A thrill ran through me at his direct reply. “Then I shall join you.”
Lawson put the plate in the sink as he finished his toast, and he wiped down the countertop. He was babbling because he didn’t know if Rosemary usually had breakfast, but he didn’t want to give her something she shouldn’t have. He was trying to hide his excitement, but he really was buzzing. “Okay, okay,” I said, washing my toast down with coffee. “I’ll go get dressed.”
He breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”
I walked up the hall to the bathroom and called out behind me, “And there’s some of Rosemary’s favourite treats in the container in the laundry.”
When I was showered, shaved, and dressed for a day in the field, I found Lawson standing at the back of his Defender. Rosemary was sitting in the back next to the tubs, and he was running through his inventory with her.
“Your office assistant is a cutie,” I said.
Lawson chuckled. “She is.”
“I was talking to Rosemary.”
Lawson’s mouth fell open, but I could see it in his eyes when he realised I’d just called him a cutie. “I’m not her assistant.”
“Of course not.”
“That would assume her in a position of authority over me.”
I leaned against the rear of his Defender and grinned at him. “Have a problem with that?”
He never missed a beat. “The only person I want in a position of authority over me is you.” He raised an eyebrow. “I have every intention of that happening tonight, but if you don’t help me get to North Scottsdale National Park in the next thirty minutes, it won’t be happening at all.”
I stood up straight and clapped my hands together. “Right. Who’s driving?”
*
North Scottsdale National Park was northeast of where he’d searched before, and the only access in was a dirt road, as the name suggested, north of Scottsdale. The areas we’d marked out yesterday on Lawson’s maps were estimated areas of silted clay on the town side of the mountain. Still classed as dense woodlands, the undergrowth was thicker. Theoretically, on paper, an Eltham Copper wouldn’t inhabit an area like this. But Lawson was adamant. Everything pointed to this location. A combination of the correct soil types, average rainfalls, and temperatures suitable for Notoncus ants. From the photographs of the area taken over many years, there was proof of Bursaria, but we wouldn’t know for sure until we got there.
But more than that, Lawson’s gut told him this was where he would find it.
I helped him unpack his tubs and waited for him to get ready. “What will you do if you find a whole… colony of them?”
He didn’t even look up. “Colony of what?”
“A colony of the Eltham Coppers that aren’t actually anywhere near Eltham.”
“A kaleidoscope.”
“A what?”
“The collective noun for a group of butterflies is called a kaleidoscope.”
“Oh.” Then I thought about that. “That’s actually pretty cool.”
He looked up from his iPad and smiled. “It is.”
“Who gets to name the collective nouns? Because they’re all very clever. An army of ants, a pounce of cats.”
“A flamboyance of flamingos,” he added keenly.
“A flamboyance? Who the hell named that? Actually, who the hell knows that?”
“I know that.”
“Yes, but you’re a genius.” Then I thought about that too. “Actually, a flamboyance of flamingos is pretty clever.”
Lawson smiled. “An array of hedgehogs.”
“A cackle of hyenas.”
“An ambush of tigers.”
“A parliament of owls.”
“A congress of gorillas.”
“Oooh, that’s a good one,” I said. “I take it I’m not the only one who finds the collective nouns interesting.”
“I used to read them when I was little.”
That made me smile. The thought of a little Lawson with his nose in a book, no doubt. “When did you catch your first butterfly?”
“I was four.”
“Wow. That’s young.”
“My grandfather was an enthusiast. He gave me a catching kit for my fourth birthday.”
“A catching kit?”
“Yes, you know the green and orange kits with a plastic cylindrical holding jar with a small net.”
“Oh, I had one of those. I caught grasshoppers.”
Lawson smiled as he scrolled through something on his iPad. “Then the following Christmas, he gave me a proper kit with an actual killing jar. I was very excited.”
“About getting a killing jar?”
“It’s not the most favourite part, and truthfully it’s more humane than the old practices of stabbing an entomological pin through the thorax. And it’s only a rarity that any individual butterfly is killed these days. We have such good technology for studying them that we don’t need to.” He smiled sadly. “I remember when I caught my first monarch, my grandfather made me put it in the killing jar. It was quick, but it was awful to watch. I cried for days.”
“Oh, that’s horrible.” I went to him and put my hand on his arm. “I’m sorry.”
He gave me an honest, appreciative smile. “Thank you. But I was five.”
“And it drove you to spend your life dedicated to protecting the species?”
He laughed. “It wasn’t quite that dramatic, but something like that.”
I kissed his cheek. “So, if you do find one of these butterflies, what do you do?”
“Photograph, video, record data.” He took a deep breath. “And make some phone calls.”
“Is there a Butterfly Justice League or something that sends out a protective detail?” I joked.
He smirked at me. “There is. You’re looking at it. Do I detect an inner nerd familiar with Justice League?”
I barked out a laugh. “There is a lot you don’t know about me, inner nerd included.”
He chuckled again. “I never was one to back down from a challenge.” He scrolled and swiped at his iPad screen. “Later though, if you don’t mind. Right now, I have much BJL work to do.”
“BJL?”
He rolled his eyes. “Butterfly Justice League.”
I laughed as I left him to do his thing. I went about my own data collection, taking photos and soil samples. He was quicker in his assessments this time. Still methodical and thorough, but there was a pressure and urgency now. The additional information gave him extra drive, and it compounded his disappointment when he found nothing.
He’d assessed three sites before lunch. He concentrated on the areas of preferred soil type, did his grid thing, and came up empty-handed.
His mood wasn’t exactly a happy one as I offered him some lunch. He bit into his apple and frowned as he chewed. “I’ve found grass blues and common whites, so it’s feasible the Eltham might be here.”
I knew there wasn’t much I could say that would make him feel any better, so I listened to him instead.
“Professor Tillman spent the better part of six decades looking for this particular species. You know what? I don’t think I’m cut out for that. I understand patience is key, and I was foolish to think I could find it in a week.”
“You’ve made great progress.”
He took another bite of his apple, chewed, and swallowed it down. “Am I supposed to spend every weekend of the next fifty years searching every national park in the state?”