Kathy Reichs - Flash and Bones

“Do you still accept it?”

Bogan stroked Daytona for a while before answering.

“All those years, I kept waiting for a call, a letter, a telegram, anything to let me know that my son was alive. Every time I returned to this house, I checked the answering machine. Every time the mail arrived, I looked for Cale’s handwriting. It became an obsession. Pointless, but I couldn’t help myself. Then one day I stopped.”

Bogan drew air into his nose, slowly released it. Then he looked me straight in the eye.

“I don’t know what happened back then. Cale took off to marry his girlfriend? Went into hiding? Got himself killed? You tell me. I gave up trying to figure it out.”

“Herbert Hoover?”

Galimore and I were back in the car.

“I thought Bogan was going all Archie Bunker,” I said.

“You’re far too young to remember All in the Family .”

“Save the enchantment for Reta.”

“You think Bogan’s a racist?”

“Did you hear how he pronounced ‘diversification,’ as though it were a dirty word?” I hooked quotation marks in the air. “‘Back in the day everyone knew whose sport it was.’ Give me a break.”

“The man likes cats.”

“A point in his favor. I also think Bogan’s a homophobe.” More quote marks. “‘Men were men’? Did the dolt really say that?”

“The line was good enough for Archie and Edith.”

“I know there are rumors, but has anyone in NASCAR actually come out?”

“Evan Darling. He’s a Grand-Am driver. But most stay deep in the closet.”

“If Bogan’s attitude is typical, I can see why.”

“There’s a growing fan base among the gay community. Quite a few websites. Gaytona.com. Queers4Gears.com. GayWheels.com.”

“Who knew?”

“You talked to Bogan more than I did. What was your take?”

“His grief over losing Cale seemed genuine. But his view of Cindi Gamble doesn’t square with what I’ve heard from others.”

“What others?” Galimore turned north onto Providence Road.

“J. D. Danner, the leader of the Patriot Posse. Danner thought Cindi had a good shot at driving NASCAR.”

“Maybe Bogan was biased. Don’t parents always think their kids are better athletes or artists or whatever compared to everyone else’s kids?”

“Maybe.” I thought a moment. “A teacher named Ethel Bradford said Cindi was highly intelligent. And Lynn Nolan, a high school friend, described her as scary-smart.”

“Bogan wasn’t saying Cindi was dumb. He was saying she was dull.”

I remembered Galimore’s phone interruption. “I hope your call wasn’t bad news.”

“It wasn’t good. There’s a feeding frenzy going on at the Speed-way. I’ve got to get back.”

I checked my watch: 3:20. No wonder I was hungry. There was nothing at home. I’d have to stop for groceries.

Suddenly I remembered something that had fallen through the cracks.

“Lynn Nolan mentioned another of Cindi’s friends. Maddy Padgett. Slidell was going to try to locate her.”

“Did he?”

“I forgot to ask him. When he called, we just talked about the Mustang.”

We wound through town, my thoughts buzzing like wasps in a bottle. So many loose ends. So many unanswered questions.

“Did I tell you that Lynn Nolan thought Cale was abusive to Cindi?”

Galimore turned to me, surprise on his face. “Oh yeah?”

“She thought she spotted bruising on Cindi’s arms.”

“No shit.”

“I think we should talk to Maddy Padgett.”

“We can do that.”

We were almost to the MCME when I remembered the call I’d ignored.

A red dot indicated voice mail.

I tapped the icon and listened.

And felt the tiny hairs on my neck go upright.

ISUCKED IN MY BREATH.

Checked the list of incoming calls.

“Shit.”

Sensing agitation, Galimore glanced my way.

With a shaky finger, I rejabbed the icon.

Listened again.

“Jesus.”

“What’s going on?”

I hit speaker while extending the phone in Galimore’s direction.

The voice was low and deep, the message short.

“You’re next.”

“Play it again,” Galimore ordered.

I did.

“Again.”

We listened to the same two words. Still the meaning was unclear. “Is he saying ‘you’re next’? Or is he saying ‘your next’ and then getting cut off?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Don’t be a smart-ass.”

Galimore was right. I was being a jerk. It’s the game face I wear when frightened.

“If this is a threat, I intend to take it seriously.”

“Thanks, Hulk.”

“Christ, Brennan. Check the number.”

“The call logged in as unknown.”

“Do you recognize the voice?”

“No. Does it sound like the same guy who threatened you?”

“I can’t be sure. But here’s what you’re going to do.”

“I react poorly when people use that opener.”

“Go home. Arm the security system. Stay there. I’ll contact you when I’m done kicking ass at the Speedway.”

“Can I admit strangers if they’re really polite?”

My surgical strike for groceries ended up costing two hundred and forty bucks. But I had provisions to take me into the next millennium.

While I placed cans and boxes in the pantry, fruit in a bowl, and veggies and dairy products in the refrigerator, Birdie chased empty bags across the floor. Periodically, he’d roll to his back and claw the plastic with four upraised paws.

I ate a carton of yogurt, a peach, and two Petit Écolier cookies. Then I went upstairs to peel off my sweaty clothes and shower with my impulse purchase of pomegranate energizing body cleanser.

When I returned to the kitchen, pits, stems, and tiny globs of pulp littered the floor. Great. The little bugger had eaten three cherries and mangled four more.

While waiting for Galimore, I decided to see what I could scare up on abrin. An hour on the Internet taught me the following.

Abrus precatorius goes by many common names, including but not limited to Jequirity, Crab’s Eye, Rosary Pea, John Crow Bead, Precatory Bean, and Indian Licorice.

The plant is a slender perennial climber that twines around trees, shrubs, and hedges. Its leaves are long and pinnate-leafleted. Its seeds are black and red and contain the toxin abrin.

Though native to Indonesia, Abrus precatorius is now found in many tropical and subtropical areas of the world, including the United States. When introduced to new locales, the species tends to become weedy and invasive.

Known as Gunja in Sanskrit and some Indian languages and Ratti in Hindi, Abrus precatorius is used as a traditional unit of measure, mostly by jewelers and Ayurved doctors. The seeds are valued in native jewelry for their bright coloration. In China, they are a symbol of love. In Trinidad, they are worn to ward off evil spirits.

Jewelry-making with Abrus precatorius is considered dangerous work. Death by abrin poisoning has resulted from finger-pricking while boring the seeds for beadwork.

Symptoms are identical in abrin and ricin poisoning. But abrin is more toxic by almost two orders of magnitude.

Abrin is a macromolecular complex consisting of two protein subunits termed A and B. The B chain facilitates abrin’s entry into a cell by bonding to certain transport proteins on the cell membranes. Once inside, the A chain shuts down protein synthesis.

I was eyeballing pictures of the assassin legume when my iPhone started bouncing across the table. I’d forgotten to switch it from vibrate.