Page 62 of Forgotten Path
“Initiates the first stage of carcinogenesis. So, it causes lung cancer.”
“It causes the first step needed for cancer to develop. In rats,” she corrected.
“Still.”
“Still.”
He cleared his throat. “I found a study, too. Extended exposure to aerosolized brevetoxins caused changes in gene expression, including cell death and inflammation.”
“In rats?” she asked hopefully.
“No. Human T cells.”
Mirabelle looked queasy. Bodhi felt how she looked.
Marnie appeared at the table and began to clear the dirty dishes.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize you were still here,” she said to Bodhi, flustered and frenzied.
“It’s fine. We’re just chatting. You’ve been swamped.”
She nodded as she wiped the laminated tabletop with a wet cloth. “We always get slammed when Lou makes her seafood salad.” She bobbed her head and added, “Or the oysters. Or her clam stew. Pretty much any time there’s a seafood special.”
Mirabelle leaned forward on her elbows. “Where does Miss Louisa get her shellfish?”
“I’m glad to see thatsomebodyat this table appreciates seafood.” Marnie gave Bodhi a knowing grin that made it clear Judy had ratted him out. Then she turned to Mirabelle to answer the question. “Not from the seafood market, that’s for sure. There are families in Oyster Point who’ve been clamming and harvesting oysters for generations—literally. The grandkids of folks Louisa’s husband used to buy from decades ago come right up to the kitchen door to sell us their daily haul. Today, some of the Beauregard cousins brought the razor clams. An older Vietnamese gentleman who lives outside of town over near Emerald Estuary caught the whelks. And the oysters got here before I did this morning, so I can’t tell you who caught them. But I can tell you they’re fresh, local, and all sold out.”
Mirabelle’s queasy expression took on a green cast. “Wow,” she managed faintly.
“It’s a real tradition,” Marnie said with evident pride. “And Miss Lou doesn’t mess around with that old wives’ tale about months without an ‘R.’”
“Oh.” Mirabelle threw Bodhi a desperate look.
“Yeah. So can I get you anything? Coffee, tea? A slice of pie? I don’t want to rush you out the door, but we usually close by two on the second Friday of the month so we can go help out at the food bank.”
“We’re all set,” Bodhi assured her. “And we’re on our way. I promise.”
He waited until she hefted the tray on her shoulder and moved on, then he turned to Mirabelle and asked, “What’s the story with months that don’t have an ‘R’?”
“Oh, that’s been around for literally hundreds of years, if not longer. The folk wisdom is you should only eat shellfish in months that have an ‘R’ in their name. So, not between May and August. It actually makes a lot of sense—or it did, before the advent of commercial shellfish farms and modern refrigeration.”
He thought for a moment. “Sure, because the water temperature’s hotter in the summer, leading to more bacterial growth and harmful algae blooms.”
“Right. So, these amateur harvesters are out there in the middle of a record-breaking heat wave wading around in hot water …” she shuddered.
“ItisSeptember,” he noted mildly.
“And it’s over a hundred degrees outside,” she retorted. “I wouldn’t be caught in that water for love or money right now.”
“Is there an active bloom?”
“Not that I’ve heard. But there is confirmedVibrio vulnificusin the water. Step on a shell, get pinched by a crab, or just have an open cut and—boom—congratulations, you have necrotizing fasciitis. If you’re lucky, all you’ll need is an amputation. If you’re unlucky, I’ll see you in my morgue.”
He was about to try to counter her fatalism, but something about her speech sparked a memory. “There could be multiple pathogens in the water.”
“Oh, there definitely are. It’s a toxic stew. What are you thinking?”
“There’s no evidence that NSP causes memory or cognitive problems, but Amnesic Shellfish Poisoning does.”
