Part 7 (2/2)

They shared a look. ”We don't know,” Franklin said.

”Do the sores indicate some kind of contact with a poison?”

Again, they looked at each other and Doc. ”Miss Delaney, we simply can't, and won't, speculate.”

”Oscar's wife is near emotional and physical collapse. Don't you have anything you can tell her? Any tiny word of hope.”

”The longer the patients survive, the better the odds. Mr. Richmond has been here for four days. He's survived the high temperatures and the buildup of fluid around his heart and lungs--take that as a positive sign. In fact, all the patients have good health and physical strength on their sides. Older patients would be dead by now.”

That wasn't exactly the glad tidings I wanted to take to Tinkie, but it was better than a death sentence.

When I reported back in, she handed me the half-eaten container of food.

”Will you take me home for a little while?”

She was so tired, she sounded drunk. ”Sure. I'll come back and stay with Oscar.”

”Mother's coming. I told her you'd take me home.”

I sat on the edge of the cot beside her and put my arm around her. ”He's going to pull through this.”

”Why can't they figure it out?” she asked. ”They've run tests for four days.”

”I don't know.” I told her about my conversation with Peyton, the genetically altered cotton, and the strange boll weevils he'd discovered in the fields.

”Do you think the G.o.ds are punis.h.i.+ng Sunflower County?” she asked.

”Like biblical plagues?” I was astounded. Tinkie was the voice of reason, the optimist, the one who championed true love and goodness. Here she was talking Armageddon of biblical proportions, all focused on Sunflower County.

”Insects, disease, a s.h.i.+ft in the climate.” She looked at me. ”I'm worried.”

”Me too, but not about End Times. I'm not buying that stuff, Tink. There have been predictions about the end of the world from the Dark Ages on. People used to believe an eclipse was a sign of Armageddon. We'll figure this out. You have to believe that.”

Her smile was weary but amused. ”You're a good friend.”

”You're a better friend.”

Her smile widened. ”You're the best friend.”

”You're the bestest friend.” I lifted her to her feet. ”I'll track down Jimmy Janks, a developer who showed some interest in the Carlisle land. Might be illuminating to dig around in his background, especially in light of the fact that Erin Carlisle says she won't sell the land to be developed.”

Tinkie's eyes lit. ”If the land is overrun with weevils, and the crop is ruined, and there's talk that the place has some kind of agricultural problems, then no one will lease it to farm and--”

”And Erin might yield and sell to a developer.”

”Good thinking, Sarah Booth.”

”The problem with that train of thought is if someone thinks the land is diseased, they may not want to build a subdivision on it,” I said.

Her expression disagreed. ”Some developers build on top of swamps and wetlands and landfills and chemical dumps. A few illnesses and some boll weevils wouldn't stop them. You know they aren't going to tell the home buyers about the history of the land.”

”Good point.”

Tinkie stretched and stifled a yawn. ”Stop by the bank and talk to Harold. He may know Janks. A lot of the developers do business at the bank.”

I kissed her forehead. The food had helped her color a little. ”Let me get you home. A hot bath, a few hours in your own bed. The world will look better after that.”

”Can we pick up Chablis?”

”For you, we can even pick up wandering leprechauns with gnarled toes and k.n.o.bby canes.”

”Sarah Booth, are you on drugs?”

I propelled her down the hall. ”I'm mainlining friends.h.i.+p . For the first time since we got back from Hollywood, I have this sense that things will be okay.” I had no idea where the euphoria had come from, or how long it would stay. But for the moment I clung to it. And Tinkie did, too.

She linked her arm through mine. ”I think you're unstable, but I need a bit of hope right now.”

”You need your pup and some sleep. Let's make that happen.”

8.

Jimmy Janks had set up shop in a strip mall on the outskirts of Zinnia. The fake-stucco front was designed to look like the Alamo. For what reason, I couldn't begin to fathom, unless Janks had some Fess Parker/c.o.o.nskin hat fetish that I didn't want to explore.

The strip mall contained a Tae Kwon Do studio, a smoothie place, the Janks Development Company, and a nail salon. Not a single parking s.p.a.ce was occupied when I pulled in. Even though the brutal summer temperatures were still a month away, the black asphalt radiated heat devils. Beyond the borders of the strip mall was a lush field of new corn.

The martial arts studio wasn't open until three, when school students would be available for cla.s.ses. I'd considered taking up karate but convinced myself it would be smarter to take shooting lessons. Which I needed to sign up for. I'd promised both Graf and Tinkie I would become proficient with a weapon. Something else on my to-do list.

I entered Janks's office and was greeted by a pretty receptionist who took me straight back to see ”the man.”

Jimmy Janks, wearing khakis, a b.u.t.ton-down s.h.i.+rt, deck shoes, and a diamond Rolex, came from money somewhere up the line. His posture, his boyish haircut, his manicured nails, and perfect smile told me a lot about his background.

”Ms. Delaney,” he said, extending a hand. ”I've heard all about your exploits in Hollywood. Are you selling your family plantation? It would be a perfect location for--”

”Dahlia House isn't for sale,” I said with a cold edge that froze him in mid-sentence.

”So many of the older land parcels are on the market, I just a.s.sumed . . . well, farming is becoming too expensive. Folks want to sell off the land and get out of a business that relies on the vagaries of weather.”

As much as I wanted to launch into a tirade about paving the best farmland in the nation, I stopped myself. ”Actually, I'm interested in your plans for the Carlisle land. Luther said you see development potential there.”

He settled behind his desk, punched something into his iPhone, and gave me his full attention. ”Luther desperately wants to sell, but the sister, Erin, won't even discuss it.” He shrugged. ”There's nothing I can do until the family comes to terms.”

”You've spoken with Erin?”

”Not a chance. She s.h.i.+ps my letters back marked 'Return to Sender.' Like that old Elvis song.” He laughed. ”She won't even hear me out. Luther said he's filed a pet.i.tion in court. That's where it stands with him. Once it clears the court, he's agreed to my generous offer, which includes shares in the development. We'll both make a killing. The sister, too.”

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