Flashover

by Dana Mentink

  Ivy thought of her sister’s face, not as she’d last seen it but as she had many times before—laughing, smiling, her eyes sparkling with fun. A thought jolted through her like an electric current. Roddy’s words came back to her. I choose to remember how she lived, not how she died.

  Had she been so angry, so devastated, that she’d forgotten all of the joy and love she’d shared with Sadie? In her fury, had she stripped the blessing of her sister from her memories? Reduced an amazing lifetime to one horrific last moment?

  She looked again at Tim, who gazed back at her and whispered in her ear.

  “He loves you, Ivy. God loves you. Can you feel it?”

  A flood of coolness made her skin prickle all over. She opened her mouth to reply, but found she had no words. God loved her? When she had hated Him so very much for what seemed like a lifetime? Sadie had always felt God’s love and Ivy knew instinctively that if the situation were reversed her sister would not have turned away from the Lord. Why had she turned her back on God and all the joy that she’d shared with Sadie? A kaleidoscope of feelings shifted inside her until the notes of the ending song died away.

  Feeling numb and depleted, she followed him back to the truck.

  He opened the door for her. “You okay?”

  She nodded.

  She wanted to ask him about the odd feeling inside her. Was it peace? Was it relief? Was it the first blush of joy? What had happened to her heart, sitting on that hard-backed pew amidst a crowd of strangers? Why couldn’t she feel the heavy stone of anger that she’d carried for years?

  She had to think about things, to puzzle her way through the strange thoughts and feelings that cropped up during that brief service. It was something she had to do alone, in the quiet of her own heart. She cleared her throat. “Tell me about your theory, Tim, the one about Moe’s letters and numbers.”

  “All right,” he said as he eased the truck onto the road. “But you’re not going to believe it.”

  FIFTEEN

  Tim fanned through the pages on his notepad, grateful that he’d been able to take the day off. They sat at the coffee shop across the street from the bookstore and sipped as they talked. His excitement grew. “I’ve been looking at this phrase that Moe’s been repeating. His mom said he’s always had an affinity for numbers, but there are letters mixed in here, too.”

  “So what did that tell you?”

  “Not a thing, at first. The numbers didn’t fall into any particular sequence like a phone number or anything like that.”

  “And?”

  He took a deep breath. “And I remembered my Boy Scout training. We worked on a badge about codes.”

  She stared at him. “Tim, are you saying this is a code somehow?”

  “I think so. Look.” He pushed the notepad over to her and wrote Moe’s strange phrase on it.

  M4e2d7s9c3i6z5t5r472cla0n7noe6r5y9r9o7w2.

  “At first I tried circling every second letter or number but that didn’t get me anywhere. I assigned a number to each letter of the alphabet, but that was a wash, too.”

  “You really did pay attention in Boy Scouts.”

  “You bet I did, and look at this.” He eagerly fished a pencil out of his pocket. “If you eliminate every other letter or number, watch what happens.”

  He made hurried slash marks across the page. Something materialized on the paper.

  Medsciztr7canneryrow.

  She looked at him. “Well, that’s neat, Tim, but it still doesn’t mean a whole lot.”

  “Let’s put the spaces in.” He rewrote the words.

  Medsci. ZTR7. Cannery Row.

  “It looks like something, but I still don’t get it.”

  He sat up straighter. “I didn’t either until I did more research. You’ll never guess what I found out. Medsci happens to be a world-class pharmaceutical company right here in Oregon.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. And guess what new experimental drug they’re working on?”

  “Does it start with a Z?”

  “Uh-huh. ZTR7 to be exact.”

  She gasped in amazement. “How did Moe get hold of that info? It must have been in whatever Cyril gave him. What does the Cannery Row mean?”

  He exhaled, feeling again the frustration about the missing pieces of the puzzle. “That’s the part I’m not sure about. There’s no place around here called Cannery Row. I know there’s one in Monterey, California, but I couldn’t find any connection between there and Medsci.”

  She glanced across the street. “Of course, there’s a book by that name, too. Let’s go get a copy, just for kicks.”

