Page 118 of The Case of the Missing Love Stone

“It is a reasonable working theory,” Dr. Cole says. “The early calm may be the intended effect. Recognition failure could follow as the carrier metabolizes. I need Maribel’s bloodwork before I can narrow that further.”

Scarlet studies the chart. “Was the greenhouse dose enough to affect me?”

“Your contact appears limited, and weather reduced the concentration. Pepper will draw blood today. Until then, monitor temperature, scent changes, cycle irregularity, nausea, and sensory distortion.”

Scarlet’s fingers curl around Roman’s.

Dr. Cole’s expression gentles. “Exposure gives us a reason to watch your body. But at these levels, you shouldn’t expect to suffer from psychosis.”

Color warms Scarlet’s face, but she meets the doctor’s gaze. “Thank you.”

Dr. Cole sends the signed report, then turns the call over to Pepper.

“I’m at Earl’s stand,” Pepper says. Wind brushes her microphone, followed by the scrape of a wooden crate. “I came out for comparison samples. His ash and chalk have been sold in protection bundles around the county, and I wanted to rule out an innocent source.”

“Did you?”

“The ash here is clean. Earl also mentioned that the guy who bought a large quantity before the museum theft came back yesterday for more.”

Scarlet straightens. “The motorcyclist?”

“Yes. Same person, according to Earl. Black vest in ninety-degree heat. He kept one glove on while he paid.”

I bring up the original roadside interview. “Did Earl get a look at the vest?”

“Only part of the patch, pale wings around a dark circle,” Earl replied, his drawl slow.

Roman looks at the paused greenhouse footage. The figure’s left hand stays close to his body while the right unfolds the directions.

“Any reason to believe he belongs to a club?” Roman asks.

“That’s the feds’ job, ain’t it?” Earl asks.

There is a shuffle before Pepper regains the line. “I’ll check back in later.” Pepper promises photographs of the comparison samples and ends the call.

BESTF has seen motorcycle clubs used as carriers before. Their long routes, private clubhouses, repair shops, charity rides, and members who cross county lines without attracting notice make them useful to traffickers. That doesn’t mean every club member knows what passes through the saddlebags. It also doesn’t prove a club supplied this batch or that the rider at Earl’s stand carried GatorX, but it’s enough to get us started.

I enter the partial emblem into the regional club index. Three results appear. One is the Hollow Saints, who use bone-colored wings around a black sun. Their name appears in two old transport reports, both unproven and both involving riders who moved through the same counties as later GatorX drug seizures.

Scarlet leans toward the screen. “Is that his patch?”

“It could be. We need Earl to identify more than half an emblem before I treat it as more.”

Rainwater slides down the windows while Scarlet finally bites into her toast. “The poison in Maribel’s bundle was at my house,” she says.

“It was.”

“And the person who placed it may be part of a network BESTF already suspects drug carriers use.”

“The chemical match is proof. The motorcycle connection is a lead.”

Roman pours more coffee into her cup. “One answer and one new question.”

Scarlet glances at the evidence wall. “That seems to be the town motto.”

My inbox refreshes, and Tom’s reply to the archive request I sent before dawn appears at the top.

The circulation record for the file containing Scarlet’s grandmother’s notes is longer than I want. Scarlet signed it out twice. Tom accessed it after the theft. Three preservation volunteers handled the storage box in April, and Myrtle Vane approved a broad copying request for heritage display packets eleven days before the tooth disappeared.