The EvoAngel

artifact:

ar - ti - fact

noun

an item, structure or behavior left from a previous time

Note to readers:

This is an adult book. Sex, reproduction and evolution abound throughout.

It is my hope that this story will affect how you see your body and our Earth. We are at a point in history where we no longer ask if offspring are more affected by nature than by nurture. Everything influences us and provokes a response. Sometimes the response is explosive.

Oyster Bay, South Puget Sound, Washington State

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-Two

Chapter Fifty-Three

Chapter Fifty-Four

Chapter Fifty-Five

Chapter Fifty-Six

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Chapter Fifty-Nine

Chapter Sixty

Chapter Sixty-One

Chapter Sixty-Two

Chapter Sixty-Three

Chapter Sixty-Four

Chapter Sixty-Five

Chapter Sixty-Six

Chapter Sixty-Seven

Chapter Sixty-Eight

Chapter Sixty-Nine

Chapter Seventy

Chapter Seventy-One

Chapter Seventy-Two

Chapter Seventy-Three

Chapter Seventy-Four

Chapter Seventy-Five

Chapter Seventy-Six

Chapter Seventy-Seven

Chapter Seventy-Eight

Chapter Seventy-Nine

Chapter Eighty

Chapter Eighty-One

Chapter Eighty-Two

Chapter Eighty-Three

Chapter Eighty-Four

Chapter Eighty-Five

Chapter Eighty-Six

Chapter Eighty-Seven

Chapter Eighty-Eight

Chapter Eighty-Nine

Chapter Ninety

Chapter Ninety-One

Chapter Ninety-Two

Chapter Ninety-Three

Chapter Ninety-Four

Chapter Ninety-Five

Chapter Ninety-Six

Chapter Ninety-Seven

Chapter Ninety-Eight

Chapter Ninety-Nine

Chapter One Hundred

Chapter One Hundred One

Chapter One Hundred Two

Chapter One Hundred-Three

Chapter One Hundred-Four

Chapter One Hundred-Five

Chapter One Hundred-Six

Chapter One Hundred-Seven

Chapter One Hundred-Eight

Chapter One Hundred-Nine

Chapter One Hundred-Ten

Chapter One Hundred-Eleven

Chapter One Hundred-Twelve

Chapter One Hundred-Thirteen

Chapter One Hundred-Fourteen

Chapter One Hundred-Fifteen

Chapter One Hundred-Sixteen

Acknowledgements

Once the mushroom has sprouted from the earth, there is no turning back.

—Luo proverb from Kenya

Chapter One

Tuesday morning, September 15, Kamilche Peninsula, Olympia, Washington

She would poison Dr. Band. She knew which mushroom to use.

Edna’s hands trembled as she lifted the latch on the door to her cabin. She ached for a cup of chamomile tea.

She would collect the mushrooms after the tea.

Edna crossed her narrow living room, navigating carefully at the edge of the rug. At her age, she didn’t need a fall.

She allowed herself a grim smile. She could use an invading species to do the deed. A landscaper had dumped a load of bark chips near a school bus stop and that action had introduced Amanita phalloides to her neighborhood. Even if the deadly species happened to be growing in a mixture of edible fungi, as mushrooms often do, the death cap would stand out to her. Eighty years of mushroom hunting was good for something. She knew her fungi.

Edna made it to the kitchen where she rested her hands at the deep enamel sink. The geraniums on the windowsill needed watering. Edna blinked back tears. She had bigger challenges now. Her hands continued to tremble as she filled the teakettle.

A death cap mushroom signaled its presence with a bright white stem erupting from an egg-shaped sac. There was the white ring on the stalk, the white spores, the unattached white gills, and the elegant profile that all said Amanita phalloides just as clearly as a nametag.

For handsome looks, she liked the spring season destroying angel, Amanita ocreata, with its dazzling white cap.

Edna sighed. Death caps and destroying angels were too dramatic. With her expertise there was no need for a poisoning cliché.

She would choose a small brown mushroom, Galerina marginata. It contained the same amatoxins as the Amanitas, but lacked a dramatic appearance.

As the flames from the propane burner licked the bottom of the teakettle, Edna’s nerves steadied. She should think this through.

Amatoxins were not affected by heat. Cooked or raw, they poisoned. Surely a brownie would be better than a salad. Who gave a gift salad?

