call it a threat, but I consider it a promise. Someone is going to pay." He stood up. "While this is personal, it also involves an entire industry. If those weevils get loose on the rest of the cotton, it could destroy us."

"Mr. Ballard, I know you're worried. My a.s.sociate, Ms. McRae, has a unique knowledge of the boll weevil. She isn't here now, but when she returns, she'll call you and update you on her studies regarding the insects."

"I'm not nearly as concerned in studyin' them as I am in killin' them. I heard most of the cotton on the Carlisle land is destroyed. I can't even get out there to check it."

It intrigued me that Peyton failed to mention the weevils had only attacked the genetically altered cotton. That might give Downs a little solace, but I trusted Peyton had his reasons for staying mum.

"We're hoping to have some answers soon. Then you'll be able to check the property." Peyton was kind but firm.

"Can you give me a time when this might happen?" Downs asked.

"I wish I could. This is our highest priority."

Once Downs got to the land, based on the descriptions I'd heard of the cotton, he'd have a hissy fit for sure.

Downs rubbed his chin. "I talked with some of the experts at MAT. There's a new chemical, a pesticide. I'd like to give it a try. See if I can't salvage something."

Peyton's jaw flexed. "I wish I could say yes. I honestly do. But finding the cause of an illness comes first."

Downs rattled the ice in his gla.s.s. "They didn't catch what they've got from cotton or weevils. That's crazy talk that'll get folks stirred up and make trouble like you've never thought about." He leaned forward. "It sounds like something Luther and Janks cooked up to scare people. Fact is, I wouldn't put it past Janks to be the one who sent Lester that new cotton seed."

This was a lead to pursue. "We've been curious about the cotton on the Carlisle place. It's . . . unusual." If Peyton wanted to yield the details, he could. Again, he kept silent.

Leaning a boney elbow on a knee, Downs thought a moment. "Lester told me something about the seed, but I don't clearly remember the whole story. Take it up with Luther Carlisle. He's involved. You can count on it."

"Thanks." It was a solid tip.

"Listen here, you two. MAT has worked that land for a long time. If there's something sick about it, someone brought it and put it there and it wasn't Lester."

He unfolded from the chair. "Call me when I can see that land."

Downs hadn't been gone a minute when Bonnie Louise pushed through the door. She wore scrubs and a lab coat and looked as if she hadn't slept in a week. "Peyton, I need your help." She acknowledged me with a look. "Dr. Unger believes the mold comes from the weevils. He's not sure of the source, but this is a big step. He wants us to gather more specimens from the field."

Peyton stood quickly. "Let's go."

"Oh, yeah, Sarah Booth, Coleman asked me to call you an hour ago and tell you Cece left the Jackson hospital. She should be here in Zinnia any minute. Sorry, I got busy and forgot to call."

A little advance notice would have been nice. To prepare Tinkie for Cece's condition. "I'll get that suit later," I told Peyton.

"Sure thing." He locked the door behind the three of us as we hurried out of the building.

I walked across the potholed parking lot and driveway to the hospital's back doors. They were supposed to lock automatically, but that wasn't the case. Some enterprising family member of a sick person or a hospital employee sneaking out for a smoke break often disabled the lock with a bobby pin. When I tugged lightly, the door opened wide. Folks had been working that stunt since Aunt Loulane was in the hospital fifteen years ago.

I approached the hallway where Tinkie sat on the edge of the cot, slumped with fatigue.

In my year back in Sunflower County, I'd rarely seen Tinkie less than perfectly turned out. She wasn't a woman who wore her feelings on her sleeve. Somewhere in the Daddy's Girl rulebook, there's something about how neither rain nor sleet nor snow nor emotional and physical exhaustion shall ever interfere with looking good.

Tinkie's clothes were flawless; it was her body that needed ironing. In the week of Oscar's illness, her muscle, bone, and skin had shifted. That realization scared me into action.

"Tinkie, you have to get out of here for a while." I came from behind and startled her so badly, she jumped up.

Using her own momentum, I spun her and marched her down the hall. "You're going home. We'll pick up Chablis and Sweetie. Maybe I'll cook something."

"French toast? Sans the Mickey, right?"

"Cut me some slack. You need to sleep, but I won't drug you again. And you can have breakfast or dinner, what ever you want." Where had the day gone--it was mighty close to supper time. "Eat something and if you can't sleep, I'll bring you back here. I'll call your mom to come sit while we're gone."

"You promise?"

"Scout's honor." I wanted to get her outside in the sunlight to tell her about Cece. I made the arrangements with Mrs. Bellcase as we walked down the corridor.

"What's wrong?" Tinkie asked, when I held the back door open.

"I have some bad news." We crossed the parking lot, and then I told her about Cece. All expression fell from her face, and she scuffed her toe in the gravel like a first grader.

"Tinkie, are you okay?"

"Is she seriously hurt?"

She didn't resist when I opened the pa.s.senger door and put her in the car. I slid behind the wheel before I answered. When I was buckled in, I took a deep breath. "It must be pretty bad. Harold went to facilitate transferring her here. They'll be here soon."

"And Coleman doesn't have any more details than that?"

"Coleman has his hands full, Tink. There's been a murder." I filled her in on what I knew of Lester Ballard's death.

"I don't want to go home. Let's stop by the sheriff's office," Tinkie said.

"You look like a puff of wind could blow you away. You need something to eat and some time with your dog."

"I need to find out what's happening to the people I love." The quiet tone of her voice made me hesitate. Tinkie was in bad shape, but she wasn't a lightweight when it came to friendship. Cece was as big a part of her life as mine.

We sat in the roadster at the edge of the health clinic parking lot while I decided which way to go.

Tinkie grasped my wrist and squeezed. "I've been helpless, sitting there with Oscar. I need to do something. Maybe I can help figure out who hurt Cece."

And that was all it took. I pressed the gas and headed to the court house. While Tinkie needed rest and food, she also needed to get involved in something outside Oscar's illness.

19.