Killer Pancake (37 page)

"You stayed down here in the dark, and left me to wonder what in the world had befallen you, and now you're worried about a door? So what about the damn door!"

Julian's earnest, boyish face and blunt-cut blond hair was suddenly revealed by a glistening shower of red, white, and blue. "Don't be upset," he pleaded. "It's just that Dr. Braithwaite... you don't understand, he would never leave this place open!

Especially if he was going to be having guests who were strangers. The guy's a security nut about his experiments. I don't know where he is, but I think I should stay here and guard the place until he gets back. He's got a lot of stuff in there that's pretty dangerous.

I took a deep breath and tried to think. Really, Julian's loyalty to Charles Braithwaite was admirable. Misguided, but admirable.

"Okay look," I told him, "we can't stay here and wait for the host to show. Just close and lock the door. Please."

"No," said Julian stubbornly. "I owe it to Dr. Braithwaite at least to check if there's been any damage. Then we can call the police or something."

"Okay then," I said as amiably as possible. "Let's go inside and turn on the light, if there is one, and see if there's been any vandalism or whatever. Maybe there's a phone to call the main house or the police. Otherwise, we really need to go back up to the house."

"Okay, okay." Together, we moved up the concrete steps to the open door. "Actually," he added meekly, "I was kind of afraid to go in there alone."

Well, that was just peachy, I thought rather indignantly, as my hand felt along the inside of the Plexiglas. Did a lot of stuff that's pretty dangerous include woman-eating plants? I groped along the slick surface. My fingers brushed something cold and I instinctively recoiled. Then I realized it was a conduit leading to a light switch. Triumphantly, my fingers found the switch. I flipped on an overhead fluorescent fixture.

After the near darkness it took a moment to adjust to the light. Julian stepped forward and peered around the greenhouse, which really looked more like a lab than a place to raise flowers. Row upon row of tables was neatly piled with equipment that meant nothing to me. There were plants arranged on shelves too, a cornucopia of flora in all stages of development. But at least the place seemed orderly, and not as if someone had broken in and made a mess trying to steal, vandalize, or whatever it was

Julian seemed so worried about.

"Looks pretty innocent," I commented as I moved toward one of the tables. "Maybe he just forgot to lock the door..."

"No, no, no, don't touch anything," Julian warned. He gestured at the space. "You're looking at a lab set up for molecular biology," he said with genuine awe. He pointed to two metal boxes on a near table. "Those are gel boxes for electrophoresis.

That's the process for analyzing DNA. When our class visited, Mr. Braithwaite told us he was looking for an enzyme in plants that produces blue color. You know, because scientists hadn't had any luck at, like, splicing it into roses because the color receptors just weren't there."

I looked at the boxes, fascinated. So this was where he'd created the blue rose. In spite of the uneasy feeling that Julian and I didn't belong there, I found it astonishing that someone could put together this kind of complicated scientific setup in our little burg of Aspen Meadow. Of course, with enough money, you could probably analyze sunscreens in Antarctica.

"You just put the plant into the gel and look at it through the microscope?"

Julian shook his head. "No, no, first you have to grind it up." He pointed to a cylindrical tank that was three feet high and about three feet in diameter. "You have to put the flower petals into liquid nitrogen, which is what's in that vat. You grind the petals in there till they're like a fine powder, then you have to add a buffer - "

"Liquid nitrogen?" I interrupted. "Isn't that pretty cold stuff?"

He grinned. It was the first time r d seen him amused since Claire's death. "Try minus one hundred ninety-six degrees.

That cold enough for you? You wear latex gloves, Goldy." He pointed to some gloves tidily placed by a mortar and pestle next to the tank. "If you put your hands in there unprotected, they'd break off. Put your head in, and you'd be the headless horseman. Not to mention that the fumes would suffocate you."

I decided r d had enough science lesson. "Okay Julian, thanks. Let's go back up to the house."

"But I haven't told you about the sequencing gel apparatus and the laminer air-flow hood! Not to mention the gene gun.

That's really cool."

Cooler than minus 196 I couldn't imagine. "Gene gun?

Can you shoot anybody with it?"