Her mind skittered through the details of cooking up a pan of brownies with minutely diced Galerinas. It would be a four phase poisoning. First there would be a latent span of quiet hours. The arrival of the second phase would be signaled by stomach pain and diarrhea. This would pass as the third phase unfolded as a quiet rebound day. The horrible Dr. Band would feel much better. It would be the following day when the gruesome fourth phase started. That was when the kidneys and liver would fail.

She should frost the brownies. That was always a special touch.

Edna lifted the squealing kettle off the flames and poured the boiling water over a teabag. She made her mind take a step back from such destructive thoughts. Mushrooms were her life.

There was also the reality that a locally experienced ER doctor might read blood tests shrewdly and provide the correct supportive treatment. If poisoning were suspected, then leftover brownies might be tested.

She sighed. Poisoning by mushroom wasn’t fast enough.

Edna blinked back tears again as she sipped her tea. She could kill things. She had slaughtered more than a few chickens in her day. A human being was different. Dr. Band was no chicken.

She thought of dear Dr. Patel. None of this was his fault. She had made the appointment with him, trusting that her odd condition could be discretely discussed. It was high time to tell someone about her changing body.

She had not known there was a visiting doctor working at the clinic. Dr. Band was tiny and intense. She had the gleaming eyes of a predator.

Dr. Band terrified her.

Edna knew, of course, that an old woman should be sprouting chin hairs, not feathers. A narrow feather had emerged on her sternum a month ago and now that odd emergence was adding little friends. Dr. Patel had been kind and soothing. Then Dr. Band had walked in and spied Edna’s chest.

When Dr. Band’s hand went snaking into a pocket after a smartphone, Edna had leapt off the examination table and fled from the clinic. There would be no photographs of her chest. Not if she could help it.

Edna had raced home to her dear cabin where she knew her jumbled thoughts could soothe into a plan of action.

She considered her options. She could get a dog - a large dog with large teeth - and a No Trespassing sign. Her daughter, Lena, would think these were fears of old age sprouting like mushrooms after fall rains. Her granddaughter, Piper, would love a dog and would, no doubt, spoil the beast into delivering wet kisses instead of growls.

Edna’s mind skittered around the idea of her daughter and granddaughter changing as she had.

What she had, they might have next. There was a distinct and lengthy heritage of odd women in the family.

Lena. Piper.

Edna groaned.

She picked up a frame from a kitchen shelf and studied the picture of her daughter. Lena was so precious and in so much danger from the modern world. Thank goodness Lena’s husband was such a good man. Piper, now eleven, had the family cunning to go with the family oddities.

Edna kissed the glass of the picture frame, steering her lips to the glowing halo of blonde hair fringing her daughter’s perfect face. Edna’s stomach swooped down with a wave of worry, then stabilized as the chamomile did its magic.

Her jangled thoughts began to settle. There was a better way.

She would protect Lena and Piper by doing what wild creatures do. She would hide. She would also forge a back up plan in case she needed a speedy weapon to stop Dr. Band. Speedy meant no mushrooms.

Edna exhaled. There was no need to betray the mushrooms that had sustained and enchanted her all these many years. She would get out of the cabin and into the woods.

If she had to do any poisoning, she would choose something fast acting.

Edna made her decision.

She would collect the most poisonous plant in the northwest woods. She would walk down to the marsh and hunt in the shadow of the trees for poison parsnip.

From the oyster to the eagle, from the swine to the tiger, all animals are to be found in men…

Victor Hugo, poet, novelist

(February 26, 1802 – May 22, 1885)

Chapter Two

Tuesday afternoon, Westview Condominiums, #15B,

Tacoma, Washington

Dr. Theodora Band sat at the desk in her home office, tapping a well-manicured nail against her lips. Her sleek desk sat devoid of clutter, in odd contrast to the shelf on the wall that sat crowded with teddy bears.

She had driven home from the rural clinic on autopilot, weaving in and out of traffic with finesse. It had taken the entire drive to process what she had just seen.

She had fought doing the community service hours. Patel’s tiny clinic was beneath her to a degree that was laughable. Theodora’s attorney had managed to tamp down her assault charge to a no contest plea agreement. The judge handed down two days of service with a frown that had Theodora whipping out an agreeable smile that fooled no one.

Now Theodora smiled with a twisting smirk. This was one time community service paid.

A smoking hot trail to fame and fortune was opening before her. She had to research what she had seen. She needed to reconnect with that old woman to investigate further.

