“Yes. It had to do with the wood in the ladder used by the kidnapper. But experts can also analyze botanical trace evidence from the plant cells found in gastric contents.”

He squinted at her. “You’re thinking we should send a sample of the stomach contents from one of our victims to a forensic botanist.”

“Yes.”

“It’s not a bad idea, if your theory of botanical poison is correct. Can this type of analysis also be used for other kinds of poisons?”

“No. It has to be a food sample with a cell wall—like plants. It doesn’t even work for identifying meat, because all skeletal muscles look alike.”

“Any idea how much that sort of analysis would cost?”

“No. I can research the price, though. But in light of Russ’s reaction to the expense of a foxglove screen, I imagine he’d consider any amount too much to spend to pursue such a speculative theory.”

Nate crossed an ankle over a knee. “It may be a moot point, depending on the result of the foxglove test—and we could have that by Monday.”

That was true. And if the result was positive, they had their manner of death. No further screening would be necessary.

If it was negative, however, Russ would be less inclined than ever to want to spring for what would be a much more expensive testing procedure.

Nate would go to bat for her if she pushed, but pitting him against the long-entrenched county coroner at this early stage of his career wouldn’t be fair. Relationships mattered in this business.

The smart move would be to let this ride for now. With Nate, anyway.

“I can’t argue with that, and Monday is only three days away.” Though she didn’t have all that much confidence the lab would send the results that fast, no matter what they’d told Russ.

“While you’re waiting”—Nate leaned closer—“I promise to do my best to distract you with activities that don’t involve tox screens. Think lakeside dining and dancing.”

His slow smile and the warmth in his voice set her nerve endings aflutter.

“I have to admit those kinds of thoughts do tend to override other concerns.”

“Then keep them front and center, and come tomorrow—” Twin furrows appeared on his brow, and he pulled out his cell. “It’s Eleanor. Must be a call from dispatch she thinks needs my attention.”

“Go ahead and take it. I should head out.”

“I’ll walk with you as far as the parking lot while I talk to her.”

They returned to the back of the building as he conversed with the woman. He was still on the phone getting details about what sounded like a domestic violence incident as they parted.

Grace returned to the morgue for her kit, said goodbye to Max, and left the building again.

Nate was gone.

His promise about their date, however, lingered in her mind like the aromas wafting from a kitchen on Thanksgiving . . . a tantalizing hint of deliciousness to come.