Improper Influence

by Melissa F. Miller

  “Given our track record? I doubt that.”

  “Okay, well, I doubt it, too. But we have to help him.”

  Connelly shot her a surprised look but just nodded his agreement.

  The fierceness of her urge to help Bodhi surprised her, too. He seemed vulnerable. In need of protection. She hoped she was wrong. But she was probably right.

  Connelly palmed the wheel and rounded the corner. As they passed the brick alley behind Bodhi’s house, he inhaled sharply. She followed his gaze and squinted into the night. A dark car, shaped like a Taurus, hunkered between two tool sheds, away from the lone security light mounted in the alley. The interior dome light inside the car went dark. Someone was in there, watching.

  Her mouth went dry. She swallowed hard.

  “What do you want to do?”

  He turned toward her. “Let’s cruise down the alley. See if you can get a plate number. We’ll call Bodhi and let him know, but other than that, nothing. What did you have in mind? Bang on the window and demand that the driver leave?”

  Sort of, she realized, as adrenaline spiked through her body in a cold rush.

  She laughed it off. “Yeah, right.”

  He gave her a knowing look then nosed the SUV into the alley and crept along. It was a tight squeeze. As they neared the car, he had to ease the vehicle up onto the narrow strip of grass that ran along the fences on the right side, narrowly missing a row of trash cans.

  She turned to peer into the car. She was sure it was the same Taurus she’d seen earlier, she but couldn’t make out a person inside. The occupant must have hit the floor when they entered the alley. Further evidence that the driver was up to no good.

  She turned her attention to the license plate. It was completely obscured by an overgrown bush protruding from Bodhi’s neighbor’s yard.

  “Can’t see the plate,” she whispered, kicking herself for not noting the license plate when she’d spotted the car outside her condo.

  He nodded and drove on. He activated the Bluetooth calling feature and said “Call Bodhi.”

  While they listened to the phone ring, she said, “Maybe he needs to be scared, Connelly. I don’t think he appreciates the situation.”

  “I’m sure he understands more than you think. He’s just going to respond to it differently than you or I would. He’s a Buddhist. And probably doesn’t follow your steady diet of danger and intrigue.”

  She bit back her retort as Bodhi’s voice crackled through the radio “Leo?”

  “Hey, you’re on speaker. The car is back. It’s sitting outside your back door.”

  There was a pause, then a soft rustling sound, like he was pulling back curtains.

  “I see it.”

  “Is your house locked up tight?” Connelly asked.

  “Front and back.”

  “Check your windows. We didn’t see anything out of place out front, but there’s probably another car covering your front door. Or at least there is if these guys are any good. I think they’re just watching, so go about your normal routine, but pay attention. Keep your guard up, okay?”

  “I will. And thank you. I’m regretting dragging you into this ... whatever this is.” His voice cracked.

  “It’s no problem. Really.”

  “Just please stay in touch,” Sasha added. “Check in with Connelly tomorrow and don’t go anywhere where you’ll be isolated—just in case.” She left the rest unsaid.

  “I won’t take any chances. Be well.”

  The call clicked off and quiet filled the car. Connelly turned off the Bluetooth connection and they drove through the sleepy residential streets, lost in their own thoughts.

  Sasha broke the silence.

  “I need to do a couple hours of work when we get home.”

  “It’s after midnight.”

  “If I get it done, I thought we could scout some wedding locations tomorrow,” she said in a casual tone.

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Tomorrow’s Sunday. Do you want to ask your mother to tag along?”

  She stifled a groan. Sundays were reserved for lazing around her parents’ house with the entire extended McCandless clan. If she invited Valentina to join them, she’d happily come along but would probably drag her daughters-in-law and their children, too. Sasha really didn’t need an entourage.

  “Let’s do it in the morning while they’re all at church. Who knows, maybe we’ll make a decision and can report the big news at lunch.”

  “Yeah, right,” he said leaving no doubt that he thought the prospect unlikely.

  “We could,” she insisted.

  A slow smile spread across his lips. “We could. You could be a horse. I could be dreaming.”

  She tried not to laugh but couldn’t help herself.

  He coasted to a stop. As they waited for the light to cycle, he turned toward her. “You need to get serious about your classes again.”

  It took her a moment, but she realized he meant her self-defense classes. She had been slacking off. Just last week, Daniel, her Krav Maga instructor, had called to hound her about the importance of everyone—even black belts—doing the necessary maintenance work to stay sharp.

  They were right, of course, but she’d been so busy with work. And the wedding.

  “Next week,” she promised Connelly. She pretended not to see his frown.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Stone frowned down at the sheaf of papers on his gleaming desk and furrowed his brow in concentration. He was a businessman, not a scientist. The technical reports he’d pulled on Champion Fuel’s herbal components might as well have been in Sanskrit. But he had to satisfy himself that his drink wasn’t killing people. Even if his father and that figurehead of a mayor were willing to cloak themselves in ignorance, it just wasn’t his way.

