Decaffeinated Corpse

“That’s right,” Ellie replied as we walked toward the Garden’s Terrace Café. “He’s working here as an intern while he’s finishing up his graduate degree.”

“What’s his field? Eddie Haskell Studies?”

Ellie’s laugh was spontaneous and very loud in the quiet courtyard, its echo bouncing off the surrounding glass buildings. It sounded like the old carefree Ellie I’d known. But when a few dignified heads turned with curious looks, she quickly stifled herself.

I slipped my jacket back on as we walked across the courtyard’s flat, gray interlocking stones. The Terrace Café was just ahead. We followed the delicious smell of grilling meat to an open kitchen housed under a glass pyramid. When we reached the cafe’s counter, I could see the menu was a cut above the typical fast food fare. I ordered the Virginia ham and brie sandwich. Ellie went with the Cornish hen and brown rice. Then she surprised me by ordering a decaffeinated coffee.

“Decaf?” I said. The Ellie I remembered had been a caffeine queen. “You’re kidding?”

Her response was a silent shrug.

We took our trays to the outdoor seating area, where a field of green canvas umbrellas sprouted above wire-meshed patio tables and chairs. Amid the tables were large ceramic urns containing plants as high as ten feet. Some displayed evergreen branches and bright red berries, others golden fall foliage. We chose a table on the fringes, away from the small crowd of Botanic Garden guests enjoying their lunch.

My sandwich was delicious—a crusty, fresh-baked baguette with sweet, smoky ham and buttery brie tucked inside. Still, my morning had been stressful, and after chewing and swallowing my first bite, I was desperate for a hit of caffeine. I frowned at the cup of large coffee I’d ordered, contemplating the age of the brew.

“The coffee here is actually pretty good,” Ellie assured me. “Give it a shot.”

“I have a better idea. I’ll give it a test.”

“A what?”

“A test. Watch....” I took my small paper cup of cream and splashed a little into the coffee. “There it is. The bloom.”

“What bloom?” Ellie asked, looking at the potted plants around us.

“Not out there,” I said, and pointed to my cup. “In here. See how the cream blooms instantly to the top of my coffee?”

“Yes...”

“That means the coffee’s fresh. When coffee’s old, oils float to the top. That creates a kind of filmy barrier, so when you pour in the cream, the bloom doesn’t come right to the top of the cup. It takes a few seconds longer to get there.”

Ellie looked at me sideways. “You really do take coffee seriously, don’t you?”

“Would a top sushi chef eat old fish? Would a master baker eat stale bread? Would an eminent butcher sink his teeth into—”

Ellie held up her hand. “I get it.”

I pointed to her own cup and smiled. “And if decaf’s your thing now, don’t go to Italy. You may as well ask a Roman where to find the best topless bar in Vatican City as where to find a good decaffeinated espresso.”

Though I’d been ribbing her in fun, Ellie didn’t laugh. “I wish I could drink caffeinated again,” she said. “But not long ago, I developed Graves’ disease.”

Oh, damn. “That’s hyperthyroidism, isn’t it?”

“Yes, and I’m afraid my doctor’s made me swear off caffeine.”

“I’m sorry, Ellie. You know, I was just kidding about Italy—”

“I know, Clare. And I do miss the old stuff...”

“Well, it’s a good thing Ric made his breakthrough, huh? Just in time to give you a spectacular decaffeinated cup.”

Ellie nodded as she sipped the Terrace Café decaf.

“Or... did Ric really make the breakthrough?” I quietly asked. “I’m sorry for bringing this up again, but was it really you who made the discovery? You never really answered me.”

Ellie shook her head. “It wasn’t me. It was Ric. You know, back in college, he even talked about creating a hybrid decaffeinated plant. He had all sorts of theories, but it wasn’t until his family lost their lands that he committed himself to finishing his initial horticultural research.”

“In Brazil?”

“Yes, he finished the work in his relative’s nursery, but he actually began the research on Costa Gravas, using classical plant breeding techniques.”

“Classical?”

“Right, as opposed to, say, DNA manipulation. Classical plant breeding’s been around for thousands of years. Basically, it’s controlled crossbreeding, where traits from one species or variety are introduced into the genetic background of another.”

“Oh, crossbreeding!” I said. “Sure, I’m familiar with that. Coffee farmers have been doing it for centuries. Like that Maragogype your assistant, Norbert, mentioned. If memory serves, it’s an arabica mutation that grows leaves and fruit much larger than the typical variety. Am I right?”

“That’s right. It first appeared on a Brazilian plantation around the late Nineteenth Century.”

She didn’t have to quote me the rest of the history—that I knew, too. Farmers had planted Coffea arabica Maragogype like crazy during the Second World War. Because the marigo beans were twice the size of regular coffee beans, they produced a super- caffeinated cup of coffee utilized by soldiers and fighter pilots. Then the war ended, and the beans fell out of favor because the taste of the marigo was less than fabulous.

“The Maragogype is a great example of classical breeding,” Ellie went on. “Here’s another example: let’s say you have a Coffea plant that’s got a high fruit yield, but it’s susceptible to rust disease. You can cross that with a Coffea plant that’s resistant to the disease, even though it may have a low yield. The goal of the crossbreeding would be to create a Coffea plant resistant to rust disease that’s also high-yielding.”

“But you could also get a plant that’s low-yielding and susceptible to disease.”

“That’s why it takes time and patience. With diligence, progeny from a successful cross can be crossed back with a parent to strengthen the desirable trait—that’s backcrossing.”

“So that’s what Ric did?” I pressed.

“Yes. Ric crossbred and backcrossed different species of Coffea plants to produce his decaffeinated hybrid.”

“And is it viable?”

“Oh, yes. It’s hearty, resistant to disease, and high-yielding. I’ve been working with him for about a year now to help him properly document his work.”

“I see.”

“Look, I understand why you made the assumption you did. I know Ric doesn’t come off as any sort of scientific genius. But he is gifted when it comes to living things. He grew up around coffee plants, and he’s a naturalist at heart. Did you know when he was just a boy, he hiked almost every inch of his native island to see all the flora and fauna?”

“But he still needed your help to get his hybrid certified, right?”

“Ric never finished his degree because he’s not very good at paperwork. If he wants legal protection for his hybrid, he needs to jump through a lot of documentation hoops—and, frankly, jumping through hoops is something I learned how to do well over the last ten years, and in more ways than one.”

That was a loaded statement if ever I’d heard one, but I wanted to keep the focus on Ric. “So everything’s legit?” I pressed. “Ric made an authentic breakthrough and you’re helping him?”

“That’s right. There’s really nothing more to it.”

“And yet... Ric seemed cagey with me when I asked why he didn’t file for protection in Brazil. You already told me Brazil is part of the international treaty to protect plant breeders’ rights, so what’s the truth?”

“The truth is... Ric doesn’t trust the officials in Brazil responsible for approving his protection certificate.”