Scarlet Thunder

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Authors: Sigmund Brouwer
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pocket. He snapped it open.
    â€œWhat motel?” he asked.
    â€œThe...the...” I struggled to remember. We had dropped her off after the barbecue because she wanted some privacy. She didn’twant to share the motor home the rest of the film crew used. I tried to picture the neon sign against the night sky:
Riverside Motel
.
    He punched a few numbers and waited. “Yes,” he said. “I need the number for the Riverside Motel.”
    After a few more seconds of waiting, he punched in more numbers. And waited briefly again.
    â€œYes,” he said. “I would like to speak to a guest registered at the motel.”
    He gave me a questioning look.
    â€œMargaret Lynn,” I said.
    â€œMargaret Lynn,” he repeated into the cell phone.
    For the next few seconds, I again felt stuck in mud with an alligator swimming closer. What if she had passed out? This was some kind of poisoning. What if she had...
    â€œHello,” Doctor Ellroy said into the phone. “This is Doctor John Ellroy. I’m an internal specialist and I—”
    He closed his eyes. Even I could hear how loud Margaret Lynn was yelling into the telephone.
    â€œNo,” Dr. Ellroy said. “This is not Al or Brian. This is not a practical joke. I am calling because we were afraid that you might be ill. However, you sound very healthy and strong. I am sorry to have bothered you.”
    He snapped the phone shut. He smiled. “It didn’t seem the time for a long conversation.”
    He began tapping his teeth again with his pencil. “This could help,” he said. “It could help a lot. Was there anything you all ate that she did not?”
    â€œShe’s a vegetarian,” I said. “Does that help?”
    â€œPerhaps.”
    I snapped my fingers. “No,” I said. “Dessert. We all had a fruit dessert with whipped cream. She didn’t. But Tim Becker, another guy who sat with us, did.”
    Doctor Ellroy made a couple more phone calls and finally reached Tim Becker. Doctor Ellroy spoke seriously with him for a few minutes, then hung up.
    â€œAs you could tell from our conversation,” Dr. Ellroy said, “he’s sick too, though he
    doesn’t sound as bad off as you are. I’d say it’s a safe bet you’re all reacting to the dessert.”
    Doctor Ellroy frowned. “The strange thing here is that the symptoms sound like something that commonly happens to children who pick and eat raw elderberries.”
    â€œElderberries?” I echoed.
    â€œYes,” he said. “Cooked elderberries are fine. But uncooked, they’ll cause exactly what you’ve experienced. The symptoms won’t kill you, but they will slow you down. Raw elderberries contain a poison called cyanogenic glycoside.”
    I didn’t care much about the name of the poison. I cared much more about a bigger question. One that Dr. Ellroy asked out loud for both of us. Especially after I explained that only Uncle Mike’s crew had been poisoned.
    â€œBut why,” he said, “would someone put raw elderberries in selective desserts?”
    Before either of us could try to answer, a new kind of rumbling hit my insides. Not the throwing-up kind of rumbling. But thekind of rumbling that had sent Uncle Mike out the door in a big hurry.
    â€œUm, Doctor Ellroy?” I said.
    â€œYes?”
    I was already running out the door as I answered.
    â€œGot to go,” I said.
    And I meant it in the truest way. I sprinted down the hall, looking for a bathroom.
    Stupid elderberries.

chapter fifteen
    Those stupid elderberries cost us nearly a full day of production, setting us even further behind Uncle Mike’s million-dollar deadline.
    Since it was the day between Friday’s qualifying and Sunday’s race, the original plan had been to interview Sandy in the morning and film the pit crew in the afternoon.
    We’d canceled the pit crew film segments because we

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