Smart, But Dead (An Aggie Mundeen Mystery Book 3) Page 3

  “Why worry about a lot of what-ifs?”

  She was disgustingly logical.

  “Because this class means everything to me. I hinted in my column that I’d reveal anti-aging breakthroughs.”

  “Tell me you didn’t do that.”

  “I did. And my editor noticed. If I don’t come through, I could lose my job.”

  “Oh, Aggie.”

  There was another reason this class meant so much. I wanted to stay young for Detective Sam Vanderhoven. Meredith knew I was attracted to him, but I hadn’t told her I was in love with him and determined we’d spend the rest of our lives together. Actually, I hadn’t told him either. There was a secret from my past I hadn’t mentioned. I had to be sure he loved me before I confessed. And I wasn’t sure how long it would take me to get around to that.

  My chances to accomplish anything were looking shaky.

  Five

  I could hardly wait to get home. When Meredith dropped me off, I flew inside, slapped a turkey and cheese sandwich together, and sat down at the computer to click through articles Dr. Carmody had listed about the history of genetics.

  Could some genetic anomaly be causing his illness? I had no medical training, but maybe I’d come across symptoms like his in my studies to suggest what could be wrong with him. I loved sleuthing, and tracking down the insidious malady overtaking my professor was like sleuthing for a killer. Using the investigative approach would at least give me impetus to study and make me feel like I was helping him.

  I read about all sorts of rare disorders, first discovered because doctors noticed similar symptoms appearing in patients for which they had no explanation. For example, author Pearl S. Buck, Pulitzer Prize winner for The Good Earth, delivered a daughter in 1920 who failed to develop normally and grew up mentally impaired with no apparent cause.

  Thirty years later, scientists observed similar symptoms in other children and realized that Pearl Buck’s child and others had PKU, a condition caused by inheriting defective copies of the PAH gene from both parents. The genes caused a protein-making substance to build to destructive levels and cause children’s intellectual disabilities. Once they pinpointed the cause, scientists developed PKU infant formulas that provided amino acids for nutrition but kept damaging substances low enough to preserve children’s brain function.

  How devastating to have a debilitated child without knowing the reason or source, and be completely unable to help. I thought about my own child. She wasn’t born with a genetic disease. Yet I had lost her twice.

  The genetic anomalies I read about were discovered in children and couldn’t apply to Dr. Carmody. But there were diseases with genetic components that appeared later in life: cancers, Alzheimer’s disease and schizophrenia. Scientists believed these diseases came from multiple genetic mutations, lack of vital substances in the body or an accumulation of disease-causing agents. There were so many possible causes for these diseases that scientists hadn’t investigated them all.

  I couldn’t learn enough to help Dr. Carmody. But maybe I could help readers. I sorted through my mail and found a letter addressed to Dear Aggie.

  Dear Aggie,

  I’m fifty and divorced. I gave my best years to my husband and young family. My children grew up, my husband and I grew apart, and all I see in my future is growing old.

  Desperate in Dodge City,

  Dorothy

  Dear Desperate Dorothy,

  There is indeed a Yellow Brick Road! New paths open up every day. In my Science of Aging class, I’ve already learned that scientists are working to alter genes to cure or prevent disease. And they’ve linked specific genes to aging. Yes, you heard right. Don’t give up hope. Fifty is the new thirty. Take care of your health. Practice your smile. You ain’t seen nothin’ yet!

  Skipping down the Yellow Brick Road,

  Aggie

  Feeling hopeful, I decided to search for information about the movie Gattaca. I realized the producer had created the title using abbreviations for the four DNA molecules, A, T, C, and G.

  In the story, future scientists could identify genes for every human trait. By combining the perfect set of genes, they could clone a perfect human being.

  The story’s main character, “genetically inferior” Dreamer, was obsessed with going into outer space, but only “genetically perfect” people were eligible. His “genetically perfect” friend, who had suffered a spinal cord injury, couldn’t apply for the mission. He provided Dreamer with blood, urine, and tissue samples so he could ace his genetics tests and apply.

  The story showed that the human spirit could transcend genetics. Gattaca would be released in October. I decided to use the storyline for a future column and started scribbling:

  Dear Readers,

  When you watch the movie Gattaca, don’t be led into thinking that cultivating a genetically perfect human is on the horizon. It’s not. But scientists have already located hundreds of genes that cause diseases. With human genome projects in full swing, they are now locating genes that affect aging. Stay tuned and stay hopeful.

  Excited,

  Aggie

  I didn’t feel quite as hopeful as I let on, since I was pretty sure something was seriously wrong with Dr. Carmody. Surely someone would be able to help him.

  Six

  By the time we took our seats for Thursday’s class, I had a zillion unanswered questions. Carmody, with his spray and tissue handy, scanned the room and steeled himself to lecture. In addition to taking notes, I’d decided to make a list of his obvious symptoms. I wasn’t medically qualified, but it was the only way I knew to help. We’d had our differences, but we made peace, and I didn’t like watching him suffer.

