Acceptable Risk by Robin Cook Page B

teach.
    They spent the first ten minutes rehashing old times before Edward got down to the reason for his visit. He put the three containers on the corner of Kevin’s desk.
    “I want you to see if you can find Claviceps purpurea,” Edward said.
    Kevin picked up one of the containers and opened the lid. “Can you tell me why?” he asked. He fingered a small amount of the dirt.
    “You’d never guess,” Edward said. He then told Kevin how he’d obtained the samples and the background concerning the Salem witch trials. He didn’t mention the Stewart family name, thinking he owed as much to Kim.
    “Sounds intriguing,” Kevin said when Edward finished his story. Kevin stood up and proceeded to make a wet mount of a small sample of the dirt.
    “I thought it could make a cute little paper for Science or Nature,” Edward said. “Provided we find spores from Claviceps.”
    Kevin slipped the wet mount under his office microscope and began scanning the sample. “Well, there are plenty of spores in here, but of course that’s not unusual.”
    “How’s the best way to see if they’re Claviceps or not?” Edward asked.
    “There are several ways,” Kevin said. “How soon do you want an answer?”
    “As soon as possible,” Edward said.
    “DNA would take some time,” Kevin said. “There are probably three to five thousand different fungal species in each sample. Besides, the most definitive method would be if we can grow some Claviceps. The problem is, it’s not that easy. But I’ll give it a shot.”
    Edward stood up. “I’d appreciate whatever you can do.”
    Taking a minute to collect herself, Kim raised her gloved hand so that her bare forearm could push her hair off her forehead. It had been a typically busy day in the surgical intensive-care unit, rewarding yet intense. She was exhausted and looking forward to getting off in another twenty minutes. Unfortunately her moment of relaxation was interrupted. Kinnard Monihan came into the unit with a sick patient.
    Kim as well as the other nurses who were momentarily free lent a hand getting the new admission settled. Kinnard helped as did an anesthesiologist who’d come in with him.
    While they worked, Kim and Kinnard avoided eye contact. But Kim was acutely aware of his presence, especially when their efforts on the patient’s behalf brought them side by side. Kinnard was a tall, wiry man of twenty-eight with sharply angular features. He was light on his feet and agile, more like a boxer in training than a doctor in the middle of a surgical residency.
    With the patient settled, Kim headed for the central desk. She felt a hand on her arm, and she turned to look up into Kinnard’s dark, intense eyes.
    “You’re not still angry?” Kinnard asked. He had no trouble bringing up sensitive issues right in the middle of the intensive-care unit.
    Feeling a wave of anxiety, Kim looked away. Her mind was a muddle of conflicted emotion.
    “Don’t tell me you’re not even going to talk to me,” Kinnard said. “Aren’t you carrying your hurt feelings a bit too far?”
    “I warned you,” Kim began when she found her voice. “I told you that things would be different if you insisted on going on your fly-fishing trip when we’d planned to go to Martha’s Vineyard.”
    “We never made definite plans for the Vineyard,” Kinnard said. “And I hadn’t anticipated Dr. Markey offering to include me on the camping trip.”
    “If we hadn’t made plans,” Kim said, "how come I had arranged to have the time off? And how come I’d called my family’s friends and arranged to stay in their bungalow?’ ‘
    “We’d only mentioned it once,” Kinnard said.
    “Twice,” Kim said. “And the second time I told you about the bungalow.”
    “Listen,” Kinnard said. “It was important for me to go on the camping trip. Dr. Markey is the number-two man in the department. Maybe you and I had a little miscommunication, but it shouldn’t cause all this