Coldwater Revenge by James Ross (e novels to read online TXT) 📗

on and on about brain chemicals, keys and locks and stuff. It sounded a lot like what Willow was talking about. But since it was coming from someone who’d just ripped off her shirt to keep me from noticing her stash, I had a hard time concentrating.”

Tom tried to drag the narrative to higher ground. “So what kind of plants were they?”

“She told me some names, but I wasn’t really listening. I figured I’d just pull a few of them up when I came back to rip out Cashin’s stuff, and then send them to the lab for identification.”

Tom gestured at the fresh gouges on his brother’s arms. “And you did that just a few days ago?”

It was a simple question. But instead of answering it, Joe pulled a sheet of paper from the glove compartment and handed it over. Tom read the note clipped to the front:

‘You’re losing it, Sheriff. Looks like you’ve staked-out an amateur herbalist. Attached is a full report. But the bottom line is you can get this stuff, or its active ingredients, in any health food store. Actually, you could get better and cheaper there. The only thing you can’t is the rosary pea. It’s an ornamental, but it grows wild all over Florida. It’s also a poison. Your gardener probably added it to the mix to keep animals away. Is she pretty?

Max’

Tom skimmed the report:

Plant Common name

Scutellaria lateriflora - Quaker bonnet

Valerian Officinalis - Valerian

Tabernanthe iboga - Iboanine

Abrus precatorius - Rosary pea

Tom read the list twice, but could see no connection between the innocuous herb garden it described and his former girlfriend’s sudden impulse to disrobe for his younger brother. “Did she explain why she was going to all the trouble planting her garden way out in the boonies?”

Joe shrugged. “Sort of. She said that everybody in research tries to keep what they’re working on secret until they publish. Otherwise other people glom onto it. She said something about there being four different brain chemicals that influence behavior, and that each of the plants had a different ‘uptake inhibitor’.” He laughed. “I remember that phrase ‘uptake inhibitor.’ I asked her if she was working on some sort of anti-date-rape drug.”

Tom groaned.

“Yeah. You laugh, smart guy. But do you want to know what she did then?”

“No.”

“She just about took all her clothes off again. Gave me a big, wet kiss and started blabbering about Newton and his apple and about great discoveries usually being some sort of accident.”

“But she didn’t.”

“What?”

“Take her clothes off again?”

“You figure out what I’m missing in that report and I’ll let you know.”

CHAPTER 13

Joe found a garage in mid-town where it cost more to park for three hours than it did to rent a car in Coldwater for a month. His meeting with Sharp was at two o’clock. Tom’s was across town at four, and he agreed to sit in on Joe’s and keep his mouth shut.

The bronze elevator doors opened as smooth as a mother’s hand on a baby’s butt. A 30-something receptionist in a smoke gray skirt and white silk blouse open to the sternum led them down a hallway lined with worker bee offices to a conference room the size of a small house. A few million dollars of exotic hardwoods and 19th century oil paintings covered three of its walls. The fourth was floor to ceiling glass with a panoramic view of lower Manhattan, New York Harbor and the Statue of Liberty. It was all designed to impress and intimidate. It cost bucks to step in here, it said, and sometimes more to get out.

Joe ran a hand over the intricate inlay of the maple and anegre conference table and fiddled with the seat height adjustment on his leather chair, practicing his hick cop act. Tom didn’t doubt his brother’s abilities, but he hoped Joe understood that this was no place to get cute.

A young man arrived pushing a cart of soft drinks and water, followed by the former NeuroGene partner, and his lawyer. Michael Sharp stood about five foot seven and carried close to three hundred pounds. His lawyer was a head of thick silver hair taller and country club lean. His perfunctory introduction segued into a twenty-minute ramble about his own advisory role, his client’s rights and the limited purpose and scope of the meeting. To Tom it was the familiar drone of an airline attendant’s canned speech about keeping your seat belt buckled and noting the nearest emergency exit – impossible to listen to after you’ve heard it a million times.

Joe caught his eye, his expression openly contemptuous. This is as phony as it gets, brother. How can you stand it? When the lawyer finally finished, Joe announced that Tom was there to help with some questions on the corporate structure of NeuroGene and that otherwise he would be keeping his mouth shut. Then he spoke directly to Sharp.

“I’m not sure I understand all that mumbo jumbo about limited scope and so forth. I came here as a courtesy so that you didn’t have to come back to Coldwater. I’m going to ask what I came to ask, and you can answer, or not, as you please. But if I have to get a warrant to haul your ass to my home turf, I will.”

Sharp’s lawyer started to speak, but his client raised his hand. “That’s all right, Walter. We’ve been over this. I’ve got nothing to hide from the Sheriff and I’d like to be helpful, if I can. I’d also like to get this over with as quickly as possible.”

“All right then,” said Joe. “Why don’t we start by you telling me how you came to be associated with NeuroGene and how and when you came to leave it?”

The lawyer shrugged. Sharp began to talk. “Fair enough. I don’t know how much you know about biotech start-ups, Sheriff. But the vanilla profile goes something like this: scientist with a bright idea hooks up with his buddy