WHEN MAGGI ZIMMERMAN heard the latest news about the war in Europe, she was more strategic than angered. If ever there is an opportunity, she told herself ... and then her mind would wander off in unspeakable directions as she cleaned the bedrooms and did the laundry at Maggie’s Mountain Retreat, where she was cook, housekeeper and part owner.

And then it happened. In a most unexpected way.

Maggie’s was quiet and remote, and that’s why wealthy business and political leaders often would select it for getaways. The roaring river below the lodge was noted for its salmon run. For decades famous people had stayed at the lodge, and in recent years, Maggi had upped the reputation by adding culinary excellence to the resort’s natural peacefulness and exciting fishing opportunities.

Maggi was a self-taught chef. She viewed cooking as a kind of chemistry where she could bring a variety of natural elements together, carefully prepare them, pay attention to how the tastes would meld, and then present meals of several courses with artful imagination. The forest near the resort offered a variety of natural foods, such as berries and wild asparagus. Simply by paying attention, she had learned of a wealth of delicious possibilities right in her own “backyard.”

She especially appreciated the forest’s mushrooms for which she often foraged. She loved their broad range of color and shape. Many were treasured for their delectability. She would search for morels, prizing their earthy flavors, perfect for sauces, soups, and her favorite, a pie made with Gruyère cheese. Chanterelles, especially the rainbow variety, were treasured for her beef Wellington, and porcini were the prize for her Tuscan pastas and for the aioli she made as a side for grilled salmon.

No one except her knew that her favorite exotic mushroom variety had been inadvertently introduced near her lodge. A large timber company, eager to hasten reforestation, imported an eastern European variety of conifer known for its speedy growth. The trees seemed perfectly suited for replanting the clear-cut swaths near the lodge, and although environmentalists preferred native species, there was little they could do about the new conifers. Within a few years, the saplings had established themselves and seemed to be everything the timber companies hoped for. Even the environmentalists were pleased that the new, non-native forest was providing habitat for threatened species such as the spotted owl.

One could say it was merely coincidental that Maggi found Amanita Phalloides growing at the base of a few of the new conifers, but the truth is that she had studied mushrooms for years. She knew what it was right off. To her, Amanita Phalloides was intriguing because it was reputed to be very tasty, a sinister characteristic considering its unique status as the world’s most toxic. As much as she wanted to know about the taste, she dared not have it anywhere near her food. Maggi smiled whenever she saw the Latin name. While there were several theories about its namesake, to her it seemed obvious that it was named for the male part. It’s tall shape and pointed cap were obvious enough, and its lethal capacity seemed congruent with the toxicity she found in some men.

It was the lies about the provenance of the war in Europe that motivated her to act. As a descendant of Ashkenazi Jews in eastern Europe, she followed the news when the Russians seized the Crimean territory in 2014, and then when they launched a full-scale invasion in February 2022 she was outraged. She watched videos of the carnage in eastern Ukraine in horror. Civilians were slaughtered. Hospitals and schools were bombed. She lent her support as much as she could, sending a few dollars to organizations she trusted to help get domestic supplies to Ukrainian war victims. She appreciated the near unanimity of support for Ukraine.

Then when a change in leadership unfolded, the tone changed dramatically. Where Ukraine had always been the victim and not the aggressor, the new Supreme Leader blamed Ukraine and sided with Russia. She was reminded of Stalin and his purges, the siege of Leningrad, and the brutality of tyrants, whether Russian or otherwise, and she knew what could happen with autocratic leadership. Truth was an early casualty. How could the truth be so blatantly discarded? It wasn’t only the Supreme Leader, but his sycophants as well. As she read the news reports, many were ignoring the truth in vain homage to the Supreme Leader. She couldn’t believe her eyes and ears.

