Free A Case of Vineyard Poison by Philip R. Craig Page A

though.”
    â€œHow’d she get the roots?”
    â€œWe’re going to try to find out. We’ll talk to her roommates and her friends, and see if we can track down the source. We don’t want to lose anybody else.”
    â€œNo.”
    I hung up, and remembered the girl wobbling along on her moped with a frowning face that I’d believed then was caused by angry thoughts that kept her from being really pretty, but which I knew now was from the sickness unto death. I thought that she had probably gotten so sick that she knew she needed help and, seeing my driveway, had turned in, trying to get to the house she knew must be there. But sandy roads and dying moped drivers do not mix well, and she had fallen. She had willed herself to her feet and staggered on, sicker by the second, until, finally, her last strength took her off the driveway, where she fell and died.
    Had she cried out? Some last cry that no one heard? Had she known she was dying? Feared it? Welcomed it at last as an escape from overwhelming pain?
    I felt a touch on my arm and looked down into Zee’s great dark eyes.
    â€œAre you okay?”
    I looked around. Dave and Quinn were looking back at me.
    â€œI asked you what the call was about,” said Zee, a note of worry in her voice. “Are you all right? Was it bad news?”
    â€œI’m fine. No, it wasn’t really bad news. Just strange.” I told them what Tony D’Agostine had told me, and about seeing the girl on the highway just before she died.
    â€œWater hemlock.” I could see that Zee was running herpoison knowledge through her mind. As a nurse, she knew a lot more about such things than I did. Finally, she shook her head. Water hemlock was apparently not included in her mental files.
    I looked at my watch. Plenty of time.
    â€œI’m going down to the library,” I said. “I’ll be back in time to cook supper. You’re all welcome to come along.”
    â€œNot I,” said Quinn. “I’ve had a busy day. It’s nap time for Mrs. Quinn’s little boy.” He yawned to prove it.
    â€œAnd I’m going to pick some peas to go with the blue-fish,” said Zee. “Then I’m going to do some weeding in the flower beds.”
    â€œI’ll come with you, J.W.,” said Dave. “I like libraries.”
    I, too, like libraries. They’re full of books and other interesting sources of information and entertainment, and they’re run by people who actually like their work and want to help you, which is to say that they’re exactly the opposite of the people who work for the Registry of Motor Vehicles.
    Dave and I finally got through the horrendous mid-afternoon coming-home-from-the-beach traffic jam in front of the A & P, and made it downtown. At the four corners, I hung a left on North Water Street, Edgartown’s most prestigious avenue, avoided hitting a number of pedestrians who seemed oblivious to the fact that they were walking on a street where real live cars were driven, and actually found a parking place only a block beyond the library.
    On ahead of us, the great captains’ houses marched toward Starbuck Neck. I pointed out to Dave that the fronts of all of the houses were just slightly out of line with the street, being tilted, as it were, a bit more toward the sea.
    â€œWhy were they built that way?” asked Dave.
    A good question, but one I could not answer. Another Vineyard mystery yet to be solved.
    In the library, Dave wandered and I went to the card catalog and looked up poisons. There weren’t a lot of entries, but there were enough. I found the books and an empty chair and began to read.
    Water Hemlock. Scientific name: Cicuta maculata. No wonder Tony couldn’t pronounce it. Also known as beaver poison, cowbane, and locoweed, and by other names as well. Found growing wild in eastern North America and other places. Different species found throughout the United