  Eric Lager occupied his seat among the students, looking smug, as if he’d been involved with Carmody’s discovery. I adopted an intellectually eager expression, trying not to stare at Carmody’s nose hairs. He launched into his lecture with a strong voice.

  “I know you’ve been studying how faulty genes can cause diseases. By now you’re probably wondering how your millions of genes could possibly have produced a normal human being.”

  We nodded.

  “Many of you are also wondering if you should undergo genetic testing, especially if you plan to have children.”

  More nods. I glanced at Meredith, wondering if she’d ever remarry and ponder that question.

  “Let me make a few points about genetic testing,” Carmody said. “The ability to detect genetic mutations is quite different from being able to positively identify a gene that causes a disease.”

  I knew it was none of my business, but I couldn’t help wondering if doctors told him he had a genetic mutation that caused his symptoms.

  “A gene mutation,” he said, “even if it can be modified, cannot always stop a disease.”

  He continued. “People considering having genetic testing should ask: ‘If I have a gene mutation associated with a disease, can the disease be prevented or treated? Are the genes tested the only ones that cause a particular condition?’”

  Drained from his effort, Dr. Carmody slumped into his chair. It had taken four minutes of lecturing to wear him out. I wrote it down.

  He took a deep breath.

  I scribbled, “Needs oxygen.” I wondered if he’d had any chest pain from clogged arteries that limited the amount of oxygen getting to his brain.

  “Now, let’s define aging,” he said. “Scientists describe aging as the progressive decline of an organism’s tissue function that eventually results in mortality. Cells become unable to function or lose their ability to replicate.” His expression grew sad. “It’s important to note that aging varies between individuals and is not a disease.”

  That was one way to look at it. If you weren’t a single woman catapulting toward middle-age.

  Dr. C
armody appeared spent. Dr. Eric Lager stood and began to lecture. “Scientists have made another important discovery about aging.”

  Was he going to reveal the discovery he and Carmody had made? I sat straighter.

  “At the ends of our chromosomes are telomeres,” he said. “Like plastic tips on shoelaces, telomeres protect our chromosomes, which hold our genetic data.

  “Our cells, which house these chromosomes, have to divide so we can grow new skin, blood, bone and other cells when needed. But each time a cell divides, telomeres on the ends of chromosomes get shorter. When they get too short, cells can no longer divide, and they become inactive or die. Short telomeres have been associated with aging, cancer and a higher risk of death.”

  This was scary. Now we had to worry about the length of our telomeres.

  “If a person’s telomeres are really short,” he said, “cells begin to die. But the human enzyme called telomerase can lengthen telomeres. Telomerase can also cause dying or inactive cells to change and become potentially immortal. Unfortunately, cancerous cells are also frequently immortal.”

  My classmates and I looked around at each other in confusion. I couldn’t just sit there—I had to understand the effect of telomerase on telomeres. When my hand shot up, Penelope Farquhar whipped her head around and glared.

  “So telomerase can cause telomeres to lengthen and protect cells, which is good. But it can also change cells so they divide unregulated and become cancerous cells? Is that right?” I asked, hoping for a more detailed explanation.

  Eric Lager looked at Carmody and waited for him to respond. Dr. Carmody blinked with the same confused look he exhibited at our first encounter.

  Lager answered, “That is correct. Telomerase inhibitors are sometimes used to treat cancers because they keep cells from dividing.” He looked back at Carmody. “Are you all right, Professor?”

  Carmody blinked, then stared intently at Eric Lager, as if trying to recall something about him.

  “Eric…Yes. I’m fine.” He put both hands on the desk to steady himself, squinted, stared at his notes and sniffed a couple of times. “Let’s see.” He swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Where were we?”

  “We’re discussing how telomerase can have either a good or bad effect on telomeres.”

  “Ah, yes,” Carmody said. “So unpredictable. Will telomerase kill cancer cells and sustain life, or will it hasten death? Will propanolol, the drug so many people take to lower their blood pressure, lower the pressure or make a person unable to breathe?”

  Students frowned at each other, bewildered.

  Carmody continued. “Studies have found shortened telomeres in many cancers: pancreatic, bone, lung, kidney, head and neck, bladder, prostate…”

  He pointed to corresponding areas of his body. Fortunately, he skipped prostate.

  What did Dr. Carmody suffer from?

  He raised his arms in supplication to the class as if begging us to respond to some unanswered question. Then his expression grew militant. He shook a pointed finger. “But when scientists have used telomerase in lab experiments to make human cells keep dividing far beyond their normal limits, the cells do not become cancerous!”

  My hand started to rise. Eric Lager leaned in my direction and glared. I lowered my hand, but my feet started itching—an annoying quirk that occurred when curiosity overwhelmed me.

  Carmody raised his voice. “What if we could immortalize cancer-free human cells in the lab and transplant them into people?”

  Was that even possible? Students grew very still.

  “We could grow insulin-producing cells for diabetics,” Carmody shouted. “New nerve cells for muscular dystrophy. Cartilage cells for arthritics. We could grow an unlimited supply of human cells and inject perfect cells into whoever needs them!” His face turned red.