Theodora inhaled. She must keep her interior lava under control.

Theodora leaned back into her desk chair, recalling with some satisfaction the moment of her discovery. She had pushed into the exam room of the seedy country clinic because that dolt, Patel, had told her to wait in his office. His next patient was shy, he’d said.

Theodora did not wait for anyone.

If Patel didn’t want her to see the next patient, then of course she would interrupt. How stupid of Patel to think otherwise.

Theodora had amused herself by scarring a doorframe with a paper clip as she listened at the door. She had heard a firm voice report a skin condition.

Let’s look, Patel had said. Theodora slowly counted to five. She had clasped a clipboard to her chest and marched into the exam room while speaking rapidly, Dr. Patel, I’m sure you didn’t mean…

The look of horror on their faces had been priceless. Theodora had thought, just for a moment, that she had caught the two in an embrace. It was far more interesting than that.

Patel turned shades of scarlet and began to sputter. It was too late.

The old woman had feathers.

The granny had bolted out of the room before Theodora could snap a photo. The old woman was surprisingly nimble, grabbing her sweater and darting out the door. Patel blocked Theodora’s effort to follow. The old woman had raced out of the clinic to an ancient Volvo station wagon that fired up with a roar. Theodora had not been able to capture a single image of the woman.

Theodora endured a lecture from Patel because it bought her time to think.

Patel could go on, as he had, about an unfortunate skin condition. While Patel had babbled, Theodora was thinking of the usual list of genetically originated skin disorders. There was nothing like this.

Feathers. Why not? They were made of protein, just as hair and fingernails were. Somehow the crone’s DNA had been triggered into a different pattern of protein building.

There were traps everywhere. As usual, the stupid people of the world could cause any number of headaches.

Theodora’s eyes narrowed as she sat, hating the world.

Control. She had to take control. That meant she had to leash her rages, at least for now. She’d done it many times before. She must do it again. She must move from fire to ice. The volcano inside had to stay dormant until she had control of Edna Morton.

Theodora opened a desk drawer. She took out a screwdriver and turned to the shelf behind her desk.

She had begun collecting teddy bears when she was eight. It was a useful cover.

Theodora selected a small teddy bear. She thought of Dr. Patel. He had touched her. He had put his hand on her elbow and steered her out of the clinic, his eyes flashing with disapproval. As the memory filled her with rage, she inhaled deeply. She drove the screwdriver into the stomach of the bear. Again and again she stabbed the bear. Stuffing swelled out of each rip. Small polyester pellets came pouring out to bounce down to the carpet.

Theodora took a cleansing breath. She dropped the eviscerated teddy bear into her wastebasket and returned the screwdriver to the drawer. Her cleaning lady could deal with the pellets on the carpet.

Theodora ran her hands through her impeccably highlighted hair and took a second cleansing breath.

It was time to learn about feathers.

What happens when he’s your Prince Charming but you’re not his Cinderella?

Chapter Three

Tuesday morning, Summit College,

Olympia, Washington

Let’s begin, said Dr. Anderson, by meeting some beautiful mushrooms.

Biology of the Northwest Woods looked to be a popular course and this term’s lecturer was sheer eye candy. Dr. Milo Anderson stood at a lectern in lean, magnificent, six-foot-four, mahogany curled glory.

You know this mushroom, Dr. Anderson waved at the screen. You’ve seen the characteristic red cap and white blotches in illustrated books for children, and you’ve seen this mushroom portrayed in ceramic in garden shops. You’ve also met this mushroom while playing video games with a guy in overalls. A ripple of laughter flowed through the room.

Dr. Anderson added, This mushroom is poisonous. It contains the chemicals muscarine and ibotenic acid.

Dr. Anderson’s voice dropped to a growl. His words came out in a deep, careful staccato. Please know that just because it’s handsome, it doesn’t mean it’s for you.

In the last row, Grace Mossler blinked. As the new graduate student assigned to assist Dr. Anderson, she had not thought through the challenges a handsome speaker faced as mentor to so many students. Dr. Anderson had just laid down territorial lines to any smitten coed in the class. Fascinating.

Anderson added, You’ll be responsible for reading on the course website about the eight poisonous compounds that can be found in mushrooms and their methods of action. You’ll be making spore prints of gilled mushrooms in the lab. It would be wise to look up spore prints before the lab, unless you particularly like that clueless feeling that comes with being unprepared.