And then one day she was reviewing reservation requests, and she recognized the name of one of the guests as the political leader of a region far from her own but who had visited Maggi’s Mountain Retreat before. To Maggi, this man was the human counterpart of Amanita Phalloides, an innocent-looking but toxic liar complicit in crimes against humanity. Like Judith, she began to think it was up to her if no one else had the courage to eliminate this modern Holofernes-like liar.

She anticipated there would be an investigation after the death, because the toxin in Amanita Phalloides wreaks havoc with a human liver, and death is usually within days of introduction. So, she planned it very carefully. For one thing, she knew she was unlikely to be thought of as a suspect, because she was nearly revered for her hospitality and attention to detail for her guests. Her reputation, charm, dependability, and calm personality would work in her favor. She was not the type of woman anyone would suspect of anything other than loving compassion for all of humankind.

She also planned to distance the lodge as much as possible from implication. Although the booking specified a party of eight, she had a plan for isolating the one man she loathed. In her view, his complicity with the Supreme Leader was equal to the Supreme Leader himself, because he was too cowardly and too amoral to stand up to wrong.

This man she loathed was an avid fisherman; he was a real fanatic for a trout or a salmon. His friends had twice before booked the lodge, because they were eager to earn his favor by paying for a lavish retreat. Their timing was perfect for both salmon and Amanita Phalloides. Her opportunity had arrived.

On the first day of fishing the party of eight caught nothing. Nothing on the second day either. At the end of the third day, they returned with three nice salmon, which they enthusiastically brought to Maggi’s kitchen. She dressed the fish, grilled them and served the fillets with porcini sauce, tossed green salad, and sides of potatoes and fresh broccolini. The men ate voraciously, laughed loudly, made jokes about women, Jewish and black people, and native Americans. They retired to the library to smoke cigars and sip whiskey. They could not have been happier.

The next day they landed two more salmon, and on the last day for fishing, three more. Maggi promised to smoke and package them so they could take the prized fish home to their own kitchens, and the men were delighted. The man whom Maggi thought was cultishly devoted to the Supreme Leader was especially pleased, and in his deep and loud voice asked if she could send some of “that wonderful sauce” home, too. Maggi said, of course, she could do that, and he bent down and hugged her small frame, and Maggi never forgot his disgusting smell of sweat, cigar smoke, fish, poor hygiene and unclean teeth.

The men drifted to the porch overlooking the river and continued their bravado. While Maggi worked, the men loudly boasted of their exaggerated fishing skill, avoiding giving any credit at all to the guides who showed them where to fish and how to land the fish. It was typical of the loathsome group of pseudo-men, in Maggi’s view. As they yelled their boasts and guffawed at their witless jokes, she visualized the distraught mothers in Ukraine whose babies bled in their arms. She pictured the men with amputated hands, healed and returned to the front lines to do battle once more with the Russian invaders. She even pictured the hapless Russian soldiers and the mercenaries sent to the Russians by other repressive regimes, as if a brotherhood of evil had coalesced like urban gangs, donating men as if they were scrap metal to a cause far from their own lawless lands.

She prepared three of the nice salmon for smoking overnight, and when dawn arrived the morning of her guests’ departure, she cut the salmon into eight equal portions and wrapped each tightly in butcher paper. She carefully placed each in a small box and tied seven of them neatly with blue and yellow ribbons. For the eighth package, she included a jar of the sauce she had prepared and carefully labeled “Toasted Porcini Aioli.”

She was delighted when she presented the gifts to each of her guests. For the man she loathed, she produced her best smile, handed him his salmon, and pointed out that as he asked, she had included a portion of the porcini sauce he loved so much. When he began to hug her again, she deftly dodged his unwelcome embrace, smiled broadly, and schlepped his bag to his waiting limousine.

When she read the news a week or so later, it was no surprise to her that his sudden death was a bit of a mystery. Authorities suspected a combination of his weak liver from alcohol poisoning, smoking and his heavy frame. To Maggi’s relief, there was no additional thought as to the cause of death. His demise was quickly attributed to obvious natural causes.

—RJ Stewart, March 2, 2024