by Gayle Trent
“As things stand, the drug release is on hold until Fred’s death has been fully investigated and the drug found to have played no part. Instead of looking at the doctors, I think we need to learn who’d want to sabotage them.”
“Like a disgruntled employee,” I said.
“Or a disgruntled girlfriend.”
“I don’t know Cara all that well, but that doesn’t seem to be her style,” I said. “She appears to me more the type who’d merely dump the guy and move on to someone richer and better looking, not ruin the guy’s career.”
“You didn’t think she’d try to get photos of Fred’s mom either.”
“You’ve got me there. I’ll talk with her and try to get a feel for where she and Doctor Holloway stand.”
“Thanks. I’ll talk with some of Brea Ridge Pharmaceuticals’ employees to see if anyone had a grudge against the company.”
After talking with Ben, I called Cara’s cell phone. She told me she was back in Richmond until Friday and that she’d give me a call when she got back in town. I said that sounded great. After all, how do you casually ask someone about her current relationship when she’s obviously trying to rush you off the phone?
I had plenty of leftover pinwheel cookie dough in the refrigerator; so I baked the cookies, boxed them up and took them—all but one box—to the Save-A-Buck. I took the other box over to Lucas and Leslie, my twin nephew and niece.
Violet hadn’t got home from work yet, but my brother-in-law Jason was there. He has a thick head of red hair and a boyish sprinkling of freckles across his face. Lucas and Leslie had taken their blonde hair and blue eyes from Violet.
The instant I walked through the door, Leslie and Lucas swarmed in. Lucas took the cookies while Leslie gave me a crushing hug and asked when we were going Christmas shopping.
“Since I hate going on the weekends this time of year, how about we go Monday morning if it’s okay with your mom and dad?” I asked.
“Yay! Lucas,” Leslie called, following him to the kitchen. “Aunt Daphne is taking us shopping on Monday.”
I could hear their excited chatter as I joined Jason in the living room. “Is that okay with you?”
He grinned. “Of course, it is. Get me something nice.”
“Sure. A nice lump of coal.”
I caught the pillow he lobbed at me.
He glanced toward the kitchen. “Vi told me about your test-drive. Thanks for that.”
“No problem. Actually, it’s a lot of fun. You’ll love it.”
“That’s what Vi says.” He chuckled. “What I wouldn’t have given to have seen you guys over there channeling the Wilson sisters.”
“More like the odd couple. Hey, can I ask you something without your mentioning it to my sister?”
A pained expression crossed his face. “Please don’t ask me what to get her for Christmas. I’m still trying to figure that out myself.”
“No, it’s not that. Do you remember when Fred Duncan had his car wreck last year?”
Jason looked wary, but he nodded.
“Did you ever hear anything about the other driver, the car . . . ?”
“Only the same speculations everyone else heard. I thought you weren’t investigating Fred’s death.”
“I’m not,” I said.
He raised his brows.
“Really. I’m not. It’s just that his cousin Fran—who’s helping me cater Belinda Fremont’s New Year’s Eve party—was telling me about the accident, and the entire thing sounded really odd.”
“It’s not that unusual for hit-and-run drivers to get away,” he said.
“I know, but what about this Good Samaritan Donald Harper?” I asked. “How is it he was close enough to hear the accident happen but hadn’t been close enough to get a tag number or a more accurate description of the car?”
“Daphne, all that stuff is muddy water under a rickety bridge. Let it go. I’m sure Don Harper wishes he could.”
“You know Don Harper?”
“Not personally,” Jason said, “but after Fred’s accident, Brea Ridge divided into two camps—those who saw Don as a hero and those who saw him as a villain.”
“A villain? Why?”
“Some people—including Fred’s mother—believed that if Don hadn’t moved Fred from the car rather than waiting for the ambulance, Fred wouldn’t have suffered the brain injury. Others said Don did the right thing and maybe even saved Fred’s life.”
“What do you think?” I asked.
