Calamity

by Gail McCormick

  “I’m sure you’re right about that.”

  “Neither he nor his wife inherited money. Altogether his salary certainly doesn’t begin to cover those luxuries.”

  “I’d guess his wife stays in Ohio to avoid him,” Camellia said. “She must be aware of his philandering. But all that certainly makes you wonder even more what goes on with him.”

  “Indeed it does.” He reached in a pants pocket and pulled out a bulky wrinkled packet of seeds and handed it to her. “I forgot this. Pretty crumpled up having been in this pocket all day. These come from the Amazon. They’re produced sustainably.”

  Camellia laughed. “Of course they are.”

  As he handed her the packet some of the seeds spilled out. They got down on the floor, and he scooped some up as she cupped her hands for him to give them to her. They were so close he got a whiff of her perfume.

  “It’s Botanical Essence, isn’t it?” he asked, adding more seeds to her cupped hands.

  She backed off and got up holding the seeds. “How on earth did you know that?”

  “I used to buy it for someone,” he said reluctantly as he stood up too, then changed the subject. “What’s the deal with the Macaw?

  “I guess that’s the kind of perfume you would buy since it’s one of the few that’s organic.” She wanted to know more but instead answered his question. “I was in Brazil working on a story about wildlife trafficking in endangered birds. That’s how I stumbled on the fact that some godawful traffickers had trapped her, planning to sell her here in the U.S. They’d already decimated the entire flock, so I couldn’t do anything about that. When she was the only one left, they broke her fragile little wings and injured her back trying to stuff her in a stocking inside a thermos to take her on an airplane. They couldn’t sell her with broken wings and were going to throw her in the trash. Poor thing was just a baby. So I offered enough money for them to let me have her, and I brought her home since there was no way she’d ever be able to be returned to the wild. Perky’s doing pretty well here, all things considered. I do need to get her a new cage to give her more room now that she’s grown.”

  “Perky?”

  “She seems to perk up when I carry her over to the window so that she can see out. I think when she clucks it means she’s happy. She has a hard time preening to clean her feathers. That’s probably due to the back injury, but she likes to sit on my shoulder. Hard to believe what bastards some people are. But getting back to the seeds, hold your horses, no more gifts. For me it’s like water off a duck’s back.”

  “Ok, maybe not more seeds. I can’t promise there won’t be other things though.”

  “Where I come from it’s called moving faster than a hot knife through butter. You’re barking up the wrong tree. I’m still smarting from our initial clash. I’m not at all sure I like you.”

  “But it’s such a lovely tree,” he said. ”Trees need to be watered and fertilized if they’re going to thrive,” he added. “They need to be tended.”

  When he smiled as he spoke, she thought he’d be able to melt ice, not just butter. But she had no intention of being tended by him or anyone else, let alone melted. It was pretty clear what being tended meant.

  When she didn’t respond, he said, “Well, don’t get your feathers ruffled, as you Southerners might put it. We Northerners are known to be tenacious.” He was definitely planning to be tenacious.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  NEXT EVENING

  NIP ANCHOR DESK

  MANHATTAN

  THERE WAS NO WAY CAMELLIA WOULD RISK SITTING NEXT TO DUDLEY TROTFORD on the couch frequently used for interviewing guests. He might behave, but she couldn’t count on it. She settled behind the anchor desk with Trotford seated across from her. She was wearing a sleeveless dress in, almost knee length and 3” heels. Both shoes were on her feet this time.

  “Welcome back, Senator Trotford. I gather you watched Dr. Harden’s comments and wanted to respond immediately. I’ve heard a lot from our viewers both pro and con. What do you have to say?”

  He appeared to be stone cold sober. “He’s a damned fool. Those scientists are only trying to get money for their pet projects and waste our time with lies. They should get a real job.” He removed a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his forehead. “Hot in here.”

  Camellia didn’t respond to that. Someone had turned the a/c up again, and she was freezing. This time she didn’t really mind since she was trying to cool off after having been out in the increasingly oppressive heat.