This garnered a small chuckle from the students.

Dr. Anderson continued in a warmer voice, I met my beautiful wife, Lena, because of this mushroom. I was seventeen and was scouting a location for a service project.

Grace inwardly sighed. Service project? Was he a lottery winner too? Handsome, knowledgeable, and now charitable – yes, he could be a magnet for fantasies. Grace smiled as she thought, He just told us about his beautiful wife. Get a life, girl. Get a life.

Dr. Anderson put up a photo of a forest-rimmed meadow. He leaned on the podium and said, I was near here. I passed two little girls setting up a picnic with dolls.

Anderson turned to look at the picture on the screen. "You can see the ‘fairy ring’ of A. muscaria growing in a circle in the meadow. We’ll discuss the mechanisms of ring development later, but for today, let’s just observe the beauty and charm of such a circle. It didn’t occur to me that the girls might add mushrooms to their tea party. When I returned from my walk, the girls were gone. A young woman was kneeling right where the mushrooms had been. She told me, I think those little girls picked mushrooms.

I could tell she was worried. If the kids ate wild mushrooms, they could be very sick before long. How sick varies by the species consumed.

Some mushroom species can cause a headache. Others can cause stomach cramps followed by organ failure. This can make a mushroom diner very nervous. Although it can be embarrassing when we learn that a particular gastric upset is due to a person finally having some fiber in their diet.

A nervous ripple of laughter swept the room.

"Now, were these children in peril? The red-capped Amanita muscaria is actually not one of the most seriously poisonous mushrooms. However, the amount consumed and the size of the victim matter. In this case we had two small girls, and they had mowed through a large arc of mushrooms known to be somewhat toxic."

He continued, The lovely young woman in the mushroom ring said to me, ‘We’ve got to find the girls.’ At that moment, I’m a seventeen-year-old nerd who had never had a date, so I’m liking the ‘we’ part.

More laughter.

Dr. Anderson said, I gave her a hand to help her to her feet. She reached out with her other hand and grabbed a specimen to take with us. That was a smart move.

Anderson’s voice intensified. We got to the family at the trailhead as they were loading their car.

Dr. Anderson stopped to sip from the water bottle on the podium. The students sat silent as he recapped the water bottle.

He cleared his throat and finished. "The kiddy picnic basket was stuffed with Amanita muscaria. Some had nibble marks. My new friend showed her matching specimen, naming the species and explaining that Amanita muscaria could make the girls ill."

The parents didn’t hesitate. They called 911 and the girls were taken to the hospital where they got supportive treatment.

Dr. Anderson paused and frowned. The entire auditorium remained hushed. Anderson leaned into the microphone and insisted, Don’t ever eat it unless you are certain – truly certain- that you know what it is. And never hesitate to call for help. If you have second thoughts after eating something, don’t hesitate to call for help. There’s time to turn things around if you get help.

Grace felt the collective whoosh of agreement as students responded with grins and some chatter.

Dr. Anderson clicked a new photograph onto the screen. A lean woman of astonishing beauty sat on a moss-covered log. Her white blonde hair glowed against a background of dark shadowed woods. Her hands were out in front, cupped and filled with golden mushrooms. Anderson fetched out his stunning smile again. Grace could feel the students respond like flowers rotating to follow the sun.

He said, So, guys, there I was, left in the parking lot, watching the ambulance leave. That’s when I realized that I was still holding hands with this gorgeous woman. So, men, know your mushrooms!

Laughter rippled across the room.

"This is my wife, Lena. In this photo she’s holding Cantharellus formus, also known as ‘the Pacific golden chanterelle.’ It is a delicious edible mushroom that we will seek on our weekly field trips. However, please know this mushroom has a near twin, named Hygrophoropsis aurantiaca, or false chanterelle. Another orange mushroom is Chroogomphus tomentosus, which has black spores. You’ll see all three in the lab. You’ll be responsible for learning to tell them apart."

Dr. Anderson looked over at Grace. She nodded and stood up. He’d said to circulate samples of oyster mushrooms as soon as he started in on varieties of local mushrooms. She should fetch the trays now.

He’s teaching on so many levels, Grace thought. Visually, tactilely, emotionally. He’s very good, she decided. There was opportunity here to learn a great deal.