  My hand shot up. “Could you actually do that? In the lab?” I didn’t intend to shout.

  Penelope Farquhar, Eric Lager and Brandy Crystal stared at me with threatening eyes, commanding me to be quiet. The two postdocs shrank in their chairs.

  I detected motion at the front of the room. Carmody was teetering. Eric whirled and reached toward him. Carmody’s red face turned purple as he pointed at me, apparently attempting to answer.

  No words came from his mouth. Penelope’s hands flew to her face, as if she couldn’t bear to watch. Brandy sprang from her chair but froze to the spot.

  Eric talked quietly to Carmody and sat him down. The purple hue left Carmody’s face. His red flush subsided. He seemed to have recovered and, thank goodness, forgotten about me.

  Eric dismissed class. Everyone filed out except for Carmody, Eric, and Brandy. Everybody else shunned the chaotic scene and fled toward the stairs, with Meredith and me right behind the pack.

  Before we reached the stair rail, we heard a thump, followed by shouts and screams. We rushed back to the classroom. Carmody had fallen to the floor. His feet poked into the hallway. I tiptoed closer to peer past his feet, over his paunch and up to his nose hairs. No air moved them. Blood had drained from his face. I thought my professor was dead.

  I looked at Meredith through blurry eyes. Her hand covered her mouth. When her teary eyes met mine, she nodded.

  Department Chair Hortense Bigsby rushed up. “What happened?”

  “Call 911,” Eric said. “I think he’s had a stroke or a heart attack.”

  Brandy thrust a finger toward me. “If he did,” she yelled, “she made him have it. She wouldn’t leave him alone!”

  Seven

  The squeal of an EMS siren jarred us from shock. The class moved in a herd toward the stairs with me and Meredith in the middle. Hortense Bigsby led the pack, propelling spindly legs down the steps like Olive Oyl chasing Popeye, apparently intent on finding EMS and directing them to Dr. Carmody.

  On our sprint toward the parking lot, Meredith and I saw the emergency van and passed Dr. Bigsby talking to two men carrying a stretcher. We didn’t slow down. We’d seen EMS try to save people more times than anyone could wish. I hoped this team could help Dr. Kermit Carmody. The world-renowned expert on the genetics of aging, a hair’s width from discovering anti-aging secrets for mankind, had been struck down.

  Meredith yanked open the door of her Taurus, hopped in, let down the windows, turned on the AC, cranked the motor and sat there.

  “I’m afraid he just died,” she said.

  I slid into the passenger side, stunned. “Maybe EMS can save him.” We swiped tears from under our eyes.

  We were trying to be positive, but we’d seen dead people before. To us, Dr. Carmody looked dead.

  She took a deep breath and eased the car back. “Let’s get moving. How devastating to collapse in front of his class. What Brandy said to you was dreadful.”

  “I shouldn’t have shouted. But Dr. Carmody was shouting. I got caught up in the excitement of what he was saying.”

  “I know.”

  EMS would do all they could until they got him to a hospital. How could he die so suddenly? He was relatively young, brilliant, with the potential to stall the ravages of age for mankind. I couldn’t process what I’d just seen.

  Meredith struggled to reach back for her practical self. “If he’s gone, I suppose they’ll have to get somebody else to teach the class.”

  “Nobody knew as much as Carmody. He undoubtedly had ideas about where genetic research was headed—he may have discovered revelations about the causes of aging nobody else even thought of.” I remembered my dear Aunt Novena and Uncle Fred who were already gray-haired by the time I was twelve. How much more youthful they could have been.

  “What if he confided his ideas to someone?” I said. “The person he told could steer their research in the direction Carmody discovered. Without any competition.” I swiveled toward her. “What if Carmody didn’
t die of a stroke or heart attack?”

  “You mean, what if EMS can save him?”

  “No. I mean, what if he died of something else?”

  “Some other terrible disease?”

  “What if he didn’t die of natural causes?”

  “You mean, what if somebody killed him? Come on, Aggie. You’ve been spending too much time with Sam. Why would anybody do that? Everybody wanted him to succeed. He could be the one person who could help everybody in the world stay young.”

  I thought about my neighbor, Grace. At sixty, she was ready to live forever.

  “What if somebody was jealous of his work?” I said. “A competitor.”

  “I think they’d collaborate with him. Not bump him off.”

  “There are a slew of scientists around here: Eric, Brandy, Penelope, Dr. Bigsby, and the postdocs in class. They probably knew what he was working on. There might be others. I wasn’t paying attention to everybody’s background. There are scientists in the biology and chemistry departments we haven’t even met. I need to find out who they are and chat with them.”

  “Aggie, if Dr. Carmody died or they can’t save him and you snoop into his death, Sam will be furious. If you’re right that somebody tried to murder Dr. Carmody, tell Sam your suspicions. He has a whole police department to find out who did it.”

  She pulled up to my bungalow on Burr Road. Sam had parked his car in the driveway behind my Wagoneer.