Poison Ivy by Cynthia Riggs Read Free Book Online Page B

again at the vine that clambered up the side of Woodbine Hall. Shiny scarlet leaves framed every window, bunches of delicate white berries hung from it. “Wish I could get my ivy to climb like that.”
    â€œGive it time,” said Victoria. She looked up at the vine and stared at it in awe. She had never seen such a lush growth. The hairy base of the vine was as thick as the trunk of a sapling. The scarlet leaves glowed. Odd she hadn’t noticed it right away. But her attention had been on the corpse, not the vine.
    â€œSpectacular, isn’t it?” Smalley had seen what they were looking at. “When we’re done here I’ll ask Thackery if he minds if I cut a bunch of it for my wife. She makes wreaths that she sells at the farmers’ market.” He reached out a hand to touch the pretty leaves.
    â€œNo!” Victoria knocked his hand away. “That’s not woodbine, it’s poison ivy.”
    Smalley withdrew his hand as though the vine had shot poison darts into him. Casey opened and shut her mouth.
    â€œThe dead leaves.” Smalley sounded like a fifth-grade schoolboy learning about the horrors of sex and girls. “Are they…” He stopped. “My guys dug through piles of dead leaves at the base of the vine to uncover the corpse.”
    â€œThe oil that causes the rash is quite long lived,” said Victoria. “It can be active for several years, even on clothing or gloves. You’d better send your men home to take showers, now, right away.”
    â€œTim, Ben!” shouted Smalley. “Get over here. Mrs. Trumbull has something to tell you.”
    Victoria said, “You probably were exposed to poison ivy oil when you dug in the leaves. You need to take a cool shower with plenty of soap. Don’t use hot water. Get the oil off your skin.” She leaned on her stick. “Hot water opens pores and allows oil to get into one’s system. Launder your clothing. It won’t hurt to launder it twice.”
    â€œReport back as soon as you can,” Smalley ordered.
    Victoria looked up at the menacing vine with its shiny bright red leaves. “It’s really quite beautiful, isn’t it?”
    *   *   *
    Thackery appeared while Smalley was giving instructions to his troopers.
    â€œWhat seems to be the problem, Sergeant?”
    â€œWe’ve found another body.”
    â€œYou already informed me of that. Why are you sending your men home? Surely they haven’t finished.”
    Smalley indicated the vine-covered side of the house. “That’s poison ivy, according to Mrs. Trumbull. My men need to get home to clean up.”
    â€œNonsense,” said Thackery. “People who don’t know plants frequently mistake woodbine for poison ivy.” Before Victoria could stop him, he reached out and plucked off a stem with its three glistening leaves.
    Victoria, miffed at having her knowledge of plants impugned, felt a mild glow of satisfaction, immediately replaced with concern.
    â€œThackery, I hope you’re not sensitive to…”
    At this point Walter came around the side of the building, his bedraggled mutt trailing after him. The mutt was gray, like his master, had patchy wiry hair that partly covered his eyes and muzzle, and was soaking wet.
    â€œWhere have you been, Walter?” Thackery demanded, ignoring Victoria.
    â€œGiving Brownie a bath.”
    â€œWoodbine,” said Thackery, crushing in his fingers the three leaves he’d picked. Before Victoria could stop him, he held them up to his nose.
    Victoria, herself, was not particularly susceptible to poison ivy. She’d occasionally get a few blisters that she liked to scratch. That was about it. She hoped the same was true for Thackery. Otherwise … Her thoughts trailed off.
    â€œThink it’s woodbine, do you?” said Walter. “Won’t get me to touch your woodbine like you’re