Read Online Last to Die by Tess Gerritsen - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Tess Gerritsen
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woods.”
Laced though it was with criticism, the compliment made Julian grin. “I’ll work on my spelling, Professor.”
“Enjoy your visit with us, Dr. Isles,” said Pasquantonio, gathering his notes and plant specimens from the demonstration table. “Lucky for you, it’s quiet this time of year. Not so many noisy feet clomping up and down the stairs like elephants.”
Maura noticed the clump of purple flowers the man was holding. “Monkshood.”
Pasquantonio nodded. “
Aconitum
. Very good.”
She scanned the other plant specimens he’d laid out on the table. “Foxglove. Purple nightshade. Rhubarb.”
“And this one?” He held up a twig with dried leaves. “Extra credit if you can tell me which flowering shrub this comes from?”
“It’s oleander.”
He looked at her, his pale eyes lit up with interest. “Which doesn’t even grow in this climate, yet you recognize it.” He gave a deferential nod of his bald head. “I am impressed.”
“I grew up in California, where oleander’s common.”
“I suspect you’re also a gardener.”
“Aspiring. But I am a pathologist.” She looked at the botanical specimens arrayed on the table. “These are all poisonous plants.”
He nodded. “And so beautiful, some of them. We grow monkshood and foxglove here, in our flower garden. Rhubarb’s growing in our vegetable garden. And purple nightshade, with such sweet little blossoms and berries, springs up everywhere as a common weed. All around us, so prettily disguised, are the instruments of death.”
“And you’re teaching this to children?”
“They have need of this knowledge as much as anyone else. It reminds them that the natural world is a dangerous place, as you well know.” He set the specimens on a shelf and scooped up pages of notes. “A pleasure to meet you, Dr. Isles,” he said before turning to Julian. “Mr. Perkins, your friend’s visit will not serve as an excuse for late homework. Just so we’re clear on that matter.”
“Yes, sir,” said Julian solemnly. He maintained that sober expression until Professor Pasquantonio was well down the hall and out of earshot, then he burst out in a laugh. “Now you know why we call him Poison Pasky.”
“He doesn’t seem like the friendliest of teachers.”
“He’s not. He’d rather talk to his plants.”
“I hope your other teachers aren’t quite as strange.”
“We’re
all
strange here. That’s why it’s such an interesting place. Like Ms. Saul says, normal is so boring.”
She smiled at him. Touched his face again. This time he didn’t shrink away. “You sound happy here, Rat. Do you get along with everyone?”
“Better than I ever did at home.”
Home, in Wyoming, had been a grim place for Julian. In school he’d been a D-minus student, bullied and ridiculed, known not for any academic achievement but for his scrapes with the law and his schoolyard fistfights. At sixteen, he’d seemed bound for a future prison cell.
So there was truth to what Julian had just said, about being strange. He was not normal, and he never would be. Cast out by his own family, thrust alone into the wilderness, he’d learned to rely on himself. He had killed a man. Although that killing was in self-defense, the spilling of another’s blood changes you forever, and she wondered how deeply that memory still haunted him.
He took her hand. “Come on, I want to show you around.”
“Ms. Saul showed me the library.”
“Have you been to your room yet?”
“No.”
“It’s in the old wing, where all the important guests go. That’s where Mr. Sansone stays whenever he visits. Your room has a big old stone fireplace. When Briana’s aunt visited, she forgot to open the flue, and the room filled with smoke. They had to evacuate the whole building. So you’ll remember that, right? About the flue?”
And you won’t embarrass me
was the unspoken message.
“I’ll remember. Who’s Briana?”
“Just a girl here.”
“
Just
a
Laced though it was with criticism, the compliment made Julian grin. “I’ll work on my spelling, Professor.”
“Enjoy your visit with us, Dr. Isles,” said Pasquantonio, gathering his notes and plant specimens from the demonstration table. “Lucky for you, it’s quiet this time of year. Not so many noisy feet clomping up and down the stairs like elephants.”
Maura noticed the clump of purple flowers the man was holding. “Monkshood.”
Pasquantonio nodded. “
Aconitum
. Very good.”
She scanned the other plant specimens he’d laid out on the table. “Foxglove. Purple nightshade. Rhubarb.”
“And this one?” He held up a twig with dried leaves. “Extra credit if you can tell me which flowering shrub this comes from?”
“It’s oleander.”
He looked at her, his pale eyes lit up with interest. “Which doesn’t even grow in this climate, yet you recognize it.” He gave a deferential nod of his bald head. “I am impressed.”
“I grew up in California, where oleander’s common.”
“I suspect you’re also a gardener.”
“Aspiring. But I am a pathologist.” She looked at the botanical specimens arrayed on the table. “These are all poisonous plants.”
He nodded. “And so beautiful, some of them. We grow monkshood and foxglove here, in our flower garden. Rhubarb’s growing in our vegetable garden. And purple nightshade, with such sweet little blossoms and berries, springs up everywhere as a common weed. All around us, so prettily disguised, are the instruments of death.”
“And you’re teaching this to children?”
“They have need of this knowledge as much as anyone else. It reminds them that the natural world is a dangerous place, as you well know.” He set the specimens on a shelf and scooped up pages of notes. “A pleasure to meet you, Dr. Isles,” he said before turning to Julian. “Mr. Perkins, your friend’s visit will not serve as an excuse for late homework. Just so we’re clear on that matter.”
“Yes, sir,” said Julian solemnly. He maintained that sober expression until Professor Pasquantonio was well down the hall and out of earshot, then he burst out in a laugh. “Now you know why we call him Poison Pasky.”
“He doesn’t seem like the friendliest of teachers.”
“He’s not. He’d rather talk to his plants.”
“I hope your other teachers aren’t quite as strange.”
“We’re
all
strange here. That’s why it’s such an interesting place. Like Ms. Saul says, normal is so boring.”
She smiled at him. Touched his face again. This time he didn’t shrink away. “You sound happy here, Rat. Do you get along with everyone?”
“Better than I ever did at home.”
Home, in Wyoming, had been a grim place for Julian. In school he’d been a D-minus student, bullied and ridiculed, known not for any academic achievement but for his scrapes with the law and his schoolyard fistfights. At sixteen, he’d seemed bound for a future prison cell.
So there was truth to what Julian had just said, about being strange. He was not normal, and he never would be. Cast out by his own family, thrust alone into the wilderness, he’d learned to rely on himself. He had killed a man. Although that killing was in self-defense, the spilling of another’s blood changes you forever, and she wondered how deeply that memory still haunted him.
He took her hand. “Come on, I want to show you around.”
“Ms. Saul showed me the library.”
“Have you been to your room yet?”
“No.”
“It’s in the old wing, where all the important guests go. That’s where Mr. Sansone stays whenever he visits. Your room has a big old stone fireplace. When Briana’s aunt visited, she forgot to open the flue, and the room filled with smoke. They had to evacuate the whole building. So you’ll remember that, right? About the flue?”
And you won’t embarrass me
was the unspoken message.
“I’ll remember. Who’s Briana?”
“Just a girl here.”
“
Just
a
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