Page 82 of A Rose of Steel
“He didn’t,” they said at the same time.
“But he knew that we knew about herbs,” Leonard said.
“He knew that we were in the Ladies’ Society with Babet,” Mark said, finishing the explanation.
“The Ladies Society of Voodoo Herbalist,” Leonard said.
“Yes,” Mark said and nodded.
I loved the sisters dearly, but it was only so much I could take of them finishing each other’s sentences and thoughts and then speaking at the same time. It was like being in an echo chamber. I needed to ask as few questions as possible to get to what I needed to know.
“Do you know why he wanted it?” I asked. “What he needed it for?”
“He told us,” Leonard said.
“He wanted the ricin,” Mark said.
“So did you give him any?”
They hung their heads. “No,” they said, and nothing else. It felt, though, as if they weren’t telling me something.
“If he seemed really interested in getting some, I’m thinking that he didn’t stop with you two.” I looked at them, and eyes wide they looked back. “But he might not have known who the other herbalists were.”
“He didn’t know,” Mark said.
Leonard shook her head, and Mark started shaking hers in sync with her sister.
“Okay,” I said. “Did you tell him?” I asked.
“We may have,” Leonard said.
“And if we had,” Mark said. “We would have told him that Delphine Griffith had actually extracted ricin even though Babet thought it was too hard to do.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
I had the name of one of the other herbalists that had grown castor beans. One of the women that Auntie had told me about—the one who lived in Shelby County.
Shelby was one of the three counties in our “tri-county” area. But where I needed to go was about a forty-five-minute drive. I glanced down at my fuel gauge. I needed gas.
Auntie always kept her vehicles on full. Never know when the funeral home had to make a run. It wouldn’t be professional to have to stop and get gas when a grieving family was waiting. I had been borrowing her car all week and hadn’t stopped to fill up once.
I drove about fifteen minutes on Highway 87 before I pulled off on an exit ramp to fill up.
I paid with my own credit card at the pump, figured I shouldn’t expense the gas to the funeral home since I’d been doing all the driving. As I stood at the pump, I noticed a young girl walking my way, a smile on her face.
“Hi,” she said. “Romaine, right?”
“Hi,” I said, recognizing her. It was Gaylon, Mrs. Hackett’s niece. “How are you?” I smiled back.
“I’m okay,” she said. “You live out this way?”
“Oh no,” I said. “On my way to Shelby County to visit a friend of my auntie’s.”
She nodded. “On my way home,” she said. “It’s been a long week.”
“Yes it has,” I said, “but I’m sure it’s been even a longer one for you.”
“Yes it has been.” She nodded. “My aunt has been so distraught. You know Bumper was her only child. She doted over him.”
