by Marisa Logan
They hauled the boxes of produce up to Gregory's office, then started sorting through everything while Gregory took notes on the invoice numbers Tessa had recorded for each sample. “This is a lot of stuff,” Gregory said, looking over all the samples. “I'm going to need a few days for all this.”
“All right,” Tessa said. “Whatever you need. And...thank you. For doing this. I wish we could do something for you...”
Gregory gave her and encouraging smile. “It's all right. Samson explained the situation to me. I guess I consider this my civic duty as a scientist.”
He walked them to the door and shook their hands. “I'll let you know as soon as I get the results,” he said. “Just keep in mind, all of this will have to be off the record. I can't go on record with any study that hasn't been cleared by the university's Institutional Review Board. If it turns out there's something there, you'll need to report it to the USDA and get them to conduct an official investigation.”
“I want to at least find out if there's anything worth reporting first,” Tessa said. “After all, there could be thousands of people's jobs on the line here.”
“Don't worry,” Gregory said. “I'll keep things hushed on my end.”
“Thank you.” She gave him a grateful smile.
When Tessa and Samson got back to their apartment complex, Samson invited Tessa over for a drink. “After the day we've had,” he said, “I think we both deserve a chance to unwind and relax.”
“Sounds perfect.”
She stopped at her own apartment to change out of her fancy suit and into sweatpants and a tank top, then headed over to Samson's. When she got there, he was in the middle of getting changed himself. He'd traded the suit pants for a tight pair of jeans, and he was still pulling on a clean t-shirt when he opened the door. She got a brief glimpse of his toned abs, and for the first time she appreciated the kind of physique a man could develop when he rode a bicycle everywhere all the time.
Samson poured them each a glass of white wine, then raised his glass and said, “To a successful heist.”
Tessa clinked her glass against his. They sat together on his sofa, drinking wine and trying to unwind. Tessa couldn't quite get settled onto the couch, and kept fidgeting. She felt stiff, her back and shoulders all knotted up with tension. Part of her still kept expecting the police to show up at the door. She wasn't sure if anything they'd done was technically illegal. It was possible she'd just get fired instead of arrested. Not that that was much comfort.
“You look tense,” Samson said. “Here, let me help.”
He moved next to her and she turned her back to him. He set down his wine glass, then started rubbing her shoulders. Tessa closed her eyes and let out a long sigh. The aches in her muscles slowly started to fade away. “You're really good at that,” she whispered as Samson's fingers massaged her worries out.
“Professional training,” he said. “I spent six months training as a physical therapist before I decided it wasn't for me.”
“Well, you're just full of endless surprises.”
“All part of my charm,” he said.
After Samson worked the kinks out of her back and shoulders, Tessa leaned back against him, sipping her wine. She felt more relaxed and at home than she had in a long time. Samson's fingers kept gently running along her arm, tracing delicate touches across her skin. She let out a soft sound of contentment and nestled against him, almost feeling like she could drift off to sleep. She wasn't sure if it was the wine, the massage, or the aftermath of a day filled with adrenaline, but she was ready to crash right there on her neighbor's couch.
Samson's hand slid down her arm until his fingers glided across the back of her hand, then intertwined with her fingers. She held onto his hand, not wanting to let go. His breath felt warm against her neck.
She suddenly stiffened, sitting up a bit straighter. “Samson?” she whispered.
“Yes?”
“What are we doing?”
He was silent for a long moment, though he didn't let go of her hand. “Sitting on the couch,” he said, speaking softly. “Drinking wine. Enjoying each other's company.”
“Is that all?”
She twisted around to look into his eyes. He looked at her in a way he never had before. His eyes traced the lines of her face, then strayed down to look at her lips. Tessa licked her lips, wondering what he was thinking in that moment. Wondering what was about to happen.
A sound from outside jarred them out of the moment. They both jumped up, looking towards the window.
“What was that?” Tessa asked.
“Probably nothing,” Samson said. He stepped over to the window and pulled the curtain back, peering outside. Night had fallen, and the garden plots were draped in darkness.
They headed outside, looking around the plots. After a minute of searching, they came across a jumble of pots and trellises that someone had dropped by the edge of one of the plots. “This wasn't here this morning,” Tessa said.
“Ahh,” Samson said. He gestured to the shadow-enshrouded plot. “Of course. The Mystery Plot.”
“Damn.” Tessa looked around, searching for signs of anyone in the darkness. “We must have just missed our mystery gardener. I swear, one of these days, I'm going to set up a camera and see who comes out here.”
Samson chuckled. In the dim moonlight and the gentle illumination coming from the apartment building's windows, he looked quite stunning. Tessa looked up at him, stepping closer.
His hand reached out for hers. Their fingers intertwined.
Samson's other hand reached up and he caressed her cheek. Tessa held her breath.
Then he kissed her, there under the moonlight, beside the mysterious garden, while the cool spring wind blew between the apartment buildings and wrapped them in its embrace.
