The Bohemian Murders by Dianne Day

Author:Dianne Day [Day, Dianne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-307-41826-5
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2012-03-14T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWELVE

KEEPER’S LOG February 5, 1907

Wind: NW moderate, increasing in p.m. Weather: a.m. fog, clear by noon; cool; increasing swells Comments: Lumber schooner down from Vancouver reports Alaskan storm headed S—this is the cause of increasing wind and swells

Our water had been poisoned. Not at the source, thank God, which is a well that also serves the dairy in the Point Pinos woods, but at a large tank where the water is held after flowing (downhill) through a pipe from the source. The lighthouse must have such a tank as a safety measure, in case of fire.

Of course I had to report the poisoning to the Lighthouse Service, as it caused expense. The water had been analyzed, and now the tank must either be thoroughly cleaned or outright replaced. I was for replacement, but of course the decision was not mine to make—that duty fell to some bureaucrat overseeing the Lighthouse Service.

On Monday morning I received, by messenger, a toxicology report: The water tank had been poisoned by the addition of kerosene. The concentration should not have proved fatal; therefore the cow that died must have had some constitutional weakness, probably of its complex digestive system, as that would be where the poison was absorbed. The sick cows had showed signs consistent with what the report suggested: a staggering gait, an attitude of stupor, decreased appetite, and poor milk production. Over the weekend, while we waited for the report, they had begun to improve; nevertheless I was so guilt-ridden that I wanted to have the veterinarian back now that the cause of the poor cows’ problem was known.

The animals were Quincy’s responsibility, so he was taking this even harder than I. He kept puzzling over how such a thing could happen, and I did not think I would be doing any favors by suggesting the various possibilities that leapt into my mind. Quincy is a complete stranger to malice—therefore the idea that someone might have poisoned the water tank intentionally simply did not occur to him. Of course to me it did, and so when Quincy had fetched the veterinarian, I set off on foot with the explanation that I had business downtown.

Once in downtown Pacific Grove, I hopped a horse-drawn trolley car for Monterey. With the toxicology report in my leather bag, I was on my way to the hospital to see Dr. Frederick Bright.

I confess I am no great fan of hospitals, which seem to me to have more to do with sickness and suffering than with making people well. I was glad to know where I was going this time, so that I could stride breezily along looking neither left nor right. Illness is so depressing, not to mention ill-smelling, and it seems that the available cures do not smell much better.

The dead smell worst of all. Even though I had no previous experience of such things, it was not difficult for me to conclude when I entered the pathology suite that an autopsy was in progress. My nose led the way, and I peeked through the double doors.

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