Just then, the constable ambled over towards Skip and Ernie, a troubled look on his face. “Got it over the car radio. The lab nailed it soon enough to save the guys, thank God... sodium triouroacetate.”
“Uh, what?” asked Skip.
“Pest control. Rat killer. Used to call it Tri-Zan. All the waterfront industries used it to control the rat population back in the early fifties, until it got banned,” said the constable. “Pathologist said they hadn’t seen the stuff in decades. But with the location, and the symptoms, an old guy in the lab thought of it right away. Lucky he did.”
Ernie explained to Skip, “This used to be a big shipbuilding region. Where there’s water and ships, there’s rats. I remember now that the stuff damn near killed off the whole town, years ago. Real disaster. Takes just a tiny bit...”
The constable nodded. “You probably saved the lives of every one of those guys who drank any. Odorless, and practically tasteless.”
Involuntarily, the three of them looked up at the sun nearly directly above them. It would be noon in less than an hour, and the air palpitated with heat. Everyone would have taken some water at one time or another.
“My God. My God.” Skip sat down hard on the hood next to Ernie, his eyes huge with horror. After a few moments, he stood up again. “Send ’em all home, Ernie.”
Ernie struggled to his feet, fumbled for his crutches. “What?”
“You heard it, send ’em home. Now. Stop the work.”
“You can’t do that, we got a killer schedule as it is. We can’t lose—”
Just then a caravan of cars pulled in behind Skip’s truck, led by the battered Chevrolet driven by the homicide detective. Doors slammed, and a crowd of people bustled towards them, joined, Skip was startled to see, by the witch, who walked briskly in from the fringe of trees that separated her property from Phantom’s. He waited uneasily. Had they all figured it out? Was his cover blown? The crew, seeing the new arrivals, stopped work again and drifted curiously towards Ernie and Skip.
Ernie had his crutches under control now, and he stood at Skip’s side. The men gathered behind Ernie. To Skip’s surprise, at the witch’s arrival, Ernie tripped his hat to her like a guy in an old movie. “Ma’am,” he heard Ernie murmur to her. She nodded back, rewarding Ernie with a wry smile, but said nothing.
Mr. Arsdale, the banker, who was at the front of the crowd with the detective, started barking at Skip like a nervous terrier: “We heard about the ruckus up at the hospital from Dr. Villas. He said mass murder was taking place here. We won’t—” The detective stopped Mr. Arsdale with a pained look and an upraised palm. The banker subsided immediately, but cast round-eyed appeals among the other trustees for support. He didn’t get any.
The mayor and every village trustee except Dr. Villas were present, plus some others Skip didn’t know.
Now the homicide detective asked in a polite, but firm, manner how “Mark” had come to the conclusion ahead of everybody else that the bottled water was poisoned. The group hovered close, anxious to hear. Skip repeated his story.
When he finished, the mayor led the shouted protests to the detective that Mark’s explanation was a good one, made sense, and didn’t he think — the detective interrupted the mayor’s suggestion about what to think and said, “We’re going to have to close down the activity here until some explanation is found for this water contamination.”
“Yes,” said Ms. Bellwood, the bookstore lady, her gentle voice unusually sharp in her vehemence. “Lives are worth more than any amount of financial benefit. We must stop this... this...” She halted, speechless with anxiety.
“You got it,” said Skip in a flat voice. She exhaled and smiled gratefully at him.
Some people were unhappy to hear that. Many in the crowd shrieked at the detective, explaining to him why it was a bad idea. The detective remained as polite, but as firm, as before.
“We can’t afford—” bellowed the mayor.
“We can’t afford to risk any more lives,” interrupted the detective. “I’m considering this poisoning intentional until I find out different. If a man hadn’t already lost his life here, and Ernie nearly lost his leg, it’d be a little different. But as it stands—”
The clamor was deafening.
“We’re willing to work,” shouted a few of the sub-contractors, earning Skip’s gratitude but increasing his anxiety.
“We’re not idiots, we just won’t—” began Ernie.
“Won’t do what? Could you have predicted that animal trap? The rifle bullet?” The detective looked at the crew with compassion. He knew that many of them hadn’t had work for months. This project was invaluable to them. To the whole village. He sighed. “I know it’s hard, but surely you can see that the men here are endangered. Until we find out what that danger is, they’ve got to stay away.”
Ernie subsided but looked frustrated.
“But they’re working to a deadline,” wailed Mr. Harder, Sr., flushed with the heat in his three-piece suit.
The detective shot him an uncomplimentary look without bothering to answer.
“I think,” began Mr. Drexel, immediately reducing everyone to respectful attention, “I think that the detective’s right, Mayor Harper. I think we can do no less for these men. I’m sure this Phantom will understand. He seems to be a compassionate enough fellow, doing all these benefits.”
Mrs. Risk suddenly spoke, startling everyone. They’d nearly forgotten she was there. “I believe Mr. Drexel expresses a valid observation about Phantom. In addition, Detective Hahn has the authority to enforce his request, unless I’m mistaken. He’s being gracious, but I don’t think you’re actually being given a choice. Am I correct, Michael?”
The detective nodded. “That’s the way it is, folks. The lady’s right. Break it up now. You men get your gear together. I know you’ll want your tools in case you get another job, and I’m going to inspect everything taken from the site.”
“Jeeze,” muttered Ernie’s assistant, but he began collecting tools.
The crowd climbed back into their cars, murmuring among themselves, wondering what was going to happen and how long the holdup would last. Detective Michael Hahn turned to thank the witch for her help but discovered she’d already gone.
Skip was deeply relieved at the detective’s action. He walked slowly over to the deck that hung over the beach, then stood there gazing back at the unfinished house. His plans were in shambles. He needed to think. For no reason he could explain, he turned and looked to the east.
As if she were an apparition conjured by his thoughts, a young woman with wildly curling long dark hair stepped up onto the deck, startling him so completely by her sudden appearance that he was forced to clutch at the deck’s railing to keep from falling backwards. While the thumping of his heart subsided, he stared, taking in the lush figure barely confined by the white silk shirt, tight jeans, and slim leather cowboy boots she wore.
“She sent me to fetch you,” the apparition announced.
“Uh-who?”
She shifted impatiently. “Mrs. Risk.” At Skip’s continued blank look, she added, with a roll of large, lovely eyes, “The witch.”
Skip blinked at her. Sighing with exasperation, she grabbed his hand and pulled gently. “C’mon,” she said, as if to a small child. He came.
The young woman, who’d been introduced to Skip merely as “Rachel,” settled the tray of drinks on a low, highly polished tree stump and handed Skip his beer.
“The letter told me about the poisoned water,” Skip said as he accepted the tall, frosted glass. He wiped perspiration from his forehead with his arm and continued staring down at the grass on which he sat, remembering. The surrounding trees rustled in the breeze as if they were whispering about the situation.