Chapter 9
Monday at work, Tessa kept looking over her shoulder. There hadn't yet been any word about her escapade over the weekend, but she was sure that someone was going to find out. She searched through the newest box of paperwork that had been delivered that morning, hoping to intercept any reports that mentioned her and “Mr. Morgan” stopping by the Pennsylvania distribution facility. Of course, there weren't any reports yet. Even if someone mailed one in, it wouldn't be there for a couple of weeks.
When Tessa was getting her third cup of coffee—admitting to herself that her nerves probably didn't need any more caffeine—Mindy walked up to her and asked, “So, did you hear?”
Tessa froze with the coffee pot and her “Gardeners Do It in the Dirt” coffee mug in her hands. “Hear what?”
“About Mr. Morgan?”
Tessa's hands started to shake. “What about him?”
Mindy leaned closer, looking around to make sure no one was listening in on them. “Well, Tracy said that Rebecca told her that someone from Mr. Morgan's office saw him slipping out the door Friday night with Mary from Accounting.”
Tessa stared at Mindy for a long moment, then she blinked. The tension fled her body when she realized it was nothing more than the usual office gossip. “Isn't Mary married?”
“Pfft, like that would stop her.” Mindy crossed her arms and shook her head. “You know all about her and Carl, right?”
Tessa sighed, closing her eyes and wishing for strength. “I don't really have the energy to keep up with all the latest rumors. I've got a lot of work to do.”
“Fine, Miss Grumpypants,” Mindy said. “I just thought you'd be interested.”
Tessa gave her friend a patient smile. “I'm not trying to be Miss Grumpypants. I just have a lot going on right now.”
“Okay.” Mindy looked her over with concern in her eyes. “Well, you let me know if there's anything you need, all right?”
“All right.”
Tessa kept her head down the rest of the day, focusing on her work. She entered reports into the computer at a steady pace, making surprisingly good progress and putting a nice dent in the backlog of files. She wondered if being on edge wa
s somehow helping her work faster. She was trying so hard to force herself to stay focused on her work that it seemed she'd found a great rhythm. If only she were this anxious every day.
Near the end of the day, when she was shredding files and getting ready to go home for the day, Mr. Morgan walked into the office. Tessa avoided eye contact, not wanting to draw any attention to herself. But he walked right up to her. “Tessa? Can I see you in my office for a moment.”
Tessa silently cursed herself, but kept a stoic expression on her face. “Sure.”
She followed him to his office. He shut the door behind them and offered her a seat. Mr. Morgan sat down and folded his hands on the desk, then asked, “Have you talked to anyone about that issue you brought up to me the other day?”
“Me?” Tessa faked a laugh and shook her head. She kept her hands firmly in her lap to keep them from shaking. “No. Why?”
“Because I just got a call from a reporter,” he said. “He was asking for information about pesticide use in our products. He claimed he was contacted by an anonymous source who said they worked for us. That this source said something about toxic pesticides in our products.”
“Holy crap,” Tessa said. She clutched at her skirt until her knuckles turned white. “Oh, God, no. I swear to God it wasn't me. I would never call a reporter!”
She wracked her brain, trying to think who might have called in the leak. Could Samson have done it? Would he have leaked the information without telling her?
“Is there anyone else you think might have heard about those reports?” Mr. Morgan asked. Anyone you mentioned it to? Anyone who might have gotten wind of your concerns?”
That's when it clicked. She'd talked to a number of people at the sorting facility in Pennsylvania. The receptionist. Mike the weekend manager. Half a dozen employees who'd helped them load the samples into the truck. Any one of them might have decided to call in the report.
“I have no idea who it could be,” she said. “I haven't talked to anyone.”
“You're sure?” He studied her expression, and she was sure he'd see the lie.
“I'm sure.” She forced herself to meet his gaze, hoping there was nothing in her eyes that betrayed her.
“All right.” Mr. Morgan sighed and looked through some notes on his desk. “I need to figure out what kind of statement to give this guy. We can't afford to have the media start a witch hunt. We could all lose our jobs because of someone's unfounded paranoia.”
“Unfounded?” she asked. “Are you sure it's unfounded? I mean, those reports...”
“Those reports located a very minor, isolated problem,” Mr. Morgan said. “It happens now and then. Someone at one of the farms accidentally mixed together two types of pesticide that weren't supposed to be mixed, and the combination of the two led to a very minor, we're talking less than one percent here, a very minor risk. We corrected the problem, recalled the affected products, and got everything back up and running again. It happens.”
“Wait,” Tessa said, her mouth going dry. “What? I thought you told me—”
“I told you not to worry about it,” Mr. Morgan said. “That didn't mean I was ignoring it. It's not your job to worry about that sort of thing. Your job is to enter the reports into the databases, so that our Quality Assurance department can conduct their investigations. Internal investigations, so that we don't have messes like this happening.” He gestured to the notes about the reporter and the apparent leak.
“But the things you said...” Tessa frowned, shaking her head.
“I told you that nothing illegal was going on,” Mr. Morgan said. “And nothing is. We comply with USDA inspections and follow all regulations, just like every other business. But for minor things, we take care of it on our own and make sure it stays quiet. That way we avoid bad publicity.”
Tessa felt faint. She tasted bile in her throat. Her entire concern, all of the risks she'd taken... “So there really wasn't any risk? Our food isn't contaminated?”
