“Would you mind telling me in general terms what anaphylactic shock is?”

“Sure. Basically, you introduce a foreign agent, an antigen, into an organism, and the organism begins an all-out war against itself. Shuts down breathing or shuts down circulation, or both.”

“What causes it?”

“In this case, legumes. Peanuts are the most popular legume. A peanut is not a nut, properly speaking. We think some people become allergic because they are exposed to these tricky foods before an immature system can handle it properly. Probably mothers shouldn’t be eating peanuts while they nurse their babies. Kids under three shouldn’t eat peanut butter.”

Paul mentally totted up the thousands of peanut butter sandwiches he had eaten as a boy. “But not everyone who is exposed young develops an allergy.”

“True. Most don’t.”

“Are there other allergies besides the one to peanuts that can be deadly?”

“Of course, in susceptible people. Spider venom, pollen, antibiotics, vitamins. Most of his life, my father couldn’t eat apples. We now know that an apple reaction can be related to a birch pollen or ragweed allergic response. During pollen seasons, similar proteins in fresh fruit cause reactions in a compromised immune system. But that’s an odd one. And you’ve heard of allergies to bee stings, right?”

“Sure.”

“Can be life-threatening. Good idea to watch what you eat from the time you’re very young,” said Clauson, patting a stomach that had thickened slightly since the days when he sucked on Camels as if they were M &M’s.

“You did an autopsy on Wright?”

“Yep.”

“Mind going into detail for me?”

“Classic case of anaphylaxis. Laryngeal edema, hoarseness-he was still calling out when the medics got there, but not for long. Stridor-that’s harsh breathing. Angioedema, that’s a deep edematous cutaneous process. But look here, I’ve got a picture.” He handed a large, glossy color photo over to Paul.

“Man,” Paul said. “What a way to go.”

Clauson laid the picture on the desk in front of him and turned toward Paul. He crooked a thin finger and pointed.

“It’s the most characteristic external feature of this condition-giant hives.” He looked at his report and read, rolling the medical terms officiously around in his mouth. “Cutaneous wheals with erythematous, serpiginous borders and white centers.” Putting the sheet aside he said, “Discrete borders, but you can see here, so rampant he swelled up head to toe. The eyes are the worst.”

“How fast could that develop?”

“In this case, minutes. In some cases, people die in seconds. If he’d lived to get treated, those big red clumps would have disappeared over the next few days.”

“He say anything?”

“Throat too swollen. Now, there’s two ways to die with this thing. The angioedema-which he’d feel like a lump that blocks his breathing passages-can kill by causing respiratory insufficiency. Second way is vascular collapse, which can occur with or without hypoxia. The angioedema did him in. Way I could tell was the visceral congestion without a shift in the distribution of blood volume. Also, the lungs showed hyperinflation-that’s something you can see with the naked eye and with a microscope, common in fatal cases with clinical bronchial obstruction. I’ve got a photo here.”

“If he had gotten his kit and given himself a shot, what would have happened?”

“He would have calmed down all over and gone on with the show.”

“This is what I don’t understand. If he knew he was so dangerously allergic to peanuts, why wasn’t he more careful? Why did he eat them?”

“Obviously, he had no idea he was eating peanuts.” Clauson read from his notes. “Last meal was lunch in the jury room. Vegetable chow mein, egg rolls, and fortune cookie. Didn’t make it far into the cookie part. Only a trace in the stomach.”

“They put peanuts in chow mein?”

“Nope.”

“In the egg rolls?”

“Nope.”

“The cookie?”

“Nope.”

“I assume you talked to the caterer?”

“A restaurant on Ski Run Boulevard. Owner swears there were no peanuts in the food. Wright called there before to check with them and ask them particularly not to use any in his meal.”

“I don’t get it.”

If eyes as colorless as apricot pits could be said to twinkle, Clauson’s did. “I said the same thing to myself a few days ago. Then I went home. I go home at night, not much is happening. Tube, bed, let the cat out. I’m a bachelor. Women don’t like my work.”

“Yeah?”

“Used to smoke like a fiend. Not as good as a wife, but Mr. Butts kept me company of a sort.”

Clauson chewed his gum ruminatively. Paul waited for him to get to his point.

“Took a course at the college on cooking Asian food to meet some women. Didn’t find a wife, but learned to cook.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Decided to make myself some Szechuan chicken and homemade egg rolls.”

“Yes?”

“Looked at the bottle in my hand. Peanut oil. Lots of people cooking Chinese use peanut oil when they pinch the egg rolls shut.”

“But… isn’t it the protein in the peanuts that causes the reaction?”

“Oil will do it for some people.”

“Ah-hah!”

“What I said,” said Clauson.

“Did you ask the cook?”

“Swears she didn’t.”

“You think she’s lying.”

Clauson’s shoulders shook slightly, as if he had been tickled. “Gotta be. The food wasn’t bad enough to kill otherwise.” He chuckled at his joke, then looked sober. “Here’s negligence that caused a death, but nobody’s gonna pursue it. Guy with a time bomb in his system like that should have always brought his own lunch.”

“You think they’re afraid they’ll be sued.”

“That’s right, but I’m satisfied I know what happened. Done in by egg rolls.”

“You sure the cook was lying?” Paul said

Clauson sighed. Paul had apparently tried his patience just a bit. “There’s no question about the cause of death. You take the history of the patient before making a diagnosis. He’s been allergic since he was about three.”

“But this time he died.”

“That was almost a predictable outcome of another exposure. Just a couple of months ago, he took a trip to the hospital after eating ice cream that listed almonds in the ingredients, but had sneaked in peanuts as filler and flavoring without changing the labeling. Now that was a hard source to trace. This one is obvious, whether or not the restaurant takes responsibility.”

Paul had had his fifteen minutes. Doc Clauson jumped up, saying he had to go.

“Enjoyed talking with you,” he said. “Nobody takes much interest in death by natural causes, even interesting causes, except maybe the insurance people, and they’re only interested in how much they’re going to owe the grieving family.”

“It’s fascinating stuff, how many paths lead to death,” said Paul. “Oh, Doc,” he said, as Clauson put a hand on the door, “just one more thing.”

Clauson had to check his notes one last time for an address.

Nina waited for Paul on her favorite bench in the yard outside the courthouse where she could soak up sun, listening to the wind lifting the branches of the trees around her, insects buzzing, and the distant din of the highway a mile away. Closing fluorescent-scarred eyes, she drifted in dark, mindless bliss for several minutes.

“Waiting, waiting,” a voice said. The teddy bear had come back, the one Paul had given her when he proposed a long time ago, the one that spoke with his voice. But how could he be here? He lived in her front closet with her ski boots, his nagging tone for the time being smothered under a down jacket. “Wake up, sleepyhead.” A hand, not a furry paw, took hold of her side and shook.

“I’m not sleeping!” To her surprise, although her feet remained on the ground, her cheek had found its way to the cool, hard surface of the bench.

“If you say so, Ladyship.” Paul helped her to her feet. She straightened her jacket and turned her skirt back to face front.