“I don’t know. There was never any evidence that Don’s actions contributed to Fred’s injuries, and I feel certain his heart was in the right place. Still, it must’ve been hard for them to work together after that.”
“Them who?”
“Don and Fred’s mom. They both work at Brea Ridge Pharmaceuticals . . . or, at least, they used to.”
Lucas and Leslie barreled into the living room.
“Thanks for the cookies,” Lucas said. “They were awesome.”
“Were?” Jason asked.
“Yeah,” Leslie said. “We saved you one, but you’d better hurry and get it before Mom gets here.”
“And throw away the box,” Lucas said.
“Or put it back in Aunt Daphne’s car,” Leslie said. “Either way, we figure you don’t want Mom to know you let us eat a box of cookies before dinner.”
“Let you?” Jason asked.
“I’m all for putting the box in Aunt Daphne’s car,” Lucas said. “That way, she can put something else in it and bring it next time she comes. Come on, Dad. Get your cookie, so I can put the box in the car.”
As Lucas hustled Jason off to the kitchen, Leslie flopped onto the couch and gave me a Cheshire cat smile.
“So which mall are we going to?” she asked.
“Which mall do you want to go to?” I had little enough sense to ask.
“The ginormous mall in Sevierville. Where else?”
*
Instead of going home, I headed to the local mall. While I could shop for everyone else with Leslie and Lucas in tow, I certainly couldn’t shop for them. With everything else going on, I thought tonight was as good a night as any to shop for my favorite gift recipients.
I parked under a street lamp and walked briskly to the nearest entrance. Fran was right—I do take this crime stuff seriously. Once you’ve been a victim of domestic abuse, your radar and defenses are always on high-alert.
I entered the mall and went straight to the video game store. I bought Lucas and Leslie each a video game and was on route to the hobby shop when I met John Holloway.
I smiled. “It seems we’re both on a mission, Dr. Holloway.”
“Indeed.” He nodded toward the bag I was carrying and then indicated his empty hands. “But it appears you’re having more success than I am.”
“Maybe my mission is easier.”
“Cara isn’t the easiest person to buy for,” he said. “Have you eaten dinner yet?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Would you care to join me for a sandwich in the food court? Maybe you and I can brainstorm this gift dilemma.”
“I’d enjoy that.”
We rode down the escalator to the food court. The festive decorations and Christmas carols were uplifting. And, I had to admit, I was glad for the serendipity that had given me and John Holloway the opportunity to chat one-on-one.
After conferring with me, Dr. Holloway got us both a chicken sandwich and a soft drink. We sat at one of the black wrought iron bistro tables and opened our sandwiches.
“It must be difficult for you and Cara to be apart so much of the time,” I said.
“We’ve adjusted. After all, we knew when we met that our careers were based in separate parts of the state.”
“How did you meet?”
“I was at a conference in Richmond. Cara was there covering the event for the West Side Messenger. After my keynote address, she asked if she could buy me a coffee in the hotel café to further discuss the topic
of genome research. I accepted, and a little over a year later, here we are.”
“That’s terrific.”
“What about you and Ben?”
“We’ve known each other since we were children,” I said. “We lost touch when we went off to college, but we reconnected when I moved back to Brea Ridge.”
He smiled. “That’s a wonderful story. The two of you have quite a bit of history, and yet you’ve both grown so much in the intervening years, there’s so much new you both bring to a relationship.”
“Yes, I guess that’s true.” I took a drink of my soda. “Dr. Holloway, can I ask you something about the Christmas party?” I help up a hand. “I’m not trying to step on toes or scoop stories or any of that sort of thing, but Fran—a relative of Fred Duncan—told me none of the food served at the party tested positive for the campylobacter bacterium. Do you think someone was trying to harm the people at the party or, perhaps, the pharmaceutical company itself?”
“We have our security people looking into that, Daphne. It’s confounding to me. Sure, we have samples of many different bacteria in the lab, but it’s securely locked away.”
“Still, your employees have access,” I said.
