A Botanist’s Guide to Flowers and Fatality by Kate Khavari

Author:Kate Khavari [Khavari, Kate]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 20

“Did you choose this place for the name alone?” Saffron asked as they alighted from the cab.

The glass window was covered in golden lettering, proclaiming the restaurant within was called “The Grove.” Lee grinned in response, opening the door with a gallant bow.

The bustling café’s black-and-white-checkered floor, shining black tables, and gilt light fixtures made it just a touch glamorous, and the windows allowed in streams of sunlight. Some sort of citrus trees, recognizable by the shapes of the dark, glossy leaves and the faint fruity smell, dotted the space in stoneware pots and gave it the impression of a stylish picnic spot.

“Well,” Lee said, putting aside his menu as the server drifted away from their table a few minutes later. His lips were set in an amused smile.

His easiness irritated her, but more than that, he apparently had already solved the case, and she was clueless. “Well, what?”

“Mrs. Caywood was certainly a wet blanket, wasn’t she? I’m rather of a mind to give her the run-around.” He sipped from his water glass. “But I suppose you’re in favor of going back straightaway to explain about the bergamot.”

The bergamot? Her mind struggled to connect what he clearly thought was obvious. “Of course, I think we ought to tell her sooner rather than later,” she hedged, furiously thinking.

Obviously, the bergamot was the cause of the burns. But Mrs. Caywood wasn’t allergic to bergamot; she’d been drinking the stuff in her tea for years. What made the difference?

Lee leaned back in his chair. “I’m rather surprised Aster didn’t simply solve this little mystery himself. I’m sure if he’d known the facts, he’d have spotted it too. But perhaps his specialty doesn’t include citrus fruit.” He canted his head thoughtfully. “What does he specialize in?”

“He taught leaf morphology before he was made head of the department.”

“No wonder he’s as dry as three-day-old biscuits,” Lee mused. “I suppose he might have heard about phytophotodermatitis. I imagine the botanically minded are often the victims of it themselves.”

Understanding struck her, and Saffron gasped out a little “Oh!” before she could suppress it. She attempted to disguise it with a strange hiccupping cough that had Lee leaning over the table toward her with his brows furrowed.

He urged her to take a drink of water. “Steady on.”

“I’m fine,” Saffron said with a false cough. She sipped water, feeling utterly idiotic. She’d been the one to tell Lee about phytophotodermatitis months ago, when they’d encountered hemlock in Aldershot. The sap of some species within the Apiaceae family, such as the wildflower Queen Ann’s lace, when in contact with skin that was then exposed to sunlight, developed a skin irritation. When severe, it caused itching, burning blisters just like those on Mrs. Caywood’s hands.

Frustration flooded her. She’d known some plants caused burns, but how Lee could have connected bergamot, of all things, to those plants was beyond her, and that itself was infuriating.

She gritted her teeth as the waiter returned to their table to serve them their lunches. When

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