Chapter 5
Two days later, Safiya had been transferred from the Harbortown hospital to Maine Medical in Portland.
Nothing had shown up in her blood tests that suggested cleaning products were at fault.
There was no sign of food or chemical poisoning.
The doctors were apparently honing in on accidental ingestion of a toxic plant.
Most such toxins would be flushed from the bloodstream too quickly to get a solid result, but according to the police, whatever the blood test had detected was too faint to be conclusive.
Barnaby got the news from Luke, who’d come by to quiz the staff on what they knew about her exposure to the local flora.
“What sort of toxic plant? I didn’t know we had any on this island, other than the usual poison ivy.
” Leaning on his shovel, Barnaby used his forearm to wipe the sweat off his forehead.
He was taking a break from lawyer consultations to help the landscaping staff build a new flagstone patio.
He’d take physical labor over legal talk any minute of any day.
“There are toxic plants everywhere in the world,” said Luke wisely, as if he was now an expert on the topic.
“That’s not even including poisonous mushrooms, which we don’t have on this island.
By the way, did you know that some people think consciousness evolved as a result of ingesting hallucinogenic mushrooms? ”
“You know something? Think of any wacky theory about anything in the world, and you’ll find someone who believes it.” Barnaby unscrewed the top of his water flask and drank deeply. “Is she going to be okay?”
“They think so. She has some other health issues that were triggered by the reaction to the toxin. I can’t get into details, that’s her business. Another thing is that they think it could have been powderized, and that would explain how hard it hit her.”
Barnaby jumped to the logical conclusion. “So this plant might not even grow here.”
“Correct. She might have taken it medicinally or recreationally.”
“We interviewed all her friends, remember? Everyone said she doesn’t do drugs or drink. She’s a very faithful Muslim.”
“Medicinally, then. It could be some kind of folk remedy.”
Barnaby shrugged, feeling the welcome burn in his shoulders from actual physical labor. “She’s from Somalia. Maybe they use plants for healing purposes?”
“Why are you so calm about this?” Luke cocked his head at Barnaby, his deep blue eyes—the Carmichael blue, the only thing all the siblings shared—alive with curiosity. “Won’t it make the hotel look bad that a staff member got accidentally poisoned?”
“I hired a PR crisis manager and I’ve been fucking Zen about the hotel ever since.”
Luke laughed at that. “Good move. I never saw you as a PR expert.”
“You mean telling reporters to get the fuck off the island isn’t the best approach?”
“I don’t personally have a problem with it. Be nice to Heather, though,” he added quickly. Every time Luke so much as mentioned Heather, he got a lovesick look on his face, but Barnaby didn’t have the heart to tease him about it. Sometimes you just had to bow down in the presence of true love.
“Heather’s more of an islander than I am,” he said instead. “I’m more worried about Safiya and how she got ahold of this toxic plant. She lives on the mainland, have they asked her family there?”
“Yes, her husband said that someone on the island was helping her with some health issues.”
A faint alarm bell went off in Barnaby’s mind. There was only one person he knew who might be dispensing non-FDA-approved cures.
“You think it was someone here at the Lightkeeper Inn?”
“As far as I know, she never went anywhere else on the island. Most of the staff members stick to the eastern side.”
“Well, you’re welcome to interrogate the staff again. Mind if I stay here and finish this patio?” Barnaby glanced over at the three landscapers, who had continued the work of leveling out the dirt where the flagstones would go.
“That’s fine. They might talk more if you’re not there anyway. Word has it they’re all terrified of you.”
“The hell?” Barnaby scowled in outrage. “What’d I do?”
Luke pointed at his face. “That.” Then he laughed.
Barnaby made a serious effort to relax his frown into a more pleasant expression, but it must have been a comical sight because Luke laughed even harder.
“I’m just fucking with you. I think they’re terrified because they don’t know what’s going to happen to the hotel. Rumors are flying that you’re going to turn it into something else, like a Buddhist retreat or a school for Ugandan orphans.”
“Swear to God, the way crazy misinformation spreads…I’m trying to keep the place going. None of this is my doing, I’m just picking up the pieces.”
Although as he said that, Barnaby wondered if it was true. Sure, he hadn’t directly caused their current crisis. But if he’d been around more, could he have prevented it? Maybe.
“I know,” said Luke. “And believe me, all of us sane Carmichaels owe you a thank you. The others would too, if they could spare a thought to anyone except themselves. Anyway, you might think about clearing the air somehow.”
“I’ll think about it,” Barnaby growled as he hefted his shovel back into position.
Luke’s phone buzzed. He glanced at it and frowned. “Shit.”
“What?”
“It’s Marigold. Someone else is having an attack like Safiya’s. Coughing up blood, hallucinating. Will you come? You handled the last one.”
Without a word, Barnaby tossed his shovel to the ground and the two of them ran to Luke’s truck.
They found Buzzy O’Keefe on his knees in his potato patch, retching and spitting blood into the dirt. His wife Ruth stood a few feet away, her face as white as the laundry she’d been hanging on her clothesline. They were an older couple who’d been on the island ever since Barnaby could remember.
“Buzzy has heart issues, AFib, but it’s never made him like this,” Ruth said, shaking. She made a quick sign of the cross and muttered something under her breath. “Think it’s some kind of plague?”
“No, nothing like that,” Barnaby reassured her as he helped Buzzy to his feet.
“We need to get him to the wharf,” Luke said. “The fire boat’s going to take him to the hospital.”
In Barnaby’s opinion, that was a mistake. A helicopter would be much faster. But this wasn’t Lightkeeper property, so it wasn’t his call.
“Has he eaten any strange plants lately? Or come into contact with any?” Luke asked her.