“Most of them do. But why would they want it?” He frowned. “Please let’s discuss gifts. I really want to put this current mess out of my head for now.”
“Of course, you do. I’m sorry I brought it up. Do you have any children in your life—nieces, nephews, young siblings?”
“No, I’m sorry I don’t. You?”
“Yes. I have a fabulous niece and nephew. They’re the brightest spots in my life and who I’m out shopping for this evening. The three of us are planning a shopping excursion of our own on Monday, so I’m shopping for them now.”
“Good idea. Sorry I can’t be of any help. Still, I’m fairly certain they’ll drop all sorts of hints while the three of you are out shopping.”
I laughed. “You’ve got a point. But, then, they’ve been dropping hints since July!”
He laughed, too. “If only Cara would drop a hint or two.”
“I’m guessing you want to get her both a practical gift and a romantic, impulsive one. Am I right?”
“Absolutely. Suggestions?”
“I know she adores coffee,” I said. “Does she have one of those personal coffee making systems? You know, the ones that use pods? I have one, and I love it.”
“That’s a fantastic idea, and I don’t think she has one of those. What else have you got?”
“Well, there’s always jewelry.”
Here Dr. Holloway looked a bit pensive. “Please don’t say anything about this to Cara, but I’m afraid she might be expecting more than I’m willing to offer at this point.”
“You think she might be expecting an engagement ring?”
He nodded. “And I don’t feel we’re ready for that step. To be involved in a long-distance relationship is one thing; a long-distance marriage is another.”
*
When I got home, I wrapped my gifts to Leslie and Lucas and placed them under the Christmas tree. It was nice to have presents beneath the tree at last.
Myra came over. “I know it’s getting a little late,” she said, “but I thought we could play us a song or two.”
I smiled. “Sure, Myra. Come on in.”
“Hey, you finally got some packages under that tree. I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks.”
As I was starting up the game, the phone rang.
“My, my, you work quickly,” Cara said when I answered. “This morning I told you I was out of town until Friday, and this evening you have dinner with my boyfriend.”
I laughed. “That was quite a coincidence, wasn’t it?”
“Quite.” She wasn’t laughing.
“He told me you and he met while he was in Richmond at a genome research convention.”
“Yeah. Look, I like you, Daphne, but please don’t get in my way.”
“In your way? Cara, I wouldn’t dream of interfering with your—”
“Yeah, well, I have to run. See you on Friday.” With that, she hung up.
I replaced the receiver and turned to Myra. “That was weird.”
“What was weird?” she asked. “You know how I love weird.”
“There’s a reporter from Richmond who’s dating John Holloway of Brea Ridge Pharmaceuticals.”
“The blonde who was on TV the other morning talking about Ben being sick?”
“That’s the one.” Am I the only person in Brea Ridge who sleeps past five a.m.? “Anyway, she and I became acquainted a couple months ago. I called her this morning, and she said she would be out of town until Friday. Then it just so happened that Dr. Holloway and I ran into each other in the mall.”
“And Blondie’s nose is out of joint because of that?”
“Well, we did have a sandwich together at the food court,” I said.
“Did you go Dutch, or did he buy?”
“He bought, but it was perfectly innocent.”
“Perfectly innocent to you maybe, but I can see why Blondie is concerned. The minute she goes out of town, Dagwood is buying dinner for Rachel Ray.”
“It wasn’t like that. We met purely by accident and had a meal together so he could have me give him suggestions on what to buy Cara for Christmas.”
“Still, he fed you. Blondie might not be the only gal for him.”
“Oh, come on, Myra. I feed you all the time, and we’re not dating. And I even give you homemade baked goods.”
“You’ve got a point. But if Carl was still alive, I might be a little leery of you.”
I put my hands on my hips and glared at her.
“Well, look at you,” she continued. “You’re beautiful, you’re talented and you make some of the best food I’ve ever eaten. Why, my Carl would’ve wept at your feet.”