  He stood and stretched, swinging an imaginary golf club, and felt his back loosen. He was missing his standing Sunday morning tee time at Oakmont. Or, as he liked to think of it, “worshipping in the great green outdoors.” But his group had had no trouble finding a stand-in, and Deb had taken the kids to real church and then out for brunch. He had several hours of quiet time to puzzle through the blasted reports.

  Might as well get to it, he told himself, turning his back on the golden sun that streamed through his floor-to-ceiling window and returning to his seat at the desk.

  He pored over the report, a highlighter in hand. From what he could tell, the product was completely safe. Or should have been. He dragged the yellow highlighter through a line that read: “At the concentrations contained in Champion Fuel, a one-hundred-and-eighty-pound adult male would have to consume eight gallons of the beverage within a twenty-four-hour period to experience adverse effects.”

  He shook his head and re-read the line. There was no way anyone would drink eight gallons of anything in a day, was there?

  But what about a much smaller woman? How much would she have to drink to experience adverse effects?

  The report was silent. He assumed that meant there was no meaningful difference between the genders. So, the dead women couldn’t have drunk enough Champion Fuel to have had an adverse effect. It didn’t seem possible.

  Stone dropped the marker and pinched the bridge of his nose. Then he moved his hand down his face and gripped his chin, giving it a rub.

  Unless the concentration had changed. He grabbed the report and headed for the kitchen that served the executive floor. The stainless steel refrigerator drawer built into the cherry cabinets was packed with cans of Champion Fuel. He selected a sixteen-ounce can and checked the ingredients. Nope. No change. The amount matched that in the report.

  Deflated, he rolled the drawer open to return the drink, then shrugged and popped the top. He could use a boost.

  Back at his desk, he considered other options. Herbal Attitudes supplied the four constituent herbal ingredients that the company used in the energy drink. When they ramped up production and opened the South Side plant, they’d entered i
nto a requirements contract with Herbal Attitudes. The smaller company had agreed to fulfill all of their ingredient needs. Sole sourcing, it was called.

  He punched the home telephone number of the company’s contracts attorney into his desk phone and waited.

  “Stone,” Jude answered on the second ring. “What can I do for you?”

  “Sorry to bother you on the weekend, Jude. I have a question about the Herbal Attitudes requirements contract.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Does the contract permit Herbal Attitudes to substitute a similar formulation of the three constituent herbals if demand exceeds their supply?”

  “Nope,” Jude answered immediately.

  “You sure?”

  “Positive. Herbal Attitudes’ lawyers tried like hell to get that clause added, but your business people said no way.”

  Stone was silent for a moment.

  “Stone? You still there?”

  “Yeah, sorry. Okay, that’s good.”

  “Do you need anything else?” Jude asked, obviously eager to get off the phone.

  Stone could hear squealing kids in the background.

  “No, that’s it. Thanks, Jude.”

  “No problem. If you need a copy of the contract, I can email it to you.”

  “Sure. That’d be helpful.”

  “Will do, Stone.”

  “Enjoy the rest of your weekend,” Stone said and ended the call.

  He sat motionless at his desk and thought through his next steps. His pulse started to race, whether from the Champion Fuel that he’d mindlessly chugged while talking to Jude or anxiety over the dead girls, he couldn’t tell.

  He stood and paced around the office until his email chime sounded to let him know Jude’s message had hit his inbox. He printed the PDF of the contract and scanned it looking for any nonstandard clauses. He and Jude had worked together to come up with the standard boilerplate vendor agreement, and Jude tried hard to shove it down all their vendors’ throats unchanged.

  He flipped to the notice block. It looked as though Prescott & Talbott, the firm that represented Herbal Attitudes, had choked it down more or less whole. There were some tweaks here and there to payment terms and an arbitration clause that Jude always claimed was unenforceable, but no major alterations.

  Herbal Attitudes had no leeway on the product it was to deliver, and it was required to test each of the four herbal ingredients every ninety days as a matter of course or at Better Life Beverages’ request in the interim.

  Looks like it’s time to request a test, Stone thought. He fired off an email to Jude asking him to do so first thing Monday morning and closed his browser.

  He’d done what he could for the day; there was no sense in wasting the rest of the gorgeous spring weather. He checked his watch. He had plenty of time to drive over to the range and hit some balls before he collected Deb and the kids for the obligatory Sunday dinner with her parents.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Bodhi meditated for well over an hour on Sunday morning. He sat, cross-legged in a sunny patch on his living room floor and focused on nothing but his breathing. Only when his mind was completely clear did he turn from mindfulness of breathing meditation to loving kindness meditation.

  He rarely took the time to do the loving kindness (or metta bhavana) meditation anymore. He usually felt such positive mental energy toward everyone that it seemed unnecessary to meditate on it. Now, however, he could tell he needed it. His nerves were jangling, he’d slept fitfully again, and he recognized feelings of anger and fear rising within him.

  So, he rested his hands in his lap and turned his attention to himself. He let the sentences run through his head: May I be well and happy. May I be peaceful and calm. May I be protected from dangers. May my mind be free from hatred. May my heart be filled with love. May I be well and happy.

  When he felt safe, protected, and full of love he turned his thoughts toward his family. He considered Leo and Sasha, his new allies and friends, each in turn and wished them well. He then wished the families of the dead women well.

