“Yes.”

Several silent seconds inched by.

“You aren’t going to ask Nate to put pressure on me to do more tests, are you?”

She frowned and pressed harder on the accelerator, watching the tractor shrink in her rearview mirror. Pushing the speed limit wasn’t wise, but she was already running late for this morning’s autopsy in the next county. “Why would I do that?”

“I can tell you’re not happy with this outcome, and I don’t think you’ve given up on the theory that we’re dealing with poison.”

“That’s true. But you and Nate can work out the particulars on further testing.”

“You have his ear.”

Sheesh. Even Russ was picking up on their budding relationship.

“Before we worry about next steps, give me a few days to think about the data we have and review the autopsy reports again.”

“No hurry from my end. Now that Mullins has come forward and is working with us, I don’t think we have to worry about any more victims.”

“I agree.” Down the road, the railroad gates began to descend as a train whistle wailed in the distance.

Well, crud. Another delay.

“You want to call Nate, or shall I?”

“I can call him. I’m stuck at a railroad crossing with nothing else to do.” She applied the brakes and coasted to a stop.

“That works. Talk to you soon.”

After turning on the engine, she called Nate.

He answered on the second ring. “Morning.”

Her lips curved up. “You sound almost back to normal.”

“I’m beginning to feel human again. Guess what I had for breakfast?”

The bells on the gate began clanging. “I don’t know, but I guarantee it was tastier than my stale bagel.”

“It was. Where are you?”

“En route to an autopsy, but I’m currently stuck at a railroad crossing. What did you have for breakfast?”

“Homemade soup, hand-delivered by Eleanor.”

Her mouth began to water. “No kidding?”

“For real. She’s all business at the office, but under that by-the-book exterior beats a heart of gold.”

“How was it?”

“Delicious.”

“Is it staying down?”

“Yep. I’m on the mend.”

“That’s great. I wish the news I have for you was as positive.” She told him about the results of the foxglove test.

His sigh came over the line. “I was hoping we were on to something with that theory.”

“I haven’t given up on it yet.”

“You have forensic botany on your mind, don’t you?”

She tapped a finger against the steering wheel. Why not tell him about the initiative she’d taken? It wasn’t as if she was asking taxpayers to foot the bill to satisfy her curiosity, after all.

“Guilty as charged. In fact, I called my contact at the university last week, got a recommendation for a forensic botanist, and sent off a sample Friday.”

“Does Russ know about this?”

“No. It’s on my dime.”

“No one expects you to pay for forensic testing, Grace.”

Russ might, since they had no solid evidence to suggest such analysis would lead anywhere, but she left that unsaid.