“Detective Pat. Sorry I haven’t gotten back to you yet.”

  “No problem. Just wondering how things are going. I didn’t see a preliminary report on Tristan Elliott and wondered whether you were able to complete your examination or if you were interrupted by another case.”

  “I did the dissection and have sent off a number of samples to be analyzed by the lab.” He sighed.

  “That doesn’t sound very encouraging.”

  “It is a difficult case. I’m afraid that establishing the cause and manner of death may be quite difficult.”

  “Well, you’ve ruled out a beaver attack.”

  “Cheeky girl. Yes, I’ve ruled out beaver attack. And having a tree fall on him.”

  “He was already dead, then, when the tree pinned him?”

  “I suspect so. And there are no signs of drowning.”

  Margie had been a bit worried about that, since he had been partially in the water. She didn’t like to think about drowning or about the drowning victim’s last moments. She breathed deeply and tried to get her brain back on track.

  “You’re narrowing it down, then. What are the options you are considering right now?”

  “Sudden cardiac death. Possibly due to exposure to a toxin. Hence the large number of lab tests to be performed.”

  “You think he was poisoned?”

  “There are a number of causes of sudden cardiac death. One of the possibilities is exposure to a toxin, either over a long period of time, or an acute case of poisoning. There are other possibilities, but the victim appeared to be in very good health prior to the incident. And I don’t have any family history yet, which might point to an inherited condition. I would like to know whether any members of his extended family have ever died of any sudden cardiac event. DNA testing will give me some feedback on some of the inherited conditions. But our knowledge of such things is still just a drop in the bucket. Or in the ocean.”

  Margie tapped the keys of her keyboard gently. Not pressing them down, just resting the tips of her fingers.

  “Have you ever heard of wildcrafting?” she asked Kahn.

  “I know what wildcrafting is.”

  “Well, it sounds like this guy was pretty into that. Mushrooms and roots and berries. All kinds of stuff. Is it possible that he poisoned himself accidentally?”

  “It would certainly not be the first time someone mistook a dangerous plant for a safe one. Accidental poisonings are not uncommon, even in those who have been ‘wildcrafting’ for some time. But I might have at least expected him to make it to the emergency room. If he ate the toxin in the park, that seems like a very quick reaction.”

  “Maybe it was anaphylaxis instead of poison. Would you be able to tell the difference?”

  “Not necessarily,” Dr. Kahn admitted. “Do you know if he had any allergies?”

  “I didn’t think to ask. Now that I know more about what happened… I guess I’ll be going back to his partner with some more questions. What is the next step? Will the lab be able to tell you what he ate?”

  “I’ve asked them to check for the top ten poisons but, if he was a wildcrafter, there are many more substances we will have to test for. There is no one test for poison; we need to know what we are looking for and test for it specifically.”

  “That could be quite a list. Would the park have a list of toxic plants that grow there, do you think?”

  “They might. But it won’t be complete. It will only list the most common plants or ones they have identified growing there. He may have stumbled across something that wasn’t documented. Or, as I said, it may have been an allergic reaction. He might have eaten something without realizing he was deathly allergic to it. They may also have a list of edible plants that grow there, but again, I doubt it will be extensive.”

  “How can I help? Is there some expert I can call?”

  “I’ll look into it. I’m not aware of anyone in the city specializing in wildcrafting or botanical poisons, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t someone. If you happen to know of anyone…” Dr. Kahn sounded hesitant, trailing off.

  “Anyone who knows about poisons?” Margie prompted.

  “With your… heritage, do you know of anyone in the city who may have a broader knowledge of foraging and living off of plants native to the area?”

  Margie chuckled. “Do I know any Indians who are experts in living off the land?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “I’ll ask my grandfather. He might know someone. He knows some stuff about wild foraging, but I don’t know how deep his knowledge goes. I’ll find out.”

  “Is he in Winnipeg?”

  “No, in Calgary. He lives just a few blocks from me.”

  “Oh, that’s excellent,” Dr. Kahn said warmly. “Give him my kind regards for however he can help us. You are lucky to have him so close!”

