Oath of Office

“Maybe. From what you’ve told me about your husband, I don’t think he’s going to do anything without demanding to know who Double M is.”

“If that’s the case, I will tell Martin what I know. I certainly understand there may be lives at stake, but I can’t begin to tell you the measures this man has taken to keep his identity a secret. Martin’s out of town right now. There’s no way I can get you a meeting with him until he gets back. Lou, if it is the corn, how do you think it’s affecting people?”

Lou shook his head. “I just don’t feel like I know enough, unless…”

“Go on, please.”

“From what we could tell, there are hundreds, probably thousands of acres of that GMO corn growing in Kings Ridge.”

“And?”

“And what if the problem is something airborne,” he said.

“Pollen?”

“Sure,” Lou said, “pollen! The tassels on the ears produce pollen that gets dispersed by the wind.”

“Airborne! That’s how people could be getting exposed. They could be inhaling the pollen and be allergic to it.”

“That would certainly explain some things I haven’t been able to understand.”

“Explain what things?” Darlene asked.

“The termites.”

Lou glanced back to ensure that his sudden enthusiasm hadn’t brought Victor any closer.

“Termites?” Darlene echoed. “What on earth do-?”

Lou put one foot up on a bench, leaned on his knee, and recounted the astounding setup at Joey Alderson’s small apartment, and the piranha-like efficiency with which his termites had totally dispatched a mouse.

Darlene listened wide-eyed, occasionally brushing her hands down the length of her arms, as though the termites Lou was describing were crawling there.

As he expected, Darlene gleaned the significance of the tale immediately. “You think this airborne toxin causes mutation in the insects?” Darlene asked.

“I think along with a number of other questions, it’s one worth answering.”

“And how do you propose to go about doing that?”

“Dr. Oliver Humphries,” Lou said.

“Who?”

“One of the world’s leading experts on termites. My smartphone and I are sort of joined at the hip. I found him while I was Googling ‘flesh-eating termites’ after my visit to Joey’s. I certainly hadn’t connected the little beasties to corn, but I was running out of paths to follow in investigating John Meacham’s rampage.”

“So you had already planned to speak with this bug man about these termites?”

“Yes. I have an appointment with him the day after tomorrow. Now I have more questions to ask him, such as whether some sort of airborne mutagen might be at work.”

“And if perhaps the effect on people is different from that on the termites, but caused by the pollen nonetheless,” she said with new excitement. “Where is he based?”

“He teaches entomology at Temple University in Philly.”

Darlene turned and beckoned Victor over. An exchange Lou could not hear followed, with Victor doing a lot of head nodding and Darlene a lot of talking. Victor ended the conversation with another quick nod, then retreated back to where he was. Darlene returned to Lou’s side.

“So,” Lou said, “did you tell him I was delusional and needed to be closely watched?”

Darlene smiled. “No, I don’t think you’re delusional at all. What I told Victor was to make arrangements.”

“Arrangements for what?”

“I’ve decided that we’re going to speak with your Dr. Humphries together.”

CHAPTER 39

Roberta Jennings was through being fat.

For the third time this week, she had overeaten at Millie’s and vomited up much of her meal. It was her ninth or tenth unintentional purge for the month. Even that would not have been so bad if she had just dropped a pound. One lousy pound. Instead, though, she had gained three.

It’s time for a change.

Roberta had survived a lifetime of obesity by internalizing her struggles. She endured endless taunts during her school years and later had learned to ignore the snickering at the office and whispers at restaurants. Her self- esteem was all but gone by the time she finished middle school. She chose the persona of a giggly, cheery friend to all. But in truth, the horrible ache inside her never abated. If not for meeting and marrying Terry, there was no telling what she might have done.

Now, with him gone, even the simple joys of life were lost to her. Magazines she’d once loved depressed her. She detested those emaciated waifs called models, so thin, they’d blow off the page in a strong wind. Still, though it sickened her even to inhale the aroma of fast food, or to gorge herself at Millie’s, she could not stop.

This is it.

If Terry were alive, perhaps he’d have been an inspiration to cut back. Even though it never seemed to be a big deal to him, he always told her to mind her weight, which she had failed to do to the tune of thirty new pounds since his passing. Several reassuring friends convinced her that she suffered from an addiction, like an alcohol or drug problem. She appreciated their opinions because addiction meant disease, and disease meant her weight problem was not entirely her fault. But her plunges into Weight Watchers and Overeaters Anonymous were utter failures, as was the drawer of half-empty pill bottles from various TV infomercials.

And blaming her condition on bad genetics was like blaming her parents, whom she loved, and who weren’t even alive to defend themselves. Making matters even worse, John Meacham, that sorry excuse for a doctor, had blown his top over her failure to lose weight. People who once were supportive and sympathetic to her now eyed her with contempt. She had actually gotten several notes-anonymous, of course, and simply left in her mailbox-blaming her for his death.

If you could have kept to your diet, those people would still have their lives, one had actually written.

She simply could not stand being overweight another day.

Liposuction was clearly the answer. Roberta had arrived at this decision after extensive research and before the insurance company arrived at theirs. By the time her request was denied by them, she wanted liposuction more than she wanted air. But fighting Terry’s illness had taken all their savings, and the price tag of twelve to twenty thousand dollars was more than she could handle. She could sell all her figurines and still cover only a fraction of the cost. Then what? Sell all her furniture, too? Take out a third mortgage on the house?

Fortunately, there was another way.

She could quite literally cut out the fat without incurring any of the expense. She had found the answer on the Internet during her hours of research. Terry would have been so proud of her resourcefulness. He would never have approved of such an expenditure.

Never.

But free was a different story.

Roberta returned to the kitchen and the checklist she had meticulously put together. She then covered a portion of the linoleum floor with a faded bedsheet. She was not feeling the least bit nervous. The commitment to alter her life in dramatic fashion had replaced any fear and trepidation with euphoric waves of adrenaline.

After meticulously centering the sheet, she crossed over to the granite-topped island-the home improvement she and Terry had scrimped and saved for over five years ago. There, carefully laid out on a freshly laundered white towel, were long and short carving blades from her butcher block holder, and a gleaming X-Acto knife she had bought expressly for this procedure. Beside them were three of Terry’s Percocets and a glass with three fingers of