  “This is kind of crazy. Should we call Detective Greenly?”

  “As you said, this is kind of crazy. Maybe we should work it through a little more first.”

  “I’m game.” He flipped open his laptop. “Why don’t you go talk to Mr. Evans at the bookstore? I’m going to do some more research on Medsci.”

  He watched her walk away, hair blowing in the slight breeze, slender shoulders braced in determination. Come on, Tim, you can do it.

  Turning to the screen, he willed himself to find the clue that would enable him to keep her safe.

  Mr. Evans greeted Ivy with a smile in the bookstore. “Hello, Ms. Beria. How was church?”

  “Fine. How did you know I went to church?”

  He pointed to her silk blouse. “A customer told me there was a special service this morning and that’s not your usual outfit.”

  She laughed. “I guess not. Mr. Evans, what can you tell me about Cannery Row?”

  His pale forehead creased. “I assume you mean Steinbeck’s Cannery Row?”

  “Unless there’s another one.”

  He laughed softly. “Not that I’m aware of. Well, let’s see. It was published in 1945, I believe. It’s basically a story about outsiders struggling to find their place in the world. The characters are unforgettable and poignantly drawn.” He hesitated. “I wouldn’t think the material would be much to your taste. Are you taking a literature class?”

  “No, no. A friend was talking to me about it and I wondered, that’s all. Do you have a copy?”

  He came out from behind the desk. “What kind of a bookstore would I be if I didn’t?” He went to a thick oak shelf and removed a paperback copy. “Here you go. The last one. I guess you’re not the only one interested in Steinbeck lately.”

  She reached for her purse and realized she hadn’t brought it. “Oh, man. Can I bring the money by later?”

  “I got it,” a familiar voice said.

  Ivy looked up to see Antonio, tanned and smiling, handing some bills to Mr. Evans.

  Her heart thumped. “You don’t need to do that.”

  “No problem. My little contribution to the Ivy fund. Want to get a cup of coffee?”

  “Coffee?” She felt disoriented as she thanked Mr. Evans and walked toward the door. “Did you come to the bookstore to ask me to coffee?”

  He laughed. “Nah. I was here arranging some training with Chief Strong. I saw you come in when I drove by. Well? How about that coffee?”

  “Um, no. I really can’t. Tim is waiting for me.”

  Antonio raised an eyebrow. “Carnelli? The computer geek?”

  Ivy felt an irritation stir inside her. “He’s not a geek. He’s been helping me search for a missing person, a friend of mine.”

  “Yeah, I heard about that. He won’t mind if you come have a cup of coffee.” He hesitated. “Or are you two an item?”

  She stifled the urge to fire off a sarcastic remark. “We’re trying to help a friend, that’s all, and we’ve got work to do today.”

  Antonio shrugged and they emerged into the bright sunlight. Across the street, Ivy saw Mitch sitting with Tim. “Why don’t you join us? The guys would love to talk to you.”

  He waved at Tim and Mitch. “No, thanks. I’ve gotta get moving. I’ll call you soon.”

  She watched him go, striding confidently down the street.


  Mitch gave her a gentle squeeze when she joined them. “Hi, V. What are you and Tim plotting? He’s acting like a secret agent or something.”

  “Plotting? Nothing much.” She wondered why Tim hadn’t filled her cousin in. Perhaps he thought the notion was so farfetched it was laughable.

  Mitch eyed the book in her hand. “Doing a little reading?”

  “Maybe. I’m thinking I should take up a nice restful hobby until I get my job back.”

  “You? Restful? That’s a good one. How’s your recovery looking, anyway?”

  “I went to talk to the chief yesterday because I got a message from her, only it wasn’t from her. It was some kind of a hoax.”

  His dark eyes widened. “Really?”

  “Yes. To lure me away from my apartment so someone could toss it.”

  His mouth dropped open. “Toss it? How bad?”

  “Let’s just say I’m going to be cleaning for the rest of the week.”

  He slumped in the chair. “Oh, man. That’s awful. I’m sorry.”