“Plants? Why would he eat a plant?”
“Like a vegetable, salad, you know…”
“The only vegetable he eats is a potato, or maybe a carrot. Nothing green.”
Poor Buzzy retched again and moaned something incoherent.
“What about any home remedies?”
Her expression shifted, indignation chasing away the fear. “You’re saying this is my fault?”
“Of course not. I’m just trying to get a picture of what he might have ingested recently.”
“Well, if you want the answer to that, you’ll have to ask the Clambake Grill.
He used to spend all his time at the Eyeball, but now it’s the Clambake.
He doesn’t like my cooking.” She shrugged.
“Just as well by me, since it saves me the time. I can open a can of soup and be happy. You think it’s food poisoning? ”
“No,” Luke said quickly. “We don’t know what it is, but please keep this to yourself while we try to figure it out. We don’t need a panic on our hands.”
“I ain’t panicking. He’ll be back in no time gettin’ on my nerves again.”
At least she’d gotten over her shakiness.
After they’d gotten Buzzy onto the fireboat, Barnaby and Luke spent some time reassuring the onlookers that there was no infectious bloody-vomit plague sweeping the island.
“Or maybe there is,” Barnaby murmured to Luke when they were finally headed up the gravel road away from the dock. “Are they a hundred percent sure it isn’t something contagious? You have to admit, the two cases are very similar.”
“All I know is what the hospital said. I’m no doctor.”
The road took them right past the Bloodshot Eyeball, otherwise known as Buzzy’s former hangout. Before fire had destroyed its kitchen, the Eyeball had served the island’s best coffee. Now it was a construction site with a soundtrack of power tools and music blasting over someone’s speaker.
And two women in paint-spattered t-shirts and shorts, grooving to Cardi B as they painted boards laid out on two sawhorses behind the structure.
“I’m going to say hi to Heather, do you mind?” Luke murmured.
“I’ll wait in the truck.”
“Whatever suits you.”
But Barnaby found himself irresistibly drawn along in Luke’s wake as his brother bounded across the grass to the sawhorses. It was possible that those long brown-skinned legs of Gabby’s were to blame; he was just a man, after all.
Heather and Gabby straightened up from their work, paintbrushes in hand. Luke dodged Heather’s brush as he dropped a kiss on her lips. Gabby caught Barnaby’s glance and gave a little eye-roll, a “here they go again” kind of thing.
“What’s all the hubbub down at the dock?” Heather asked, once Luke had released her lips.
“Another medical incident.” Luke explained the situation. “That’s two now.”
Heather exchanged a glance with Gabby, who gave a nod. “Actually, it’s three.”
“What are you talking about?”
“There’s someone we know who had a very similar episode,” said Gabby. “But they didn’t want a big fuss. So they made us promise not to tell anyone.”
Luke frowned at her, then at Heather. “When? How long have you been keeping this to yourself?”
“It just happened yesterday.” Heather was clearly trying to reassure him, but Barnaby could tell Luke was irritated by this news. “We’ve been debating the ethics of it.”
“Well, what can you tell me? What happened?”
“This person, who is about nineteen years old, had a sudden attack of bloody vomiting,” said Gabby.
“I happened to be there at the time. I remembered how you handled the situation with Safiya, so I got him—them onto their side and made sure their airway was clear. When the vomiting stopped, I told them I’d seen this before, just recently, and did they want me to call for help.
But they were feeling better and said no.
They were embarrassed and haven’t always had good experiences with the medical system.
I respected their request and that was that. ”
“But you told Heather?”
“Of course. You have to admit it’s interesting, given what happened to Safiya.” Her eyes sparked with that look Barnaby recognized—the newshound look, the “I’m onto something” expression.
Barnaby groaned. “Please don’t tell me it’s your latest podcast topic.”
“It’s an ongoing investigation, so no, it’s not,” Luke said pointedly.
“Maybe not, but we’re definitely intrigued.” Heather set her paintbrush on the can. “So what’s your prevailing theory?”
Luke scrubbed a hand across the back of his neck and swore. “I can’t tell you guys that.”
“That’s fair.” Gabby smiled at him, clearly trying to think up some other angle. “Totally get it. How about this? Ask whatever you want about this incident and I’ll try to answer it while respecting their request for privacy.”
His eyes narrowed. “Is this a trick?”
“The only tricky part is I’m trying to maintain journalistic integrity while helping you out.” Gabby blinked innocently at him. Barnaby wanted to laugh at the way she’d backed Luke into a corner.
After a few flexes of his jaw and muttered curses, Luke asked them, with exaggerated politeness, “Is there any chance this third victim was taking any home remedies, such as powdered capsules or so forth? Teas made from unusual sources, that sort of thing.”
“That’s very cryptic, and the answer is…” Gabby beckoned Heather for a consult, and they put their heads together for a moment of whispering. “We really have no idea,” she said when they were done. “It’s possible, given the, uh, family environment.”
Luke straightened up and clapped his hands together. “Thank you, Gabby. You’ve actually been a big help. Catch you later.”
He wheeled around and headed for the truck, with Barnaby following behind. “The Highgroves,” he muttered. “It has to be. It must have been Andy. Gabby knows him well, and he’s a big guy so this toxin would have affected him less—”
“Wait!”
They paused as Gabby came running after them. “At least let me come with you, since I was there with him. I want to explain in person how you found out.”
Luke nodded and gestured toward the back of the truck, but Barnaby shook his head. “Go ahead and get in the front seat,” he told her. “I have something else to do.”
At Luke’s curious glance, he shrugged. He didn’t owe Luke an explanation.
But he did owe someone else a warning. Everything was starting to converge in a direction he didn’t like.