Free Drift by Jon McGoran Page B

is cross pollinated.”
    Nola looked up. “I wondered about that, but cross pollinated with what? Those strange kernels don’t look like anything I’ve seen in a seed catalogue. Or would want to.”
    “No, they don’t, do they?” He bit his lip for a moment, thinking. “I do know of a guy. Jason Rupp. A plant geneticist, among other things. I don’t know him very well, and he’s not here at the college, but he lives nearby. He might be able to shed a little more light. I’ve only met him a few times. An odd bird, but apparently quite brilliant. He was a finalist for the Gairdner Award. Very prestigious. Anyway, I could give him a call, if you’d like.”
    *   *   *
    We followed Simpkins across the hall, into a small, windowless room with books and papers everywhere. He sat behind the desk and flicked through a Rolodex for a moment, then picked up his phone and punched in the number.
    “Jason, hi. This is Jerry Simpkins.… Pine Crest, yes, that’s right. Oh, thanks, yeah, maybe one day.” He rolled his eyes. “Anyway, I’m here with a former student, and she has kind of an interesting problem with some Lenape Blue corn. I was wondering if you might be able to take a look at it.… Well, I don’t know, that’s why I’m calling you.”
    He put his hand over the mouthpiece. “He says he can call you in a few days, maybe he can look at it then.”
    Nola bit her lip. “Actually, can you ask if there’s any chance he could look at it today? I have a client coming tomorrow, and I need to know what to tell them.”
    Simpkins raised one eyebrow dubiously, and then took his hand away from the phone. “Actually, Jason, I know this is asking a lot,” he said, looking up to make sure we caught that. “She was wondering if she could bring it by today. It seems this is more urgent than I had realized.… Yes, I understand … I don’t know, Jason, that’s why we’re calling you.… It’s blue corn. It looks like maybe some kind of smut, but it’s only affecting isolated kernels, as if it was a pollination issue.… They’re kind of discolored, gray and bloated.… Okay, I’ll tell them. Thank you.” He scribbled on a piece of notepaper. “Yes, thanks again, I’ll think about that.”
    He hung up the phone and looked at Nola. “He can see you at his house, but he’s leaving in an hour, so you’ll need to get a move on.” He told us how to get there as he wrote Rupp’s address and phone number on a piece of paper and handed it to Nola.
    She glanced away, not meeting his eyes as she took it. “Thanks, Jerry.”
    He stared at her, aware of her averted gaze, and he smiled sadly. “My pleasure.”

 
    18
     
    Back in the car, Nola seemed pensive. I wasn’t sure if it was because of the encounter with Simpkins or the problem with the corn. She handed me the paper with Rupp’s address and I drove as fast as I dared, my previous run-in with the local authorities still fresh in my mind.
    Once we got onto the main road, the silence stretched out enough that I had to say something.
    “So, I’m perfectly fine going to see this guy right now. It’s not like I’ve got anything else to do. But why is it so important that we see him right now?”
    “Because the caterer is coming tomorrow, and I need to be able to tell them what’s wrong with the corn. I need to know if this is something I can cut around and use the rest. Is it something that can spread to my other crops? I need to know what I’m up against. Plus there are contractual aspects. Some things I’m not liable for, some things I am.”
    “And this blue corn, they can’t get it anywhere else?”
    “Not at this point. I doubt it.”
    “Maybe something just like it.”
    She sighed deeply, like she was talking to an idiot, like she was trying not to get annoyed but her efforts would not succeed indefinitely. “You don’t understand. The bride was very specific. She chose this particular strain of corn to match the bridesmaids’ gowns.