"Very funny." He moved to a table and picked up what looked like an elongated pistol. "You introduce your bit of DNA into the axillary buds of the flower you're experimenting with, and you pray like mad that you end up with your blue daffodil, or whatever it is - " He fell silent as his eyes rested on a cluster of flowering plants that I could just dimly see. They were grouped next to the vat of liquid nitrogen. "What the hell?" Julian peered in closely at the flowers. "He had these covered up last time... oh my God, it's a frigging blue rose!" He picked up a small pot and held it up to the light. I felt my heart stumble in my chest. I wanted to get out of there so badly. "Judas priest!" cried Julian. "Look at this, Goldy! I can't believe it! Do you know what this means?"

A whimper came from behind a shelf of books at the far end of the lab. Julian and I gaped at each other.

"Go away!" sobbed the voice. "Just leave!"

Julian carefully put the pot down with the others. "It's him," he stage-whispered to me.

The sobs grew louder. "Just go away! Leave me in peace!"

"Dr. Braithwaite," Julian said as he moved toward the shelves, "we were just worried about you, when the door was open

- "

The entire shelf of books erupted at that moment as a growling Charles Braithwaite heaved them forward and emerged with his arms outstretched. Julian jumped back from the cascade of volumes. Sobbing, his arms raised, Charles Braithwaite had the aspect of a skinny, white-haired ogre. He growled at us, then screeched, "Go a-way! Leave!"

"Julian!" I yelled. "Let's get out of here!"

Julian didn't move.

"Why... won t... you... leave?" Charles Braithwaite bellowed. He stood with his thin legs apart, his long arms outstretched. "Nothing... means... anything!" Then, defeated, he stumbled through the fallen books and sank against one of the tables. In a much lower, more subdued voice, he murmured, "If you will just please go away, I won't turn you in for smoking as a minor."

The guy was losing it, that much was clear. First he was howling like a crazy person, then he was making calm pronouncements. I was sorely tempted to exit as bidden, but Julian stepped with determination over the piles of disheveled books.

"Dr. Braithwaite," he said calmly, "you're upset."

Smart kid, I thought. Just keep your tone low. Smarter yet, I thought ruefully, get the heck out. Julian held out his hand.

"Why don't you just come up with us - "

"No!" Charles Braithwaite roared, his white hair shaking wildly. "Leave me alone!"

"Come on, Julian," I implored from the entrance to the greenhouse. "Let's just - "

"I'm not doing it," Julian said in my direction, his voice sharp but still low. "We're not leaving without him. Look, Dr.

Braithwaite, you don't have to - "

The white-haired man raised a mournful face to Julian. He raised his index finger, calm again in his bizarre way. He acted as if he were instructing Julian in an important point of molecular biology. "Claire Satterfield brought something into my life that I'd never had. So there's just one thing I want you to know before I die." Oh hell, I thought. "And that is," he continued, "that you did not cause the accident with my... wife." He spat out the word. "No. Babs was following you and Claire because she thought you were bringing Claire to me for... an assignation. You didn't fail to signal, my wife was following too... closely. So there you are."

He crossed his arms, QED.

"CIaire?" asked Julian. "You... and..." He shook his head and seemed to make a decision. "It's okay, Dr. Braithwaite, it's... over." Julian looked around the lab, trying to assess, I thought, how Charles Braithwaite could fulfill what seemed to be his desire to do himself in. He picked up the pot he'd placed on the near table. "Come on, look! You've created a blue rose! You've got a lot to live for - "

"I wanted to give it to her," Charles said wistfully. Overhead, the finale firework showered red, white, and blue sparkles that absurdly lit the greenhouse with twinkling light, illuminating the tears on his stricken face. "To Claire. That's why I was in the mall garage that day. I wanted to give it to her as my parting gift. The flower named after her, because it was so beautiful. So rare." He looked at Julian and shrugged. "And then I - can you blame me? I heard that terrible sound, and I knew. You want to know the truth? I thought my wife had done it. Maybe she did! Maybe she hired somebody to do the hit-and-run." He stretched his arms to their full length. "And it was all Babs's fault I met Claire in the first place! She sent me in to pick up her damn stuff. And there was Claire, acting as if I were... as if I were the most wonderful..." He dropped his arms and shook his head vigorously, as if he'd just come to the realization of whatever it was he'd been concentrating on before he'd digressed. "Listen," he said abruptly,

"I've thought this all through. Just leave me in peace, please. Now, all right?"