  She shrugged. “It’s down to a manageable size, thanks to Tim.”

  “Just call me the Clean Machine.” He winked at Ivy. “You ready to go?”

  “Uh, sure. Yeah. Let’s do that.” She gave Mitch a kiss on the cheek. “Are you doing okay?”

  He nodded. “Yes, I’m okay and, no, I’m not gambling.”

  She sighed inwardly. “I knew you weren’t.”

  Tim coughed. “We’re going to search for Moe this afternoon. Why don’t you come help?”

  He gave them a sad glance. “You don’t have to babysit me.”

  “It’s not babysitting. We could use another set of eyes.”

  “Okay.” Mitch stood up. “Why don’t we go now then? I’ve got some downtime. I’d be happy to help you beat the bushes.”

  Tim hesitated. “The police are combing the area this morning, and Ivy and I need to run an errand.”

  “Where to? Maybe I’ll come along.”

  “Sorry. My truck only seats two comfortably. I’ll call you when I get back.”

  Mitch watched them get into the truck. Ivy waved as they drove off. “Why didn’t you tell him about our wacky theory?”

  Tim shrugged. “I’m not sure. I guess I figured with all the worries he’s got on his plate right now, he didn’t need a crazy thing like that to ponder.”

  Ivy wondered if that was the only reason, but she didn’t press.

  “I got the book. Mr. Evans was informative as usual, but I don’t see how it will help with this Moe business. What errand are you talking about, by the way?”

  “First, I thought you might want to change into your play clothes and grab your radio pager and backpack.”

  “Why, will I need them?”

  “You won’t, but I know you feel happier when you can hear what kind of action your crew is getting.”

  She blushed. How did he know her so well? “Where are we going?”

  “Medsci’s main facility is an hour from here in Maple Grove. The man in charge of the ZTR7 project is a fellow by the name of Roger Smalley. I thought we might pay him a visit.”

  She shook her head. “You are amazing, Tim. Really amazing.”

  “Why, thank you. I aim to please.”

  As they rolled along, she noticed how the sunlight painted his forehead and the strong line of his jaw in a golden profile. You do please me and I want to please you, too, she thought with a shock. How had she not noticed it before? Because something had been in the way. Her mind wandered back to the moment in church where, for a second, she had let go of the anger and remembered Sadie.

  Sadie would have liked Tim. The thought had never occurred to her before, but she knew it was true. He wasn’t the loud, here-I-am kind of hero like Antonio. He was something much better, much quieter, much stronger, and Sadie would have figured that out long before she had, fool that she was. She realized in that moment that she was richly blessed to have them both in her life and her heart.

  He looked over. “What are you thinking about over there?”

  She felt her cheeks warm. “Nothing. I was just remembering something I’d forgotten.”

  He looked at her strangely for a minute. “Okay.”

  Unexpectedly, Antonio surfaced in her thoughts. She thought they were done, but here he was asking her to coffee. She’d once longed for that day. Now she wasn’t so sure.

  After a quick change of clothes, she joined Tim on the road again. True to Tim’s prediction, she had brought the radio along, but kept it turned low. The steady hum of radio traffic soothed her, reminded her of the goal. Find Moe, get her job back. Those were the only two things that mattered, at least that’s what she had told herself all along. Now she wondered if there might be another person to add to the equation. And it wasn’t just Antonio who filled her mind.

  She blinked away her kaleidoscope of feelings and tried to focus on Tim’s laptop screen while the miles on the highway crept by. The temperature rose as the sun shone in full glory overhead. It would probably top ninety again. Ivy eased on the air conditioner.

  “So what is ZTR7 exactly?”

  “A drug to treat autoimmune diseases. It’s in the early clinical trial phase but it’s showing promise, according to the scant research I’ve been able to find. The company is playing it close to the vest, letting out enough information to pique the interest of stockholders while holding back to protect their research.”

  Ivy thought of Cyril and her heart squeezed. “What does this possibly have to do with a guy like Cyril? He didn’t seem like the type to be interested in medical research.”