  “Well, it was sort of planned that way,” Margie pointed out. “I could have applied for a position in another city or decided to live in another part of the city.”

  He laughed. “Of course. Well, it was good of you to choose to live near him and it is beneficial to me, so I appreciate it. Let me know any insights he might have into specific plants or poisons to check for or a contact we should call.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The weather was nice, and Margie had decided she couldn’t pass up the opportunity to take Moushoom and Christina to the Inglewood Bird Sanctuary to have a look around and scout for any toxic plants that Tristan Elliott might have exposed himself to in his foraging. Unfortunately, the park was off-limits to dogs, so they had to leave Stella at home. Margie could understand how they didn’t want dogs chasing the ducks, beavers, or other wildlife in the park. They couldn’t decide ad hoc which dogs were well enough behaved to enter the park and which were not, so they had to ban dogs completely. That made it easy to enforce the rule and not have to police people to ensure they kept their pets on leash and under control.

  They walked in through the visitor’s center, since Margie hadn’t been able to see it when she had arrived the morning of Elliott’s death. She hadn’t seen it since she was a child, and things had changed. Margie introduced herself to a gray-haired docent named Carol and asked whether they had any video for her since she was there anyway.

  “Oh,” Carol said, frown marks appearing between her eyebrows. “There might be something in the director’s office, but I really can’t get it for you without direction. I don’t know if she still needed to make copies or if it is ready for you. I’m sorry, she didn’t leave me with any instructions.”

  “That’s okay,” Margie told the anxious woman. “I didn’t tell her that I would be here today. I just came with my daughter and my grandfather to have a look around. You have such a lovely park, and I haven’t been here for years. Other than… anyway, I don’t think Christina has ever seen it, and Moushoom hasn’t been here for many years either.” Margie directed her words toward Moushoom, in the wheelchair she was pushing.

  “No, not for a long time,” Moushoom agreed, nodding his head. He smiled at Carol, cheerful lines wrinkling his face. “I trust you’ve been taking good care of it while I have been gone.”

  Carol laughed. “Of course. We knew you would be back sooner or later,” she agreed, playing along. She patted Moushoom on the shoulder. “I’m so glad you could come today.”

  “Well, let’s go have a look,” Margie said brightly, and they headed out through the back door of the visitor’s center to step onto the pathway Margie had taken a few days before. She barely even paused on the bridge, knowing already that the stream bed was dry. They entered the park, and Margie hesitated whether to go right, as she had previously, or left. She didn’t want to make a big deal about the dead body and where it had been. It was just something that had happened in the park. She didn’t want to make either Moushoom or Christina feel anxious about it.

  But it didn’t really matter which branch she took; both would lead around the loop and past the death site eventually. Margie turned right and pushed the wheelchair along the pathway, the pond on her left.

  “I think it looks nicer than it did when I was a kid,” Margie suggested to Moushoom. “What do you think? The railings and the bridge are all new.”

  “Yes, very nice,” Moushoom agreed.

  They looked at the trees and listened to the birds hidden from their view. There was an observation point that stretched out into the water. Moushoom pointed. “Let’s go there and have a look. Sit for a spell,” he suggested.

  Margie took a deep breath and pushed him closer, but then handed off the wheelchair duty to Christina. “Take Moushoom over for a look,” she said and pretended to be interested in the plants growing along the trail.

  Christina took the handles of the wheelchair without comment and pushed him onto the platform. When they reached the middle, Moushoom leaned forward in his chair and looked down into the water where he could, smiling and pointing at the ducks and enjoying being close to the water. There was a bench, but Margie didn’t go onto the platform to sit on it. That was too close.

  Moushoom talked with Christina for a couple of minutes and then looked behind him to see Margie standing on the trail.

  “Come and join us, Daughter. Don’t be in such a hurry to see everything else.”

  “It’s not that,” Margie said. “You take as long as you want.”

  “Don’t you want to see the water? You can sit down here if you are tired.”

