Aubrey took the card and nodded, while drawing his sleeve across his face again. Then he surprised Qwilleran by following him to his car. "The police were here," he said anxiously.
"That's standard procedure in the case of accidental death. The police and the ambulance crew and the medical examiner are required to respond. What did the police say?"
"They kept asking about the bees. Could they arrest me for what my bees did?"
"Of course not! Cops always ask a lot of questions. They may come back and ask some more. Just answer them truthfully without going into a long-winded explanation. If they give you a hard time, let me know."
On the way home, Qwilleran frequently tamped his moustache with his fist. Instinct, and a sensation on his upper lip, told him there was more to this story than appeared on the surface. Furthermore, Koko had been agitated all weekend, a sure sign that he was trying to communicate. For one thing, he kept knocking A Taste of Honey off the bookshelf.
From the desolation of blighted Black Creek, Qwilleran drove to West Middle Hummock, where fine estates nestled among rolling hills and winding roads. The Lanspeaks lived there. So did the Wilmots. Elaine Fetter had suggested Sunday afternoon for the mushroom interview because her weekdays were consumed by volunteer work. In preparation he had consulted the encyclopedia and had learned that the edible fungus is a sporophore consisting largely of water and having a curious reproductive system - what they called the sexuality of the mushroom.
Although he was no gardener, he knew that one could plant a radish and get a radish, but there was something murkily mysterious about the propagation of mushrooms.
Mrs. Fetter specialized in shiitake, which she pronounced shee-tock-ee. The Japanese word with a double-i would confuse the proofreaders at the Something. After several years they were still uncomfortable with the QW in his name.
The Fetter residence was an old farmhouse on which money had been lavished, with open decks and ramps, giving it a contemporary look. The woman who greeted him was the same statuesque, self-assured, well-groomed shopper who had suggested short-grain rice at Toodle's Market.
"Do come in and let us start with a cup of tea in the keeping room," she said. She led the way through spacious rooms furnished with antique pine and cherry - to a large kitchen with a six-burner range, a bank of ovens, and shelves filled with cookbooks. Separated from the cooking center by an iron railing was an area with a fireplace and Windsor chairs around a trestle table. The railing looked like the missing section of the Limburger fence. Qwilleran said, "This would make a spectacular feature for our new food page. John Bushland could take photos, if you'd permit it. Did you have a professional designer?"
"No, this is all my own idea, although Amanda's studio ordered a few things for me. I call this the nerve center of the house. I spend my mornings here, testing recipes and experimenting with new dishes. I'm writing a cookbook, you see, in addition to supervising the one for the Friends of the Library."
He set up his tape recorder, with her consent, and then asked, "Could you describe briefly the procedure in growing shiitake?"
"Of course! First you find a young healthy oak tree and cut it down after the leaves begin to fall and before it leafs out in spring. It should be four to six inches in diameter, with just the right thickness of bark."
"How thick is the right thickness? Already this sounds somewhat esoteric."
"Ah! This is a matter of study and experience. After cutting your logs in four-foot lengths, you buy commercial spawn; drill holes in these bed-logs, as they're called; then inoculate them with the spawn and seal the holes, after which they incubate for three months."
"Do you ignore them during the incubation?"
"Not at all! You must maintain the humidity by occasional deep-soaking or frequent watering with a gentle spray. An electric gauge measures the interior moisture of the logs." She explained the process glibly and concisely, like a lesson memorized from a textbook. "After inoculation you can expect fruiting in six to nine months."
"And what do you do with your crop?"
"Sell them to restaurants and the better markets in Lockmaster. Local grocers consider them too expensive, although shiitake are considered more delicious and nutritious than ordinary mushrooms. After we've visited the growing arbor, I'll saut‚ some for you - with parsley, garlic, and freshly ground black pepper."
From the kitchen they stepped through sliding glass doors to a patio, then down a ramp and along an asphalt-paved path to a wooded area on the bank of a stream. In the partial shade the bed-logs were stacked in a crisscross pattern; others stood on end around a central pole. Some were sprouting little buttons. "Just beginning to fruit," she said. "And over there is a flush ready to crop." She pointed to logs ringed with ruffles of large mushrooms, the caps as big as saucers and furrowed in a pattern of brown and white.
Qwilleran thought, By comparison, ordinary mushrooms look naked. "Are mushrooms still considered aphrodisiacs?" he asked, remembering a reference in the encyclopedia.
"There have been all sorts of superstitions in the past, and always will be," she replied. "There was a time when women weren't allowed in mushroom-growing establishments; it was thought the presence of a female would ruin the crop."
"When was that? In the Dark Ages?"
"Surprisingly, the superstition continued into the beginning of the twentieth century. And did you know that scientists used to battle over the question of whether the mushroom was a plant or an animal?"
On the way back to the kitchen, he said, "This shiitake project sounds like a lot of work, considering all your other activities."
"Oh, I have a little help," she said nonchalantly. While she saut‚ed shiitake, Qwilleran perused her large collection of food-related books: Larousse, Escoffier, and Brillat-Savarin, as well as ethnic cookbooks of all kinds and the recipe collections of famous chefs. He wondered how original her own cookbook would be, and how much plagiarism occurred among food writers. Before he had a chance to examine the books, she called him to the table, and he tasted the best mushrooms he'd ever eaten.
Later, he reported the entire incident to Polly as they took their walk. "After five minutes with the encyclopedia and an hour with Elaine Fetter, I am now a mycological expert. I know that a mushroom cap is called the pileus; the gills underneath are lamellae; and the stem is the stipe. Also, there are three strains of shiitake, one of which is called Koko."
"You overwhelm me with your erudition," Polly said. "What did you think of Elaine?"
"Well, I'm impressed by her vitality and expertise and collection of cookbooks, but..." He patted his moustache. "I have a sneaky feeling she wasn't telling the whole story. During my career I've interviewed about forty thousand individuals, and I get certain vibrations when they're holding something back - or lying."
"Did she mention her son?"
"No, the conversation was all about mushrooms and her personal activities. She didn't even mention the auction, and she's the one who snagged the mayor. What about her son?"