Fruit of the Poisoned Tree Read Online Free

here.”
    Peggy couldn’t tell if the young man got away yet. She bent down and picked up the banner he dropped. “You can’t even tell what this says anymore. Give the boy a break. He was only standing up for what he believes in.”
    “That’s it! I warned you!” The officer snarled as he snatched the banner from her. The next thing she knew, the police were lifting her and carrying her to the waiting van. The reporters took her picture as the doors closed on her. Another fine mess . . .

2
    Jerusalem Artichoke
    Botanical: Helianthus tuberosus
Family: N.O. Compositae
Common name: Sunchoke
     
    The name of this edible plant is a misnomer, since it doesn’t come from Jerusalem and is not an artichoke. The name is from the Italian girasola articiocco, the sunflower artichoke, girasola meaning “turning to the sun,” and articiocco, “artichoke.” In the 1920s, famed American psychic Edgar Cayce extolled the virtues of this plant in treating many medical maladies and brought it to the attention of the public.

    “SO THE POLICE ARRESTED you?” Sam followed through to the logical end of her story as Peggy explained why she missed her original flight home.
    “Not arrested exactly,” she hedged. “More like detained. They didn’t press charges against any of the protesters. They held us for a few hours, then let us go when we promised to leave Philadelphia. Except for the man with the concealed weapon. They kept him.”
    Sam laughed as he easily navigated through early morning traffic from the airport to the Potting Shed. “At least you don’t have a record. When you called me last night, I thought maybe I should send Hunter up after you. I hope the experience taught you a lesson.”
    Peggy raised her eyebrow. “I didn’t need your sister’s legal defense, but thanks for thinking of me. Exactly what lesson is it that I should’ve learned?”
    “Don’t always jump into things until you know what’s going on.”
    “I prefer to think of it as a good deed. Those people had a righteous grievance. That company has no business looking for oil in an estuary!” Peggy’s words were as fiery as her once-red hair. Her green eyes gleamed with purpose.
    “Yeah? What happened to the protester you were trying to save from the police?” Sam stopped at a red light and grinned at her, the sunlight catching in the golden strands of his long hair. “Did he stop by to say thanks?”
    “I didn’t see him again.” She folded her hands in her lap and looked out of the side window. She shouldn’t have told Sam the truth about what happened. Really! She was fifty-two years old. If she chose to join in at a protest, she had the right.
    “Case closed. You helped him get away from the mess he created, and the police nabbed you instead. You did what you always do: jumped in with both feet, and it put you in a bad place. I don’t know what I’m going to do with you.”
    He was joking, of course. They had a long-standing, easy-going relationship that allowed them both tremendous freedom in what they could say to each other without making the other person angry. Peggy sighed and sat back in her seat. She could take the ribbing.
    Sam pulled the pickup into the loading zone behind the Potting Shed. Peggy waited until he turned off the engine. “When did you become a philosopher? It must’ve been while I was gone, because I could’ve sworn you’re the same Sam Ollson who played that prank on his friend last week. Didn’t that put you on the dean’s blacklist for the month?”
    Sam was a big man, more suited physically to being a construction worker than the surgeon he planned to be. His natural Scandinavian coloring and year-round tan made him look like a surfer. He had large hands that he used frequently to express himself when he wasn’t coddling plants or shoveling dirt. He shrugged his broad shoulders covered by a tight-fitting green Potting Shed jacket. “I’m only twenty. People expect me to do things like