Grace was at the table of samples at the back of the room when she heard the creak of the exit door opening beside her. She saw a thick hand move to hold the door open. The pudgy hand was hairy. An adult male, Grace mused. She had seen that heavy gold pinky ring before. Where? Why didn’t the listener come in to the lecture hall?

At the front of the auditorium, Anderson was moving on with his slide show.

Grace hefted a tray loaded with paper bowls of oyster mushrooms. She balanced the tray carefully. She wanted to time her movements so she didn’t distract from the lecture.

Dr. Anderson said, "We’re only just beginning in the world of look-alikes. In California, there is another mushroom that looks similar to the delicious chanterelle. It’s the Jack O’ Lantern mushroom or Omphalotus olearius. The Jack-o-lantern is bioluminescent. The whole mushroom doesn’t glow – but the gills will appear green in low light. That’s because of a special enzyme called luciferase.

Dr. Anderson grinned with boyish delight. It is a luciferase enzyme that gives a Midwestern firefly it’s glowing hind end.

Dr. Anderson put up a picture showing two brown mushrooms. Two different species growing together. They look like the same thing, but they’re not.

Before we get into the anatomy of the mushroom, he said. Consider this: Small details constantly make a difference, particularly in human/organism interactions. Mushroom production is a good example of this. It is details that make biological work a success or a failure. Have some patience because we are going to spend some considerable time on details.

Dr. Anderson’s eyes twinkled with good humor as the next slide popped up on the screen. It showed a pair of homely camels nuzzling each other. Successful sex is pivotal to successful biology, so these details may not be all that painful for you.

A cheerful Yee-haw! came from the back row, and the classroom rippled again with laughter.

Grace needed to get the samples moving. As she passed the first bowl of mushrooms, she thought back to the brief staff meeting on Monday. That hand and ring, she decided, belongs to Dr. Yousef Berbera, head of the Biology Department.

Grace didn’t have time to think deeply but she knew there were biological behaviors that repeated. A habit of observation was one of them. Secrecy was another.

How ludicrous and outlandish is astonishment at anything that happens in life.

Marcus Aurelius, Roman Emperor

(April 26, 121 – March 17, 180)

Chapter Four

Tuesday afternoon, September 15, Summit College

Grace’s morning of work unfolded into an afternoon of more work.

Grace and Dr. Anderson were reviewing the drawers of ornithological specimens in the northeast corner of an enormous storeroom when Grace kicked something that rolled under a heavy specimen cabinet.

That was a roll of coins! she said.

Huh. Maybe there was a copy machine in here at one time. Milo Anderson peered around from the end of the shelving. I can’t see anything from this angle. Do you want it?

Sure. Could be coffee money.

Milo Anderson laughed at her eagerness. He said, Okay. Here’s my penlight. You look from below. I’ll turn off the overhead lights. That might help.

Grace turned on the small flashlight as the storeroom plunged into darkness. She lay down on the floor to peer under the cabinet’s legs. A roll of quarters! Lunch money! Can you hand me something so I can roll it out?

Here, let me. I’ve got long arms. Milo Anderson strode back to the corner and lay down on the floor next to Grace. He reached under the shelf while she held the light beam steady.

The door to the storeroom opened and the overhead light went on. Milo and Grace froze, both horribly aware that no assistant professor should be lying on the floor of the storeroom, in the dark, with a graduate student.

How did Anderson do today? said a female.

He’s good. We’re lucky to have picked him up, replied a low baritone.

How did that happen, anyway? I thought he was a golden boy up in Seattle.

Milo and Grace stared at each another in dismay. The baritone sounded like Dr. Berbera, the department head. The female sounded like the formidable Dean of Students who had recently returned from a sabbatical. Milo extended a finger to his lips. Grace needed no coaching. Lying on the floor with her mentor was an embarrassment she didn’t need. She wouldn’t even risk the click of turning off the flashlight.

Berbera answered, Anderson’s wife went off the deep end. Beautiful woman. Named Lena. One day she went tearing through the campus, screaming and crying. She ended up perched in a cherry tree blooming on the quad. It took the paramedics a couple of hours to coax her down. That episode cooled Anderson’s rise in the department.

Grace heard the metal rasp of a key being inserted into a lock.

Dr. Berbera continued, Lena’s mother is a mushroom collector - lives out on Kamilche Peninsula. Sounds like she’s more stable around her mother, so we got a call asking if we could use him. They’ve got a cute little girl, about ten or eleven. Must of married really young.