  “They’re such dim-wits they should sell toothpaste,” Trotford continued. “Girl Scout cookies would be even better. At least that would make a positive contribution. Anyhow, melting permafrost isn’t a big deal. We can take care of it. I keep telling people that. Probably won’t melt much more anyway. Bubonic plague, what, is he nuts?!” He shoved his sleeve up and started to scratch his right arm furiously as he spoke. “We have to develop every possible source of gas and oil to keep our economy strong. And revive the coal industry. It could help us pay down the national debt.” He wiped his forehead again. “That thing you call The Spooky Siberian can go in a museum. It’s harmless. The Smithsonian. Yeah. Make the crackbrained liberals happy. Better yet, Ripley’s Believe It Or Not Museum.”

  Camellia was interrupted by Stacey who handed her a note. Scanning it quickly, she looked first into the camera and then at the Senator. “An anonymous source tells us you were heard at a fundraiser saying you really went to Siberia to see if it would be a good location to drill for oil and gas. What is your response to that?”

  “It’s a god damned set up. Spies everywhere.” He looked around. “At least you don’t have them here. Gotta love NIP. Good people. You always support the administration. You even give the President sound advice.” He unbuttoned the top button on his shirt. “A god damn liberal must have sneaked into the fundraiser. Ought to be found and arrested. Believe me, it’s just fake news from the left.” He wiped his brow and scratched his arm again. “I need a glass of water. Put some ice in it.”

  Stacey brought him a paper cup of water. He gulped it down so fast that some of it spilled down the front of his jacket. Dabbing at it with his handkerchief, he went on, “Everyone knows I work for the best interests of…of the….”

  He started to stand up, tried to steady himself leaning against Camellia’s desk and grasping the edge. But he lost his grip and collapsed onto the floor.

  As staffers rushed over, the screen switched to a commercial.

  Camellia stood up and shouted, “Get an ambulance!”

  Stacey dialed 911. Others came over and clustered around him.

  Frank Cho pushed through the group. “I’m an EMT. Let me have a look.” He knelt down and felt Senator Trotford’s forehead. “He’s burning up.” He lifted the Senator’s right arm. “What a rash. I’ve never seen anything like that before.” He shook his head, puzzled.

  One of the staffers came closer to get a look.

  “Don’t touch him,” Frank cautioned. “Don’t try to move him until the medics arrive.”

  Everyone else backed off. Frank stayed where he was.

  Senator Trotford tried to say something. He grabbed Frank by his jacket lapels, pulled him closer, and mumbled, “Brav… Braver. Save my dog Braver.” With that he closed his eyes.

  Medics dashed into the room, put him on a stretcher and took him away. Camellia picked up the cell phone Trotford had dropped, and absently put it in her pocket, then walked back to the anchor desk.

  Live again she said, “Senator Trotford has been taken to the hospital. We don’t know what happened to him but will fill you in as soon as we have word. Turning now to the wildfires in Arizona, here’s a report from William Jackson on the scene.”

  The screen switched to Arizona.

  “Hey, Bill, how’s it going out there?”

  The reporter wore a jacket with a NIP logo on it. His dark skin was made darker by the thick smo
ke surrounding him. “The fires are completely out of control and have scorched two thousand acres not far from the Capital,” he said. “Most of Arizona is currently in severe, extreme or exceptional drought. The dry winter and prevailing heat wave have increased the risk of such fires.”

  While he was talking, Camellia thought about what else she would say before she wrapped up. Should I spend a few hours in my office so that it won’t be quite so hot when I head home? Cooler would be much better.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  SAME DAY

  LATE EVENING

  FRONT STEPS

  CAMELLIA’S TOWNHOUSE

  IT WAS A STINKING MESS. The empty garbage can and recycle bin were upside down blocking Camellia’s bottom step. Pages from the New York Times were scattered everywhere.

