In the Land of Milk and Honey by Jane Jensen Read Free Book Online Page B

plants—most commonly
Eupatorium rugosum
or white snakeroot.” He waved at the picture on the screen. It looked like the sort of flowering weed you’d see along rural roads. “Also called deerwort, tall boneset, and richweed. The animals eat the plant, get sick, and develop tremors and weakness. The tremetol is passed along in their milk and meat. In sufficient concentrations, it’s fatal to humans.”
    I had a million questions, and I wasn’t the only one. A dozen hands went up, but Dr. Turner waved them down. “Let me get through this information, please. I’ll take questions later.”
    He clicked to a photograph of the Kindermans’ farm. “We’ve already been in touch with Pennsylvania’s DCNR—the Department of Conservation and Natural Resources.” He nodded to a man in the room, and the man put up a hand in acknowledgment. “They tell us white snakeroot isn’t native to Pennsylvania, and they aren’t aware of any growing here in the wild. We’ve checked the feed supplies the Kindermans were using for their dairy cows. They grew and harvested their own hay and bought grain feed from a local supplier. There’s no sign of the tremetol in the feed. So that’s a good thing, because a lot of farms use that same supplier.”
    Holy shit.
The possibilities spooled out in my mind.
    â€œOur most important concern at the moment is to locate the source of the tremetol on the Kindermans’ farm. It is possible we’re looking at an invasive-plant problem, so we’re workingwith the DCNR. We’ll be checking every inch of the Kindermans’ fields. But it’s also possible the cows got the toxin some other way—something brought onto the farm like livestock medicine, ear oil, insect repellent, whatever. We’ll find it. And yes, we have prepared a press statement we’ll be releasing in about an hour. Questions?”
    This time only about five people raised their hands, but I found myself speaking before Turner could call on anyone. “Excuse me, but what about the milk?”
    Dr. Turner blinked at me. “I’m sorry. What’s the question, exactly?”
    â€œWhat about all the other local farmers and their families who are still drinking their cows’ milk? Not to mention selling it? Shouldn’t we be warning people?”
    A man in the front row stood up. He was definitely a state agency man, probably in his sixties. He wore a navy suit that somehow fit around his extremely wide middle, and he had the thick white hair and pleasant face of a character actor—or a politician. He shook his head ponderously, his hands making a “no, no” gesture. “I’d like to speak to that, if I may. Miss—?”
    â€œDetective Harris,” I said firmly.
    â€œRight. Thank you for your service, Detective Harris.”
    Patronizing much?
I folded my arms across my chest and waited.
    â€œI’m Mitch Franklin, Pennsylvania Department of Agriculture. The situation here is that we only have one farm, the Kindermans’, where this problem has occurred—”
    â€œBut there have been at least two other Amish families who’vehad unknown illnesses, and a boy named William Hershberger died of it. Isn’t it possible that was tremetol poisoning too?” I pointed out.
    The man made that same refuting gesture. “I was only aware of one other family, the Hershbergers, but so far there’s no
evidence
they were exposed to this tremetol toxin. The boy’s death certificate lists influenza, and he’s already been interred.”
    I struggled to keep my voice reasonably pitched. “There
was
no influenza virus. I had the doctor culture Samuel and Aaron Hershberger to check.”
    â€œI read their file. The attending physician noted that the virus had likely already run its course before they did that test. Now, having
said
that . . .” He changed