The Dean replied, "So the wife is fragile. Anything else? Do I have to worry that Dr. Golden Boy has an overly sympathetic gal grad student this fall?

Berbera gave a bark of laughter. Inappropriate grad school sex is a Dean’s constant worry. We’re okay this time. Steady sort. You’ll see her. Short. Round face. Grace something from New Mexico State.

Oh, yeah. Black hair. Kinda chunky? Navaho. Not the seductress type.

Grace was rather charmed as Milo Anderson frowned, then silently extended his middle finger up in the air on her behalf.

Dr. Berbera’s voice echoed through the storeroom. Here you go. Two sets of binoculars.

Thanks. I’ll get them back next week.

The light switched off and the door pulled shut.

Grace stood up so fast that she felt dizzy.

Milo reached under the shelving and retrieved the roll of quarters. He stood up and handed the roll to Grace, saying, I’d say that was a scary way to earn ten dollars.

Wow. No kidding.

She didn’t have to be so insulting. Milo moved down the stacks to the light switch to turn the light on.

Grace shrugged. I am chunky - and if you’re a native from the Southwest, you must be Navaho. It happens all the time. Only my mom’s Apache and my dad’s from the Kamilche area. He’s a native too.

West coast guy and Apache gal? How did that happen?

My folks met in the Air Force. My mom was adopted out and grew up in Texas. Dad grew up here but ran away from home. The family stuff is one of the reasons why I came out to Summit College. I’m going to try to connect.

Milo’s jaw came forward in a rigid line. Family is important, he agreed.

Ah, still tough times? Grace thought. She decided to investigate. I should offer my story first. Submissive action.

Grace shoved an errant cabinet into alignment. I went to meet some of my mother’s family while I was in New Mexico. That didn’t go so well. I totally screwed up. I said the wrong things and… it was awkward.

She shrugged. You can’t just show up and announce you’re a member of the tribe.

It can take some time, Milo agreed. I grew up around here, but I’ve been gone for more than a decade. It’s been a little tough to re-connect.

Milo exhaled a huff, halfway to a sigh. Berbera’s right – my wife has been ill. Even with her mother here, she’s had a tough time re-assimilating. You have to put some time into it.

Grace replied, You’re right. I didn’t take time. In New Mexico, I went into a riff about being an impoverished student. They thought I was looking for a handout. Grace tossed the roll of quarters in the air and snagged it on the downward arc. I am a poor student, but I’m not a leech. This time I’ll handle it better.

My mother-in-law teaches some classes on Kamilche peninsula, Milo said. Her name’s Edna Morton. I’ll bet she could introduce you around. Would it help to talk to her?

Sure! I want to put my toes in the family waters slowly this time.

Milo slid a specimen drawer open. Let me talk to her then.

Grace nodded. That’d be great. I’ll take all the help I can get.

Hey, you’re nice. They’ll like you. Milo picked up a stuffed puffin and moved toward the door.

Stepping in behind him, Grace saw how Anderson’s blue oxford shirt did little to hide his wide shoulders and a strongly muscled torso.

Get a grip, girl, she scolded herself. Handsome, but not available. She couldn’t keep back a quick grin. She would bet a lunch that no besotted grad student had ever been lying in the dark with the delicious Dr. Anderson.

Let’s see if you can hang on to some dignity here, she silently chided her wayward brain. Prioritize. Behave. Let’s learn stuff, get the degree, meet Dad’s family with some decorum and try really hard not to get into a jam with some bat shit crazy wife in the attic.

Grace shoved the roll of quarters into her jeans pocket. As she pulled the storeroom door shut, she decided that Milo Anderson’s wife was Milo Anderson’s problem.

She’s a few feathers short of a whole duck.

Chapter Five

Tuesday afternoon, Edna’s Cabin, Kamilche Peninsula

Edna sat at her computer. She had a document file open, a large font chosen and her tea mug sat on the coaster just to the right of her mouse.

She made herself start.

I, Edna Morton, being of sound mind and body… Edna stopped typing. She missed her typewriter. It had been so satisfying to see the ball rotate to strike the letters onto the page.

Edna sighed. Missing her typewriter was not the real problem. She had to untangle her mess and give her family both history and options.

Hide. Not attack. Predators could be avoided by hiding. She would hide as long as she could - and she would tell Piper and