  She’d just gotten back from NIP. The extra spent time in her office put her arrival at ten p.m., and she was still reeling from what had happened to Trotford. She emerged from a cab and headed for her front steps. Moving the can and bin aside, she found their contents splattered everywhere. In the still sweltering heat, it was already beginning to reek. She looked up and down the street but didn’t see anyone in the dim light.

  Fuzzball was curled up under the steps, lying on the blanket she had arranged for him. He didn’t move when she went around and stooped to pick up the empty food and water dishes. “With all that ratty fur I don’t know how you don’t roast,” Camellia said. “You’re not ready to let me clean you up yet, but one of these days…”

  It was hard to avoid stepping on trash as she made her way up to the entry, unlocked the door, went in, and relocked it. Once inside she realized she had a squashed tomato on the bottom of her right shoe. She put the cat’s dishes down, took both shoes off, and carried them into the half bath where she ran water over the messy shoe. Then she pulled out her cell phone and called the company that maintained the building, leaving a message for someone to clean up the mess in the morning. She considered calling the police, but figured it would be a waste of time. My life certainly is becoming messy she thought.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  NEXT DAY

  EARLY EVENING

  LIVING ROOM

  CAMELLIA’s TOWNHOUSE

  THE BUZZER CAUGHT CAMELLIA BY SURPRISE. It alerted her that there was someone outside. “Any chance you’re up for a visit?” Kyle asked when she picked up the intercom phone.

  “I just stepped out of the shower and am wrapped in a towel,” she said.

  “A towel is fine. Don’t get all gussied up for me,” he replied.

  “Very funny. I’ll buzz you in, but you’ll have to wait in the living room until I put a robe on.”

  Camellia was wearing a very short silk robe and flicking wet hair with her fingers to dry it when she came into the living room. Kyle stood by the door, holding a large bird cage rounded at the top with ornate trim edging the sides and a fancy yellow ribbon dangling from its bottom.

  “You’re getting to be a habit,” she said. “And what’s this supposed to be?” she demanded as she pointed to the bird cage. “You know, when you pay no attention to what I say, you’re dumber than a bag of hammers.”

  Kyle’s response was blunt. “Not all habits are a bad thing. And I did hear you, but I figured Perky could use a bigger cage since you mentioned you needed to get one and clearly hadn’t had a chance to do it. I hope this is big enough.”

  “Absolutely no more gifts. You’re making me as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.” Why did he have to be so smart that he would choose something she couldn’t refuse unlike her last boyfriend whose diamond bracelet she had found easy to turn down?

  Kyle raised his eyebrows, but ignored that. He put the cage on the coffee table and removed a cotton jacket with a starving polar bear on the back, words below reading POOR BEAR and below that ANYONE REALLY CARE? He tossed it on the back of one of the green chairs. “Sorry, I should have called ahead. I was in your neighborhood, and I thought you’d want to know the doctors haven’t figured out what happened to Trotford. And I did want to get Perky’s cage to you.” He wasn’t about to tell her he was in her neighborhood specifically because he wanted to see her with or without a cage. “But I’ll leave if you want. I can see you’re not exactly dressed for visitors. I’ll bet the towel covered more of you than that robe does.”

  She pulled the bottom edge of her robe down and said, “No. Stick around. I do want to hear what you found out.”

  “They think with his really weird rash, extremely high fever and sudden collapse it might be something they’ve never seen before. The rash in particular has them baffled. I told them I’d guess it could conceivably be related to the Spooky Siberian bone, as you call it, that he picked up.” With that he sat down. “He’s in intensive care right now. Barely hanging on.”

  Camellia went over to turn on a lamp with a base carved from a piece of driftwood. It was overcast, so the light was dim. “What did they say to that?”

  “They promised to check it out. And they’re going to see if they can find a vaccine used for other diseases that could work on this thing if he’s infected anyone else. They think it could well be the case.” He got back up, went to turn on another lamp, this one with a glass base filled with sea shells. “You have some great furniture.” Lit up the shells sparkled. “I sure hope they come up with something. Hate to think what could happen if not.”

