Read Seeders: A Novel for Free Online

a parting glance, he muttered, “Arsehole.”
    *   *   *
    The guests lined up for a seafood buffet while an orchestra played a lively version of “Ramblin’ Rose.” Jules sat alone at the table, with a small plate of linguine in clam sauce. He didn’t feel so well and decided to get some fresh air before the documentary began. He threw down his napkin and had started for the patio doors when he was approached by a distinguished-looking man who barely reached his shoulders.
    The man extended a hand. “Dr. Beecher, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
    Jules shook it quickly, anxious to get outside.
    “I read your latest book. It was quite good.”
    “Thank you. Will you excuse me, please?”
    “It reminded me so much of George Brookes.”
    Jules paused, peering down at the man. “Who are you?”
    “Nicholas Bonacelli. I’m Professor Brookes’s lawyer.”
    “Oh. I see. How is George?”
    “Dead, I’m afraid.”
    Jules looked shocked.
    “I am sorry,” the lawyer said. “He spoke very highly of you.”
    “He was my mentor years ago. This is terribly sad. I feel awfully guilty not having visited him. Was it sudden?”
    “Quite.”
    Jules didn’t press for details.
    “You must come to Sparrow Island right away. He’s named you in his will.”
    “Sparrow Island? I’m afraid that’s out of the question.”
    “There’s a cab waiting outside. I’ve made all the arrangements for your travel this evening.”
    “Tonight?”
    The Garden Terrace Room was bustling all around him, as Jules considered his obligation to the institute. He was, after all, the main reason for the dinner. On the other hand, the reporters at his table had no grasp of botany or the implications of his experiments. It wasn’t viewed as news of a scientific breakthrough, but as entertainment. They would probably write two-inch articles with snappy headlines like “Smarty Plants” and “Getting to the Root of Gossiping Tomatoes.”
    Jules felt uncomfortably torn. He spotted Edward Schroeder, pointing him back to his table where the reporters had taken their seats and the Enquirer madman was holding court, displaying Jules’s book in a comical manner.
    He nodded to the lawyer. “Give me half an hour to pack.”

 
    CHAPTER 4
    THE SEA AIR WAS FOGGY with silver mist as the Acadia bounced along the waves.
    The old fishing boat looked ready for scrap. The deck was splintered and warped by thirty years of lobster traps thrown about. Its boxy shape was antiquated, the hull chipped and bleached to seagull gray. But her engine was in top shape and she maneuvered deftly over choppy waters, cruising toward Sparrow Island at eighty knots, faster than most sailing ships.
    Luke and Monica stood on deck, laughing at their own failed attempts to walk a straight line. They fell over each other, squealing like children whenever a spray of water blew across the bow. It was late afternoon and much colder than the marina in Halifax. Luke put on a ski jacket and Monica wrapped herself up in black leather against an ocean breeze that brought the temperature to a brisk forty-five.
    Isabelle watched them from the window of the bridge, fighting nausea but glad to see Monica finally loosened up and cheerful. Sean stood beside his mother, holding tight to a holly bush. He wanted to replant it on the island for George, who had been a real botanist. Isabelle was touched and thought her father would appreciate the gesture.
    The boat captain was a jovial man named Flannigan. He was a Canadian from Halifax, round and rosy, with a scruffy red beard and eyes as blue as the sea. He had known George for years, brought him supplies once a month, and he navigated the waters like the local cod. Sebastian, his steward, was a small, wiry man with a rugged face who seemed far too muscular for his age, which Isabelle guessed to be close to seventy. He raucously hosed down lobster traps and stacked them in the stern.
    As the captain steered the boat, Sean watched in earnest,