I got tickled. “Oh, he would not have. He loved you very much. And as far as Cara is concerned, look at her. She’s gorgeous, has an exciting career . . . .”
“True, but that’s no sign she isn’t insecure.” She jerked her head toward the television set. “Let’s rock.”
And rock we did. Finally, I suggested hot chocolate and biscotti.
“Sounds like a winner,” Myra said. “What’s on your mind?”
“What do you mean, what’s on my mind?”
“Generally, when you break out the hot beverage and dessert, you’re mulling over something. What is it?”
“Am I really that predictable?”
Myra shrugged.
We went into the kitchen. She sat down at the table while I heated milk for the hot chocolate.
“It’s the Brea Ridge Pharmaceutical party,” I said. “Fran told me today that none of the food served at the party made those people sick.”
“Then why did they get sick?”
“That’s just it. They had to have come in contact with the bacterium somewhere onsite.”
“What I can’t figure out is why they’d have the party at the company instead of somewhere nice like Dakota’s in the first place,” Myra said. “Whoever heard tell of having a Christmas party in a place where they manufacture drugs? That makes about as much sense as having a Valentine’s Day dance in a crack house. But, then, I reckon that could happen, too. Crack heads are people just like the rest of us . . . except they’re crack heads. I reckon they fall in love and celebrate Valentine’s Day, too.”
I finished making the hot chocolate and poured us each a mug. I sat the mugs and the biscotti on the table and pulled out a chair.
“I doubt they’re all that thoughtful about gift-giving, though,” Myra said. “They probably just give each other crack. Or, I guess in some instances, it could be like an O.Henry story. ‘But, sugar puss, I sold my crack pipe to buy you some crack.’ ‘And I sold my crack pipe to buy you some crack.’ Then they’d get teary-eyed and embrace, and the audience would share a collective ‘awww.’”
I decided to play along. “
What if they realize they have each other, no longer need crack and check into a rehab clinic together?”
“But on the way there, they start having withdrawals so bad they fly into a rage and kill each other?” She nodded. “That’d make a good screenplay. It could serve as a warning to young lovers everywhere.”
“Well, then . . . . Let me know if you write that.”
“I will. And you know who’d be great in the man’s part? Johnny Depp. He can play about any role they give him. And nearly any of those little anorexic starlets could play the girl.”
“Okay then. Jason was telling me this afternoon that after Fred Duncan’s car accident, half the town believed Don Harper was a hero, and the other half saw him as a villain. What did you think?”
Myra sipped her hot chocolate and seemed to consider how to best frame her response. “I think Don’s heart was in the right place. But I believe he should’ve left the boy where he was. People that don’t know what they’re doing can do more harm than good in a situation like that.”
“But I thought Mr. Harper was a trained paramedic.”
“Well, I don’t know how much training he’d had, but I do know that when China’s daughter-in-law was in a car accident, two EMTs strapped her to a backboard and got her out of the car because they were scared she’d hurt her head or neck.” She waved her biscotti. “So I know there’s regulations and protocols and stuff like that. And that car wasn’t on fire or anything. Don Harper should’ve waited instead of trying to be Superman.”
I slowly nodded. She had a point. She also had a point about why Dr. Broadstreet would have the party catered at the office. Why not his home, a restaurant or a conference center? Maybe I should talk with Dr. Broadstreet and find out.
Chapter Twelve
On Wednesday morning, I started my day at Brea Ridge Pharmaceuticals. I took a loaf of oatmeal cinnamon bread with a business card affixed to the top of the box.
“Hello,” I said to the receptionist. Her back was turned; but when she faced me, I could see she was a former high school classmate. “Helen!”
“Why, Daphne Carter, when did you move back to Brea Ridge?”
“Just a couple months ago.” I started to tell her my last name was “Martin” now, but then she’d ask who I’d married, if I had any children and countless other questions I’d prefer not to answer. “Is Dr. Broadstreet available? I don’t need but about two minutes of his time.”