  “No, Moushoom. I don’t like being too close to the water.”

  He peered through the bars of the platform rail. “And this is too close for you?”

  “Yes.”

  He didn’t argue or try to talk her into it. Margie let out her breath slowly, relieved. While Moushoom was usually quite good about her fear, he did not always remember and sometimes he did try to push her, saying that it wouldn’t be too hard for her, and she shouldn’t be scared.

  Christina kept talking to Moushoom, so he did not feel like he had to move on too quickly. They could take however long they needed. Eventually, he said it was time to go on, and Christina turned him around and pushed him back to Margie. Margie took up pushing him again. They reached the Walker House, which Margie hadn’t been able to see when she had arrived on her previous visit. Rather than just a big black shape in the darkness, she could clearly see the large brick building with white trim. As a child, she had imagined that the immense size and the white columns around the house made it a castle, and she had imagined what it would be like to live in such a place. Of course, now she knew she preferred things like indoor plumbing and hot and cold running water to a big house with far more room than she needed; she no longer felt the pull to live in such a place. But seeing the house did bring back memories.

  How many picnics had she enjoyed on the big green lawn, looking dreamily at the house?

  “They’ve really kept it up nicely,” Margie said. “I think they might have even restored it better than it was before. Done some more work on it.”

  “Does anyone live there?” Christina asked.

  “No. You can rent it for events, I think.”

  “Wow. I bet that would be expensive.”

  They reached the edge of the property, to the area that transitioned from cultivated green grass into the wild woods again. As they walked under the canopy of trees, the shadows of the branches and leaves falling over them once more, Margie couldn’t help feeling like she preferred the untamed forest to the civilized yard.

  They walked by the closest point on the path to where Elliott had died—or at least, where his body had been—without Margie commenting on it. She didn’t want to bring the gruesome and macabre into their day trip to the park. But she did watch for any movement in the trees. Any sign of the beavers. They reached the long bridge that crossed the pond parallel to the beaver dam. Margie again let go of the wheelchair and let Christina push it across. Christina looked at her.

  “You are coming across, right?”

  “You go ahead. I’ll make it.”

  Christina nodded. She pushed Moushoom’s wheelchair across the bridge surface, making it bounce and vibrate as if driving across a washboard. Moushoom laughed and raised his hands over his head, pretending it was a carnival ride. He whooped in delight. They stopped halfway across to take pictures or gaze at the water and the waterfowl. Margie took a couple of steps onto the bridge. She didn’t like that they stopped partway across. It felt like too many people on the bridge. She knew it was nowhere near the maximum weight that the bridge could support, but her heart, thumping wildly, did not believe it, and she did not like them waiting there for her.

  “Go on,” Margie motioned Christina to keep pushing Moushoom across. “Keep going. I’ll catch up.”

  “We can wait for you, Mom. You’re doing great.”

  “No, I don’t want all of us to be on the bridge at the same time.”

  Christina looked at her for a moment, mouth partially open, then she nodded and took hold of the wheelchair again. “We need to get off the bridge for Mom. We’ll stop again on the other side.”

  Moushoom smiled and nodded.

  Margie tried to walk quickly across the bridge. The faster she moved her feet, the shorter the time she would be on the structure. But it was hard to move quickly. Her legs just wanted to freeze in place. She used the rail on one side to help pull herself forward, repeating a mantra. She knew that the water was not deep. She could see the bottom. It would probably not even come to her knees. She knew it was not dangerous but, at the same time, she knew it was.

  “Do you want a hand?” Christina asked, watching her. Margie pictured Christina walking back to her and how she would feel with her hand in her daughter’s, Christina guiding her across. But it didn’t feel better.

  “No. I’m okay. I’ll be across in a minute.”

  “Okay. If you want help, just shout.”

  Christina turned away to look into the water and talk to Moushoom. Deliberately not watching Margie’s progress. Soon, she would be across.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Eventually, Margie stepped off the other side onto solid ground. She breathed out.

  “Moushoom was just talking about water plants,” Christina said, focusing on other things. “Tell her what you were saying about the roots, Moushoom.”