“Of course not.” Mr. Morgan frowned at her. “What kind of business do you think we're running here? Sure, in a company this large, there are going to be minor issues now and then. You can't avoid that with hundreds of facilities across the country. But the problems are always fixed, the people responsible are retrained to make sure they don't mess up again, and we go about business as usual.”
“I see.” Tessa stared at the wall behind Mr. Morgan, seeing her entire career flashing before her eyes.
“Now, if you'll excuse me, Tessa,” Mr. Morgan said. “I've got to figure out what kind of statement to give this reporter so he doesn't get the wrong idea. If he writes a story with a headline like 'Dunham Enterprises Denies Pesticide Contamination,' it won't matter what the facts are. People see a denial as proof of guilt, even when there is none.”
Tessa got up and left, her steps stiff and wooden. She clutched her purse against her chest, holding onto it like a life preserver. She couldn't believe what she'd just heard.
She may have accidentally set events into motion that could cost thousands of people their jobs. And it looked like it had all been for nothing.
Chapter 10
As soon as Tessa got home that night, she called up Gregory at the university. When he answered, she said, “Hey, this is Tessa. I need to know about the results of those tests.”
“Well, I haven't finished with all of the samples yet,” he said. “But I can give you the results from the ones I've tested so far.”
“Okay.” She paced around her apartment chewing on her lower lip. When she'd first come up with this idea, she'd thought these tests would give her answers that would lend her peace of mind. Now she feared the exact opposite.
“Well, so far, all the samples I've tested have come back negative.”
“Negative?” Tessa asked. She paused in her pacing. “Negative sounds bad.”
“No, no, negative is good. It means there's nothing there.”
Tessa felt her stomach churn. “Nothing?”
“Nothing at all. Well, I've found a few tiny trace amounts, but nothing that you wouldn't expect to find on just about any commercially grown product. Nothing that would be harmful.”
“Oh God.”
There was a long pause, then Gregory asked, “That's a good thing, isn't it? I mean, that's what I think you'd want to hear. No harm done. No one's getting sick from eating this stuff.”
“Shit,” Tessa said. “Shit, shit, shit!”
“Umm...is something wrong?”
“I have to go.”
Tessa hung up the phone before Gregory could say another word. She sat down on her couch, clutching her phone in her hands. Mr. Morgan had been right. There were no pesticides, no risks. Dunham Enterprises wasn't guilty of anything at all, except for maybe failing to advertise that some of their crops had been genetically modified in a completely harmless way.
“Shit.” She stared at the carpet, unable to think. She was certain she was going to get fired. Not only that, but if the reporter—the reporter who was only snooping around because she'd riled up suspicions at the sorting facility—if he wrote a story about a possible contamination and a cover-up within the company, then a lot of people would lose their jobs. Mr. Morgan had been right about another thing: it wouldn't matter that there was actually no risk. Once consumers got it in their heads that Dunham was covering something up, even if it wasn't true, they'd never trust the company again. Sales would drop, people would get laid off, and thousands of lives would be ruined.
And it was all Tessa's fault.
* * *
“I don't understand,” Samson said after she explained the situation to him. “I thought you said you'd seen all those reports? All of the inspectors requesting further investigation, but with no followup?”
Tessa sat on Samson's couch, holding a mug of tea in her hands. He'd spiked the tea with a splash of liquor, and it was starting to help calm her down. “It turns out,” she said, “the Quality Assurance department uses a complete
ly different filing system. They collect the reports my department enters into the main databases, then they maintain a separate database for their own reports. I found the file directories for that database, and it's filled with all kinds of reports that show the investigations they've conducted and the actions they undertook to correct the problems.”
“But what about the lady you spoke to?” Samson asked. “The one that said no one had followed up on her report. Did you say there were like three years of reports that this QA department had never followed up on?”
Tessa laughed, a wry smile on her face. “Oh, yes. There's three years of reports they never followed up on. Because my department has a three year backlog. Ironic, isn't it? Here I was thinking there was some grand conspiracy to keep things hidden, and it turns out it's just because my department can't keep up with the paperwork. All of the reports that we have entered, if there was a request for a followup investigation, they took care of it.”
“Oh.” Samson chewed on his lower lip, looking down at the ground. “Well. Damn.”
“Yup.” Tessa sighed. “I'm so sorry I got you involved in all of this. I had no idea what a mess it would turn out to be.”
“So, what do we do now?” Samson asked. “Talk to this reporter? Maybe explain to him that we were just chasing a wild goose?”
“I'm not sure that would even help.” Tessa threw herself back against the couch cushions. “If we try to convince him there's nothing to hide, he'd just think there's something to hide. And the more we make Dunham look guilty, the more likely it is that people will start losing their jobs.”
Samson sat next to her and patted her knee. She leaned her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes. “We'll figure something out,” Samson said.
“Are you sure?”
“No,” he said. “But it seemed like the thing to say.”
Tessa nuzzled against him, trying to banish her thoughts and her worries, at least for the moment. The only good part about this whole fiasco, she supposed, was that it had brought Samson and her closer together.