  “I don’t know. Whatever the secret was, it was a big enough reason for someone to kill him.”

  “We’ve got to figure this out, for Moe’s sake.” She thought of the poor guy, alone somewhere, upset by his friend’s murder. “Any word from Madge on Moe’s whereabouts?”

  “No. I called her this morning. She said the police are doing everything they can. Some of her church family has organized a search. She’d be out there pounding the pavement, too, I’m sure, but she doesn’t feel well.”

  They spent the next few miles brainstorming places to look for Moe after their mission at the drug company.

  An hour later they pulled into the parking lot of Medsci. The building was several stories high, a modern testament to sleek design.

  “Are we just going to walk in and ask to speak to Roger Smalley?”

  Tim nodded. “I don’t see how else to do it.”

  “What reason are we going to give for wanting to see him?”

  He looked sheepish. “I figured it would come to me eventually.”

  They headed through the mirrored glass doors of the Medsci lobby. A woman in a chic black suit sat behind a polished wood desk. “May I help you?”

  Tim gave her a charming smile. “Hello. Yes, we would like to speak to a Roger Smalley. I understand he’s a researcher here?”

  Her smile was cool. “We don’t disclose that kind of information. May I ask what business you need to discuss?”

  Ivy edged closer. “We need to talk to him about a personal matter regarding a mutual friend.” She was banking on the fact that Roger knew Cyril or Moe at least in passing.

  Her delicate eyebrow arched. “Can you be more specific please?”

  “No,” they both said in unison.

  Tim opened his mouth but she held up a hand. “Why don’t you have a seat and I’ll make a call. What did you say your names were?”

  Tim and Ivy repeated the information and dutifully sat in black padded chairs.

  “Do you think we were convincing?” Ivy whispered.

  “Convincingly suspicious,” he whispered back.

  The well-dressed lady hung up. “I’m sorry. There is no one available to speak with you now. Perhaps you can submit a comment or question via our Web site and someone will get back to you.”

  Ivy gave her a bright smile. “Oh, we’re not in a hurry. We don’t mind waiting.”
>
  She frowned. “Really, I think it wouldn’t be a good idea. We don’t have any personnel available to speak to you until next week sometime.”

  “We’ll settle for talking to someone about the ZTR7 project.” Ivy noticed a door in the corridor above them open. A man with a shiny bald head peered over the balcony, which looked down onto the lobby. He gave them a quick look before retreating to his office and quickly shutting the door.

  “I’m sorry,” the woman repeated. “It just isn’t possible. You are welcome to wait, but there won’t be any benefit to it. If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.” She turned away from them and began typing on her computer, her face bare of any emotion.

  Tim looked out the enormous entrance doors. “That’s okay. No problem. Thanks for your help.”

  He grabbed Ivy’s hand and hustled her out the door.

  “Where are we going? I thought we would wait a while and see who came out.”

  “Perfect plan. Why wait?” He pointed to the tall, balding man who was heading in the same direction, his back to them. A leather briefcase with a paper sticking out the bottom was tucked under his arm.

  They hustled to catch up with him. “Mr. Smalley?” Tim called.

  The man stiffened and continued to move away.

  “Mr. Smalley, we know it’s you. We have a question to ask.”

  He rustled in his pocket for the keys to a sleek green Jaguar. As he stumbled over an uneven spot on the pavement, the keys went flying. Ivy snatched them up.

  “Here you go, Mr. Smalley.” She kept a firm grip on the keys. “Just one question first.”

  His shoulders sagged, forehead furrowing into wrinkles on his speckled scalp. Ivy noticed that his eyebrows were so fair they almost seemed invisible on his face.

  He looked quickly from Tim to Ivy. “You don’t look like the police.”

  Tim frowned. “We’re not.”

  “What do you want?”

  “A friend of ours is missing. His name is Moe. He told us about you and ZTR7 before he disappeared,” Tim said. “We thought you could help.”

  Mr. Smalley’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know anybody named Moe. How did he know about ZTR7? Most of our research is secret.”