Free Project Moses - A Mystery Thriller (Enzo Lee Mystery-Thriller Series) by Robert B. Lowe

them all decently sheltered and fed, much less turn them into a labor force capable of plowing, planting, irrigating and fertilizing the fields.
    Now, Masvidal was facing a problem even greater than overseeing the substitution of man for machines. Something was destroying his fields. It had started with the most southern plantations, a brown powdery growth that first attacked the leaves and then spread into the precious sweet cane itself. It had spread northward at the rate of twenty miles a week. Finally, it had reached his plantation.
    Like the other plantation supervisors, he had tried to fight back. He had burned the worst fields, hoping to spare the others. It hadn’t worked. Nothing did. The small supply of fungicides he had on hand was exhausted almost immediately. Now, he was trying to salvage what he could. Maybe 15 percent of the plants resisted the disease. At least he could harvest that much in the fall. The disaster was solving his other problem, however. Now, Masvidal could start sending the laborers back to Havana.
    •   •   •
    LEE WAS SURPRISED when Sarah Armstrong called him at the newspaper earlier in the day. He knew that the simple funeral for Judge Gilbert had been the day before. He had intended to call her in the next day or two. He wanted to see how she was recovering from her injuries. Lee also wondered whether Sarah could shed any light on the events of the past few days.
    When Sarah asked if they could meet to talk about her “accident,” he suggested dinner that night and Sarah agreed.
    After returning from Berkeley in the late afternoon, Lee had stopped at his flat, spent a half hour with his grandmother in the rest home, and then drove to Sarah’s. He found his leather jacket in the trunk of the Fiat. Sarah buzzed him in, and as he trudged up the interior stairway, he could hear her shuffling footsteps off somewhere in the flat.
    “I’ll be right there,” she said as he reached the top. He walked down the hallway to the large living room that looked out on the street, and again admired the beautifully finished hardwood floors, maple paneling and tall white walls that curved into the ceiling 12 feet overhead.
    Sarah came in through the dining room moving slowly on her bad leg. She was wearing black corduroy pants, a beige cashmere turtleneck with splashes of red and blue, a black suede jacket and hand-tooled cowboy boots.
    “Hello,” said Lee. “No ballroom dancing tonight, huh?”
    Sarah smiled at him. “I’ll take a rain check. You wait. I’ll be back on my rollerblades in another week.”
    “Are you a big rollerblader?” he asked. Lee couldn’t help associating rollerblades, neon clothes, zinc oxide and Walkman tapeplayers with the decline of Western civilization.
    Sarah shrugged.
    “I’ll do anything that involves spending time in Golden Gate Park,” she said. “Bike, run. Even ride those stupid paddleboats in the lake.”
    Sarah directed Lee to the nearby Hilltop Cafe on Filmore Street, a small restaurant with dark polished wood and elegant lace tablecloths. They found a parking space in front. Lee was famished and immediately ordered fried calamari to go with his Samuel Adams beer and her camomile tea.
    After he put down his menu, Lee had a chance to study Sarah more carefully than he had earlier. He noticed her hair had a hint of auburn in it. Aside from lipstick, she wore little makeup. Her face was well tanned. She must have spent a lot of time outdoors. He could imagine her in ski goggles, slaloming down a mountainside in perfect, no-nonsense form. Sarah’s menu was flat on the table, her hands palm down on either edge. She was studying it carefully. She sat with her shoulders squared but leaning slightly toward him.
    “You’re staring,” Sarah said, without looking up.
    “Oh. Yeah. I’m sorry.” Lee looked at his hands and realized he had been unfolding and refolding his napkin. He put the napkin down and took a gulp from his beer.
    Sarah looked up