“You see, once I realized that William Chester’s corn was the cause of all these people periodically losing their judgment and doing crazy, sometimes dangerous things, I was looking for a common thread—something that would tie John and Carolyn Meacham, Roberta Jennings, Joey Alderson, and the staff at DeLand Hospital together. I kept thinking it had to be airborne, or how else could those people have become affected as they did.”

Millie Neufeld was granite now. “I’m afraid I still don’t get you, Doctor. Perhaps you’d better come back another time.”

“But then it hit me. On the helicopter ride back from West Virginia, we actually flew somewhere near your place. By then I already knew. Just as you said, everybody eats at Millie’s.”

Millie, her smallish hands gripping the edge of her desk, glared across at him. “Why don’t you stand up, Lou?”

He did as she asked.

“Will you take your shirt off, dear?”

“Wire?”

“I just want to make sure our conversation stays private, if you know what I mean.”

Lou took off his shirt, and Millie gasped at the extent of his cuts and scrapes. He pulled up his pant legs, too, then put his shirt back on.

“I don’t have a wire,” he said.

“And you don’t have any proof, either, my friend. Merely allegations.”

“The FBI could seize your invoices. I bet they’ll find you have a very limited number of food suppliers. I bet they’ll also find that each of your suppliers can be traced to a food processing plant owned by Chester Enterprises and its subsidiaries. Like I said, it’s all about corn—specifically, Chester corn.”

“Interesting concept. The trouble is, I wouldn’t be so foolish as to keep any invoices around.”

“What percentage of the food you serve is processed from that stuff?”

“I couldn’t say.”

“Yes, you could. How about Millie’s Cola? Who makes that?”

“You mean the fructose in it? I think you already know the answer to that question.”

“And your beef?”

“All of it corn fed,” Millie said.

“Chicken the same?”

“Chicken. Turkey. Taco shells. Cola. All my pasta. Customers almost never complain, either. My cereal. My frying oil. My biscuits and grits. Cookies. Chocolate. Potato chips. Yogurt. Mayonnaise. Margarine. Ketchup. Salad dressings. Syrup. Even our wheat bread has some corn baked in it. Forget amazing grace, we’re talking amazing grain! You asked what percentage? The answer is almost everything on my menu.”

“Millie, why did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Feed your customers Chester’s corn.”