In the Land of Milk and Honey by Jane Jensen

Fisher needed to be thinking about that at the moment, and it was too soon to know what we’d find. One thing I absolutely believed though, was that Levi Fisher had done none of this on purpose. He was a sturdy man, and right now he looked like a stiff breeze could knock him over, and maybe he wouldn’t care to get up again.
    â€œYouse will check on all my customers? With the list in mynotebook? Make sure they’re all right?” Levi looked at Glen, as if asking man to man.
    â€œWe’ll track down anyone who might have had access to your milk,” Glen assured him. “Get them help if they need it. That’s our job.”
    â€œThank the Lord. Please, God, let no one else die.” Levi put his elbows on the table, folded his hands, and began to pray.
    â€”
    By the time we were done interviewing Levi Fisher, the CDC medics were at the door wanting to take blood samples. I left them to it and headed back outside. It wasn’t that I was squeamish at the sight of blood, but crying children were another matter. I was already heartsick enough today. Out near the barn I found the vet packing up his truck.
    â€œIs this sickness fatal? For the cows, I mean?” I asked him.
    He gave me a quick once-over. “Hi. Are you with the CDC?”
    I inwardly chided myself for my impatience. As a cop with the NYPD, we rarely did things like introduce ourselves. But what was normal there was considered rudeness here. “No, sorry. Lancaster Police. I’m Detective Harris.”
    â€œAh.” The vet’s expression didn’t relax. If anything, he grew tenser. “What was your question again?”
    â€œI was asking if these cows will die—and if tremetol is always fatal for cows or if it depends on how much they consume?”
    â€œHum.” He stripped off the gloves he was wearing and tossedthem in a receptacle in the truck. “I’m not sure. I suspect the two worst-off ones here won’t make it. But I gave them all a strong dose of sodium bicarbonate and vitamins, so the rest may recover.”
    The vet was in his early thirties, overweight, and a bit geeky. It was clear he’d never been an attractive man, but he was confident and aloof.
    â€œYou’re Doctor . . .” I prompted.
    â€œDr. Richmond.” He didn’t offer his hand. Then again, that could be because he’d just been tending some very sick animals, latex gloves or no.
    â€œAre you familiar with this problem, Dr. Richmond? Tremetol poisoning caused by cattle eating white snakeroot?”
    He shrugged. “I wouldn’t say ‘familiar with’ it exactly. I’ve never seen it myself, but we read about it in vet school. In cows it’s called ‘the trembles’ or ‘the slows,’ because the stiff muscles affect the animal’s gait. And it’s not just white snakeroot. Certain species of goldenrod contain tremetol too. It’s more of a problem in the southwest I think.”
    â€œSo you’ve never seen it around here?” I pressed.
    â€œNope,” Richmond said briskly. “Not until today.”
    â€œI guess other animals, like horses or goats, would get sick if they ate the plant too, right?”
    â€œSure. And before you ask, no, I’ve never seen any animal sick like that around here.”
    It suddenly occurred to me that we should be talking to local vets—not just this one, but all of them. They might know of cases the police and the CDC had missed. Plus . . . An ideaniggled. Not many people would know about white snakeroot and what it could do. But vets would. I looked at Dr. Richmond more closely.
    He must have seen something on my face, because he shifted uneasily and rubbed his jaw with his thumb. “I . . . saw the press conference this morning. About the raw-milk ban.”
    â€œYes?”
    He narrowed his eyes and looked off toward the pasture. “That’s really going