PART TWO
Velma smiled indulgently at her aunt's pronouncement. "Really Aunt Connie, the ghost of Josiah Mercer appeared to you? I know you must have seen something, but trust me, it wasn't a ghost. I know from long experience, there are no such things as ghosts."
"That's easy for you to say, you weren't there. It was midnight two evenings ago and I was headed from the main barn to the house when he suddenly appeared in front of me. I've never been so frightened as I was in that moment. He was dressed in colonial style garb, and his face was hideously distorted from the pangs of agony he suffered during his poisoning, he said. His skin was a pale green and his eyes glowed a bright red, and it was all I could manage not to faint."
"That sounds horrible, but isn't it possible that what you saw was a man in a mask, pretending to be a ghost?"
"Do you think I'm a child who can be fooled by some Halloween stunt? Velma, he floated two feet off the ground and wavered back and forth between transparent and solid. Please believe me, it was a real ghost!"
"Okay then, what did the ghost want?"
"After telling me the truth about what Thaddeus Dinkley did, Josiah claimed we owed him a debt for our ancestor's crime. He said he and the other victims had slumbered peacefully all these years, but now they were angered by the plans for the dam. The ancient graveyard where their bones rest would be flooded under a hundred feet of water. Josiah and the others will not tolerate their graves being disturbed."
"Interesting... their desires line up perfectly with the environmentalists' cause of preserving Mercer Creek. Who is leading that effort?"
"Norman Naylor, a real fanatic when it comes to environmental issues, but Velma, you're way off base with what you're thinking. Like I said, it wasn't a man in a scary mask, it was..."
"A real ghost. Yeah, I heard you, but believe me Aunt Connie, there are lots of ways to fake what you've seen, I need to find this Norman Naylor and question him."
"His organization, Green Arcadia, has a small office downtown, but most days he's down at the creek taking soil and water samples. He is preparing an environmental impact report to present to the courts."
"You allow him to trespass on our land?"
"Family tradition has always been to allow the local population free access to the creek. It's a popular recreation spot and does us no harm."
"In that case, I'll see if I can find him at the creek."
X X X X X
Meanwhile, Joan and the two guys had arrived in the Mercer Creek area. After parking as close as they can to the Dinkley Farm property line, the group-led by Joan-began a short hike to creekside. Joan carried a spade and a sample case while Luke and Friedman toted an immense amount of picnic supplies.
"Really guys, did you need to bring all those provisions? I know where to find your flower-the Bluetip? I've seen it lots of times."
Friedman paused, sweating profusely despite the unusually cool day. "We think otherwise. The West Maryland Bluetip is very rare, and this could take us all day."
Joan felt like yelling: Stubborn Jackasses, but held her tongue. She was on assignment to help them find their flower, and even if it made no sense to her, the habit of obeying God had gotten too strong to ignore.
They pressed on, and twenty minutes later they reached the one particular spot Joan had been leading them to. Joan noticed the creek was much higher and faster flowing than she had ever seen. Despite global warming, the spring melting in the mountains had come very late this year. Reaching a small rise just next to the creek, Joan triumphantly pointed to a patch of flowers that numbered in the hundreds.
"As promised, as many West Maryland Bluetips as you could want."
Luke and Friedman dropped their supplies and quickly began examining the flowers. They soon stopped, turned to Joan and chuckled.
"What's so funny?"
Luke replied, "A rookie mistake. These are West Maryland Blacktips, and they're as common as dirt."
Joan paused to examine the flowers at their feet. Each of the small white flowers had a bluish-black tip at the top.
"These look exactly like the photo you showed me."
Friedman opened a field guide to a picture of the Blacktip and folded a page so the Bluetip was next to it. "The Bluetip is a mutant variety of the Blacktip in which the black coloration doesn't develop."
Even staring at the two photos side by side, Joan was hard pressed to notice the difference. The Bluetip was a navy blue color while the Blacktip was only a slightly darker version.
"They're almost identical. How will we ever find your damn Bluetip?"
A voice from behind said, "With perseverance and a lot of luck."
They turned and saw they had been joined by a tall, balding, painfully thin man dressed in khaki shorts and a green t-shirt with the black lettering: Green Arcadia.
"Hello kids, I'm Norman Naylor, president of Green Arcadia, and I take it you are searching for the elusive West Maryland Bluetip?"
"Yes sir, I'm Luke Girardi, this is my sister Joan and our friend, Friedman. We're here trying to earn extra credit for biology class. Have you seen the Bluetip in this area?"
"I have, but I won't tell you where. It's a very rare flower and really should be on the endangered list."
Friedman said, "But it's not, and that makes it legal to transplant it to my family's hothouse."
"It may be legal, but that doesn't make it right. The Bluetip is a delicate flower and very sensitive to being moved. Even if you find one, the odds of successfully moving it are long."
Joan snapped her fingers. "That's why a living specimen is worth extra credit."
Naylor sadly nodded, "Some day it might be worth more than that. If those Arcadia fat cats have their way, the creek will be dammed and this natural habitat will be lost to build lakeside homes for the rich."
"I wasn't aware of any such plan." Luke commented.
"Yes, Cyrus Cornwall, the developer, with the backing of Arcadia politicians and the city's biggest newspaper publisher are all supporting the plan. They say it will bring progress to Arcadia. The blind fools!"
Joan's interest suddenly peaked. "Ryan Hunter is involved in this scheme?"
"Yes, apparently he's the one who first proposed it. It seems he was on Mt. Nashman two months ago during a rainstorm, God knows why, and he noticed how all the mountain streams feed Mercer Creek with a steady, year around source of water. From the mountain he could see how easy it would be to dam the creek and provide cheap electricity to attract even more industry to Arcadia. He and Cornwall and the others will make another fortune while Mother Earth suffers yet again!"
With the back of his hand to his forehead and tears in his eyes, Norman Naylor hastily walked away. They watched as he made his way downstream. Friedman was the first to offer a comment.
"What a kook! Of course most of these environmental whackos are a little crazy. Imagine being opposed to cheap, pollution free electricity."
Luke responded, "I don't know Friedman, it would be a shame to lose a unique environment like this one."
"It's not unique. There must be a couple of dozen similar creeks and streams in this area, and all of them have the West Maryland Bluetip."
As the guys began a heated debate, Joan's cell phone sounded. She quickly stepped away because she recognized the ringtone as: When The Saints Come Marching In. Sure enough, the caller I.D. read: GOD.
"This isn't a good time." Joan whispered.
"Oh it's an excellent time Joan," Dog-walker God said. "I want you to follow Norman Naylor."
"Follow him? But why?"
"Be quick Joan, and don't let him spot you."
Dog-walker God disconnected and Joan felt her usual irritation at being kept in the dark. Still, her habit of obedience was ingrained.
"Uh guys, sorry to interrupt the debate of the century, but don't you have to examine every one of these flowers to check for a Bluetip? Shouldn't you get started?"
Luke sighed, "She's right. This will take a long time."
As the guys searched through the flowers, Joan started to walk away. Friedman called after her...
"Hey, aren't you going to help us?"
"I think I remember another patch of flowers downstream. If I find them, I'll hurry right back to you."
Joan rushed away and kept going fast on the creekside path until she caught sight of Naylor. Instantly, Joan slowed her pace and moved stealthily as she followed her quarry. She didn't know what the guy was up to, but if God was having her follow him, it must be something serious.
Behind her, Joan was unaware that she too was being followed by a short, teenage girl with brown hair and thick eyeglasses.
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