Free Digging Up the Dead by Jill Amadio

someone scream. It’s not my fault if someone gets murdered, and I happen to be in the vicinity.”
    “Seems to happen to you a lot. All right, thank you for your time,” said Parnell, getting up and practically charging out the door. “Oh, here’s my card.”
    “I still have your card from the last time we met on the Whittaker matter, remember?”
    “Please call me if you think of anything useful to the investigation.”

 
     
     
Chapter Seventeen
     
     
    Parnell left, clattering down the steps as quickly as possible. Tosca was sure he was hoping she’d never contact him again. Their relationship had not been a happy one after she’d shown him how wrong he’d been about a previous case.
    Tosca planned to begin her own investigating. Here was an opportunity, albeit a sad one, to solve a crime, write it up and go home. Surely her editor couldn’t refuse her the promotion she would deserve.
    She started her online search by finding several web sites about the poisonous plant, following the trail of the calotropis gigantean, commonly known as giant milkweed. She read that the toxins within the plant were similar to digitalis or digoxin, a common heart medication. While all parts of the plant were considered toxic, it was the milky sap that could induce abnormal heart rates, tremors and seizures. It contained chemicals that were considered steroidal heart poisons.
    A site devoted to Hinduism warned in one of its forums that giant milkweed is extremely toxic, and if the stem is cut and the sap touches the skin, it can cause sores and ulcers. At her computer she Googled “giant milkweed” and read with mounting excitement more references to the plant than Parnell had mentioned. An article was posted on a Far Eastern website that welcomed readers to the “sacred world of Hinduism.” The lead headline read, “Giant milkweed – VERY TOXIC!” Several people commented in response on the site, one writing, “High doses can kill, and the sap was used in infanticide.” Another stated, “The sap was used as poison on arrows,” and that, mixed with food, can poison human beings.
    “How lovely,” thought Tosca. “A naturally green method of murdering someone.”
    Another web site suggested logging on to the Pet Poison Helpline. Here, Tosca typed “poison and milkweed” into the search box, not expecting any information when she clicked on it. To her surprise three pages showed up, noting the plant was poisonous to cats and dogs. “The toxins within these plants are similar to digitalis or digoxin, a common heart medication used in both human and veterinary medicine. Even the water in a vase containing the giant milkweed has been reported to cause toxicosis. Clinical signs from ingestion include cardiovascular (e.g. abnormal heart rhythm and rate), electrolyte abnormalities (e.g. a life-threatening high potassium level) … tremors and seizures.”
    At the web site of the Institute of Food and Agricultural Sciences at a university in Florida, giant milkweed was discussed at length in an article by a horticulture agent whose specialty was tropical flowering trees. She noted that the plant, calotropis gigantean, originated in the Far East, including India, and that the milky sap was poisonous. A third article Tosca read claimed that a copious white sap flowed whenever stems were cut.
    Yet another article caught her eye, “A Poisoner’s Guide to Central Park.” The writer claimed that enough poisons existed in New York’s eight-hundred forty-three-acre park to threaten the health of every jogger. Tosca read avidly, confirming at other online sites that the white fluid was highly toxic and that one milkweed in the calotropis plant family was more lethal than strychnine. Even the water in a vase became lethal if giant milkweeds were placed in it.
    The plants were grown in many countries and sometimes used to attract Monarch butterflies. Full sun was preferred.
    “Hmm,” she murmured, “dandy for growing in