  Camellia sat on the edge of a chair carefully, still managing to keep the slippery robe down far enough to be reasonably decent. “I didn’t mention this on the news, but the same guy who told us about Trotford’s comments at the fundraiser said there’s evidence he’s tied closely somehow to a Russian company. One that wants to drill somewhere new in the Arctic. He wasn’t on the list of attendees. No idea how he slipped in or even who he is since he contacted us using a secure email account. He wouldn’t show us his proof, so we didn’t feel we could put it out especially since public sympathy is with Trotford right now. And he’d certainly sue us if we don’t have proof. Besides NIP generally favors him as you well know.”

  “Thanks for sharing that. It could be worth checking out. Reminds me of his meeting with someone in Moscow. We have no idea what that was about. By the way, I heard something about a dog. What’s the story?”

  “Trotford has a German Shepard named Braver that was trained to sniff bombs. It was deployed to Afghanistan. He adopted it when it was sent back after its handler was killed by an IED. He keeps it in his D.C. apartment. Owen offered to take care of Braver. Apparently the sergeant was a college friend, and Trotford is trying hard to help the dog adjust.”

  “Well, who would have guessed? Seems the Senator’s not all bad after all. So, Owen is your go to guy?” Kyle raised his eyebrows.

  “His girlfriend isn’t happy about the dog. It pretty much lies around unresponsive, poor thing. But Karen will put up with Braver until I can find him another home.”

  “He has a girlfriend?”

  “Karen. Sure, why on Earth not?”

  “You two are together all the time, and he’s very handsome. I thought maybe…” Unwilling to finish his thought, he stopped. When she didn’t respond, he said, “He was certainly holding you close on the plane.”

  She shook her head and frowned at him. “That’s because he knows I’m claustrophobic. Without his support I would probably have pried the door open and jumped out.” She couldn’t miss his look of relief. “Good grief, he’s one of the few men who doesn’t hit on me.” Her emphasis was on the word doesn’t. “A bit like you that way, come to think of it.” She tilted her head and gave him a thoughtful look. “At least so far.”

  He was aware that he appealed to women and suspected that he appealed to her too, so he was relieved to hear that he wouldn’t have to try to take her away from Owen since he was beginning to consider him a friend, and he knew perfectly well that he would pursue her regardless. “Don’t count on that not changi
ng,” he said. “You do need to do a better job of holding that scanty thing down.”

  She flushed as she pulled on the bottom of the robe and stood up. “Hang on, I’ll be right back.” She left the room, went upstairs and returned a few minutes later in an orange blouse and a linen skirt. “Would you do the back buttons on this blouse? Dad blasted things are impossible.”

  “Any plans for after the program tonight?” He asked as he reached behind her to fasten the buttons.

  She shivered involuntarily as he carefully lifted her hair to reach the top button after finishing with the bottom ones and was dismayed to find herself reacting to his touch. I am absolutely not letting this guy get to me she told herself as she pulled away and said, “Just boning up on methane, thanks to you, buster. Great way to spend my spare time.”

  “I’d be happy to help with that too.” So he was right. From her reaction, she did find him appealing.

  With her head cocked to one side again, she considered him. “I’ll bet that’s what all the co-eds would like to hear from you.”

  “I didn’t quite get that last button,” he said.

  “No problem, I can reach it.” She backed away and took care of it herself.

  He raised his eyebrows again then said, “As for my students, not happening. Now you on the other hand…”

  “Speaking of pets, what’s the story with your pika?” she interrupted quickly.

  “Oh. I was out in Utah checking the connection between disappearing pika populations and climate change. Their habitats have become hotter and drier in the summer, harsher in the winter. Less snow cover makes it difficult, even impossible to insulate their underground burrows. It’s not clear to what degree disappearing populations are related to climate change, but there are places now where they can’t survive.”