  “Many of them are edible,” Moushoom told her. “Bullrushes and cattails. Other starchy roots. You can cook them in the fire like a potato. But you can’t cook all roots. You need to know what water hemlock looks like. It is like a white carrot or parsnip, but with more legs. It is very poisonous. You should have someone who is an expert show it to you. Never eat cow parsnip if you don’t know how to tell them apart.”

  “So that’s something that would kill very fast?”

  “Yes,” Moushoom agreed. “But most people would never try to eat it raw. They would cook it first, and you cannot cook here.” He looked around for a minute, making sure that there were no fire pits or barbecues around to prove him wrong.

  “No, you’re right,” Margie agreed.

  Margie pulled the wheelchair back in order to continue around the trail. Moushoom’s arms went out quickly to stop her and, at first, Margie thought she had startled him and he thought he was rolling or falling. “No, wait,” Moushoom insisted. “Look.”

  Margie followed his finger. “What is that?”

  “A heron,” Christina said, looking at the tall water bird. “Is it a heron?”

  “Yes.” Moushoom watched it raptly. It didn’t do anything, just stood there and, eventually, Moushoom was ready to go on again.

  “Wow,” Christina murmured.

  “We were very lucky,” Moushoom said. “I have not seen a heron for a very long time.”

  Margie pushed the wheelchair slowly along the pathway. Moushoom pointed out the bushes flecked with red rose hips. “Good for tea. Very good for preventing colds and illnesses.”

  “Do you want me to collect some for you?” Christina offered.

  Moushoom smiled and patted her arm. “Maybe later.”

  Christina grinned over his head at Margie. They both knew that meant he didn’t want them, but he was too polite to say so. “Maybe later,” Christina agreed.

  A few minutes later, Moushoom wiggled his fingers at a tree with clusters of purple berries. “Elderberries.”

  Margie reached for a cluster. “Elderberries are good,” she said. “I’ve had elderberry syrup.”

  “Don’t eat them raw,” Moushoom warned as she plucked off a few berries. “They’ll give you a stomachache.”

  Margie looked at them. “Are they a different kind of elderberry?”

  “They are good cooked. Most people can eat them that way. But raw—ouch!”

  “Are they poisonous?”

  “They won’t kill you.”

  Margie nodded and continued to push him. He pointed out dandelions—which Margie recognized without any help—and junipers with their bluish berries and piney smell.

  “You can eat those?” Christina asked doubtfully, sniffing.

  “You can drink them,” Moushoom said with a laugh.

  “Drink them?”

  “They put them in gin.”

  Christina blinked in surprise at this. Margie shook her head. “I didn’t know that either. Really? In gin?”

  He nodded again. He pointed to the needles of a pine tree within reach of his wheelchair. “You can make tea from pine needles. Very healthy.”

  “You really know a lot about this, Moushoom,” Margie told him. She had known, of course, that he knew some of the skills required to live off the land. But he had been educated in a residential school, where they tried their best to replace Indigenous cultures with the traditions established by white European settlers and Catholic religious beliefs. It had been a very long time since he had learned about edible plants at his mother’s or kokum’s knee.

  “Of course I do,” Moushoom agreed. “It’s how we lived. How we survived. Hunting, fishing, planting, gathering. You could go to the store to buy groceries or medicine if you had money. But…” He shrugged. “We didn’t always have money. And if you were in need of a remedy, the medicine woman prepared it and blessed it and prayed over you. Or your mother or another wise woman. We didn’t go to the doctor or drug store for everything.” He tapped his chest, covered with the layers of his purple silk shirt, handwoven sash, and beaded leather jacket. “How do you think I stayed this healthy? It wasn’t all white man’s medicine. They vaccinated us against smallpox and TB but, other than that, we didn’t get much white man’s medicine. When we went home from school, our mothers had to fatten us up. We were all so skinny. And the medicine woman had many teas and other remedies for us to drink. They made us strong, so we could survive when we went back.”

 

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