Edward sighed. “All right,” he said. “I suppose I have to admit that as a neuroscientist I’m intrigued by the possibility of a hallucinogen causing the Salem affair.”
“Now I can understand,” Stanton said. “The Salem witchcraft story has a universal appeal. You don’t have to be a neuroscientist.”
“The entrepreneur as a philosopher,” Edward remarked with a laugh. “Five minutes ago I would have considered that an oxymoron. Explain to me the universal appeal.”
“The affair is ghoulishly seductive,” Stanton said. “People like that sort of stuff. It’s like the pyramids of Egypt. There has to be more to them than mere piles of stone. They are a window on the supernatural.”
“I’m not sure I agree,” Edward said as he put away his dirt sample. “As a scientist I’m merely searching for a scientific explanation.”
“Oh, bull,” Stanton said.
Stanton dropped Edward off on Divinity Avenue in Cambridge. Just before Edward closed the door he reminded him once more about the Genetrix prospectus.
Edward skirted Divinity Hall and entered the Harvard biological labs. From a departmental secretary he got directions to Kevin Scranton’s lab. He found his thin, bearded friend busy in his office. Kevin and Edward had gone to Wesleyan together but hadn’t seen each other since Edward had returned to Harvard to teach.
They spent the first ten minutes rehashing old times before Edward got down to the reason for his visit. He put the three containers on the corner of Kevin’s desk.
“I want you to see if you can find Claviceps purpurea,” Edward said.
Kevin picked up one of the containers and opened the lid. “Can you tell me why?” he asked. He fingered a small amount of the dirt.
“You’d never guess,” Edward said. He then told Kevin how he’d obtained the samples and the background concerning the Salem witch trials. He didn’t mention the Stewart family name, thinking he owed as much to Kim.
“Sounds intriguing,” Kevin said when Edward finished his story. Kevin stood up and proceeded to make a wet mount of a small sample of the dirt.
“I thought it could make a cute little paper for Science or Nature,” Edward said. “Provided we find spores from Claviceps.”
Kevin slipped the wet mount under his office microscope and began scanning the sample. “Well, there are plenty of spores in here, but of course that’s not unusual.”
“How’s the best way to see if they’re Claviceps or not?” Edward asked.
“There are several ways,” Kevin said. “How soon do you want an answer?”
“As soon as possible,” Edward said.
“DNA would take some time,” Kevin said. “There are probably three to five thousand different fungal species in each sample. Besides, the most definitive method would be if we can grow some Claviceps. The problem is, it’s not that easy. But I’ll give it a shot.”
Edward stood up. “I’d appreciate whatever you can do.”
Taking a minute to collect herself, Kim raised her gloved hand so that her bare forearm could push her hair off her forehead. It had been a typically busy day in the surgical intensive-care unit, rewarding yet intense. She was exhausted and looking forward to getting off in another twenty minutes. Unfortunately her moment of relaxation was interrupted. Kinnard Monihan came into the unit with a sick patient.
Kim as well as the other nurses who were momentarily free lent a hand getting the new admission settled. Kinnard helped as did an anesthesiologist who’d come in with him.
While they worked, Kim and Kinnard avoided eye contact. But Kim was acutely aware of his presence, especially when their efforts on the patient’s behalf brought them side by side. Kinnard was a tall, wiry man of twenty-eight with sharply angular features. He was light on his feet and agile, more like a boxer in training than a doctor in the middle of a surgical residency.
With the patient settled, Kim headed for the central desk. She felt a hand on her arm, and she turned to look up into Kinnard’s dark, intense eyes.
“You’re not still angry?” Kinnard asked. He had no trouble bringing up sensitive issues right in the middle of the intensive-care unit.
Feeling a wave of anxiety, Kim looked away. Her mind was a muddle of conflicted emotion.