  Next he considered his coworkers and neighbors—people he felt neutrally toward—and focused on them until he felt a loving kindness for each of them.

  He turned his mind toward unpleasant acquaintances, like his co-worker Wally Stewart and the neighbor across the street who insisted on throwing her little plastic bags full of dog poop into his recycling bin. He held each of them in his mind until he felt warmly toward them.

  Finally, he concentrated on the unknown people who were following him, taking his files, searching his computer, and trying to interfere with his job. Thinking of them filled him with a hot anger and a cold fear. He meditated for a long time on them until he was able to wish them well, too.

  Only when he felt nothing but peace did he open his eyes and shift on his sit bones. He stood and walked to the kitchen and poured a glass of water. As he drank it, he enjoyed the feeling of contentment that had been absent for the past several days.

  He slipped on his old gardening shoes and was halfway out the door, intent on tending to his small patch of herbs, when the telephone rang, breaking the silence.

  He contemplated not answering, but at the last moment, he turned back. He’d later wish he hadn’t.

  “Hello. This is Bodhi.”

  “Bodhi, it’s Saul.” His fellow pathologist’s voice boomed in his ear.

  “Good morning, Saul.”

  “Morning. Listen, I need to talk to you.”

  “Okay.” Bodhi waited for him to continue but the line went quiet. “Saul? Are you there?”

  “Uh, yeah,” his voice dropped to just above a whisper. “I need to talk to you in person. It’s important.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Not really. Can you meet me? How about at the reservoir in twenty minutes? I’ll meet you at the top of the steps behind the fountain.”

  Bodhi took a long, slow breath and noted the edge of fear in Saul’s voice.

  “Okay.” Then he surprised himself by adding, “Make sure no one follows you.”

  Before Saul could press him on the statement, Bodhi ended the call.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  He arrived at the reservoir early. Taking his own advice, he biked a quick circuit through the lower loop that surrounded the reservoir, looking for a slow-moving car or anyone who seemed to be paying unusual attention to him, but he didn’t see anything out of place. He passed the riotously blooming flower gardens and the spraying fountain and chained his bike to the rack at the bottom of the wide white stairs that led from Highland Park up to the reservoir.

  ‘Reservoir’ was a bit of a misnomer, since it had been drained of water for years. A covered water supply sat just down the road, but the reservoir remained an important hub of city life. Groups of women walked around the cement structure, some pushing strollers or herding small children, chatting and checking their pedometers and Fitbits. Serious runners stayed to the outside, pounding out a rhythm as their shoes slapped the hard ground. Elderly couples edged close to the rail and walked slowly, some no faster than a shuffle. A few held hands like teenagers.

  On the far side of the reservoir, on a rare flat square of grass behind a cluster of benches, several ancient Italian men played a never-ending game of bocce. The men and their brightly colored balls and equally colorful bilingual shouted insults and laughter had been providing the backdrop for the walkers and runners and lovers for decades. They provided a welcome counterpoint to the new manicured gardens that had become the face of the reservoir.

  He walked once around the perimeter, stopping to watch the bocce balls banging against one another amid the hoots of their throwers for several minutes before heading back to the main entrance to wait for Saul.

  He looked up when Saul’s shadow blocked the sun.

  He started to stand, but Saul glanced around quickly and joined him on the bench.

  “I don’t think anybody followed me,” he said in a furtive voi
ce. “But why did you say that on the phone?”

  Bodhi shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “No, it does. It matters a lot. What do you know?”

  “What do you know?”

  They appraised one another for a long moment. Bodhi respected Saul as a pathologist and considered him to be a pleasant, likeable coworker. That was the extent of it. He imagined Saul’s feelings toward him were similar. They shared very little in common in outside interests or lifestyles. They just happened to work in the same building. So, while there was no animosity between them, there wasn’t exactly a deep well of trust, either.

  Saul squinted at him and then, apparently having satisfied himself of something, spoke first. “I went into the office this morning to finish up some reports and heard someone banging around in your office. I figured you were in, too, so I walked over to say good morning. But it wasn’t you.”

  “Did you see who it was?”

  Saul shook his head. “No. All I saw was some clown’s back as he climbed out the window, which is how I guess he got in. Looks like he smashed it in. There’s glass all over the floor. He took your work laptop.”

  Bodhi exhaled, releasing his irritation.

  Saul continued, the words tumbling out faster now. “I don’t think he took anything else, but he messed up all your files and knocked over that box of rocks and sand. Your office is trashed.”

  “Thanks for telling me.”

  “But that’s not all. I called security, obviously, and they came down to secure the scene, with Sonny trailing after them. I guess he was in working his new case.”

  Bodhi ignored the implicit jab at Sonny’s sudden interest in performing autopsies. “I guess it’s good that he was there.”

  “Yeah, right. I told him to call you so you could come in and confirm that nothing else was missing.” Saul paused and let out an impressive snort. “He said we shouldn’t bother you on the Sabbath. Since when do Buddhists observe the freaking Sabbath?”

  Bodhi found himself nodding. Saul had a point there.