"Let's go talk about it up at the house!" Julian said brightly. !'I mean really, Dr. Braithwaite, you're too young to die. You need to give it some more thought."

"No!" wailed Charles Braithwaite. "Go away!" He stepped agilely over the books, and to my shock, put both arms around the vat of liquid nitrogen. This was how he was going to kill himself. Using liquid nitrogen. We had to get out. Charles began to rock the tank. "Can't you hear?" he roared. "This is the end! Get out of the way!"

"Julian!" I shrieked.

But Julian ignored me.' He stepped briskly over the pile of books and grabbed Charles Braithwaite's arm. The vat of liquid nitrogen continued to rock. Yanking hard, Julian pulled Charles away just as the top came off the tank.

"Get out!" Julian shouted to me as he dragged a flailing Charles in my direction. "Go!"

I banged open the door. When I looked back, the tank teetered as the freezing chemical splashed over one side, emitting clouds of white smoke. Julian scrambled toward the exit, his arms firmly encircling Charles Braithwaite's chest. Charles, his white hair wild, kicked halfheartedly. But he was no match for young Julian's strength. The three of us bounded out of the greenhouse just as the vat crashed downward. I couldn't help it - I looked back again, just in time to see the liquid nitrogen spilling over and destroying the blue rose plants.

18

Our odd trio darted through the guests meandering up to the house, We turned deaf ears to "Oh my goodness, what's the matter with Charlie!" and "The fireworks must have really upset him!" and laughing exclamations of that ilk. In the kitchen I called 911 and told them who I was, where we were, and what was going on.

"Liquid nitrogen?" was the deputy's incredulous response. "Liquid nitrogen? Are you sure that's all it was? Were there any other chemicals? We're going to have to get the toxic waste team up there. Was this part of some wacko Fourth of July party?"

"No, no," I said. "Any chance you could put me through to Tom Schulz?"

The deputy stalled and kept asking me questions until I assured him I wasn't going to hang up, I just wanted to talk to Tom instead of him. He said he'd transfer me. Then he put me on hold.

I tapped my fingers on the kitchen counter and watched as Julian ministered to Charles Braithwaite. Using a low, quiet voice, Julian admonished Charles to lie relaxed on the spotless kitchen floor, and to breathe normally. Was he hurt, Julian wanted to know. When Charles shook his head, Julian asked him who he was and what was going on. Tears ran down Charles's thin face as he gave halting responses to Julian's steady questions. Then Julian patted his shoulders and checked his pulse and told him in a voice that rippled out like custard that everything was going to be all right.

Julian amazed me, really. He had proven himself to be singlemindedly ambitious in the schoolroom and the kitchen. He loved and hated with a ferocity that was frightening and occasionally explosive. But there were times like these when I was reminded he'd spent most of his life among the Navajo in Bluff, Utah. He had an uncanny ability to act the wise healer when it was needed. I watched him calmly checking Charles Braithwaite for shock. What had he said to Charles in the greenhouse? You're too young to die. Claire Satterfield had been much too young to die; too. What was still unclear to me was whether Julian would be able to heal from that terrible loss. He was too young to have the loving part of himself die. The deputy's voice crackled in my ear.

"Tom Schulz isn't here." At that moment, the first wave of law-enforcement and fire vehicles pulled up, so I signed off.

Hours later, when the fireworks had ended and the moon had risen and the guests - including an angry Tony Royce, without his promised brownies - -had finally left, when Babs Braithwaite had exploded in a fit of hysterics and Charles had been taken to the hospital for observation, when the toxic-waste team had realized only nitrogen - a fertilizer - had spilled, and Julian had decided to spend the night at a friend's, I drove the van home. The fireworks spectators had all departed, but in the moonlight

I could see the enormous mess of trash they'd left on the golf course by the lake.

I came through the door just before two A.M. Tom, amazingly enough, was in the kitchen making chocolate ice cream.

Waiting for me, and undoubtedly too wired from the investigation to sleep, he'd decided to concoct a Neapolitan ice cream torte, with a chocolate-cookie-crumb base and layers of homemade vanilla, fresh strawberry, and finally dark chocolate ice cream.