“What a good idea,” Dorothy said. “You should give me the website information so that I can do the same thing.” She helped herself to a sandwich. “Well, I do have the contacts, and I’m glad to reach out to them. I can help fund it too though not to that tune. Let me work on it and get back to you.”
“Great.” Camellia took a bite of her sandwich. “Love this kind of Swiss cheese. I used to try to make something like it with a neighbor’s leftover cream, but I was an abject failure. We did scoop my mess onto cereal though, and it didn’t taste too awful.”
Dorothy looked distressed.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“No, you didn’t,” Dorothy said. “I was thinking about how hard your life must have been.”
Camellia shrugged again. “We survived. The good news is that a couple of years ago I helped my brother Billy set up an online company offering imported cheeses from women-owned small businesses in poor communities. They’re often the only source of family income. It’s been a challenge to get it off the ground, but as of last month he was making a decent profit. My sister’s doing online work for him too. That’s great since she has the kids to take care of and wants to work from home. Now Billy plans to add exotic fruits produced by indigenous groups in the Amazon. I’m proud of him.”
“He owes you a lot.”
She shook her head. “No, I’m the one who owes him something. Being able to use the obscene amount of money NIP pays me makes me feel less guilty about taking it. And it makes it less painful to be constantly reminded that my looks are all that counts.”
Dorothy nodded. “I get that.”
Camellia considered her. “Yes, with your looks, you must.”
“Once upon a time I did have to deal with unwanted attention. But I was never in the limelight, and I had money to protect me. I could turn my back whenever I wanted.”
“Right. Anyhow, getting back to the foundation, I have an idea for a name. It could be The Birds and Bees. That would attract a lot of people thinking it’s something else and perhaps get them involved.”
“Clever. I like it.” Dorothy poured herself some tea.
They continued to make plans for the foundation while they ate. As they wrapped that up, Dorothy changed the subject. “I’m afraid I also had an ulterior motive for inviting you here.”
“Oh?”
“I’m not sure that you realize how strong my son’s feelings are for you, and I don’t want him hurt again.”
Camellia was surprised. “Again?”
“He was jilted by a woman who turned out to care more about money than about him. I think she decided that he wouldn’t inherit my millions soon enough.”
Camellia put her glass down. “That’s pathetic.”
“Yes, but unfortunately true. So, please tell me, where do you stand?”
Camellia paused, picked the glass up again and took a sip. She was reluctant to answer. Finally, she said, “He was pretty hard on me at first.”
“I know,” Dorothy agreed. “He told me. He’s been beating himself up about it ever since.”
“It wouldn’t seem to bode well.”
Dorothy shook her head. “You probably know that he first thought you were lined up with NIP positions. You certainly know he has a real problem with climate change deniers. He does need to work on it, and he knows that. But what you don’t know is that you reminded him of Sylvia. She was blond and beautiful like you and spunky though heaven knows, not as spunky as you are. You even wear the perfume he used to buy her. I’m sure he was scared to death he’d be hurt again. And now for the first time since then, he’s let himself be vulnerable.”
“I wondered about the perfume,” Camellia hesitated. “That’s a lot to absorb.”
“Please think about it. I know Barbara is interested in him, and I could encourage that, but you two are a perfect match. He’s a good man. He would die before he’d hurt you. Surely you realize it’s much more than your looks that matters to him.”
“There’s a devoted mother speaking. He’s really lucky to have you fighting for him. I respect that. But in all honesty, I don’t have a good track record trusting men.”
“Just give him a chance. That’s all I ask.”
Camellia tilted her head to one side. “I’ll think about it.”
Dorothy laughed. “He told me that when you do that, he knows you’re giving something serious thought. He’s become pretty good at reading you.”
“Too dad-blasted good. But I’ve figured out something about him too. He raises his eyebrows when he wants to challenge me or ask a question but isn’t about to,” Camellia said as she got up. “I need to head out now. Thanks again for working on the foundation with me. At the very least we’ll get that up and running.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
AROUND DUSK THE SAME DAY
CAMELLIA’S TOWNHOUSE
IT WAS UTTER CHAOS. When Camellia got back from Dorothy’s place, she opened the front door and surveyed widespread wreckage. The entry table was knocked on the floor, the couch cushions were scattered next to it, the desk drawers open, chairs upside down, the wastebasket overturned with papers flung everywhere, and the pictures askew. One had fallen off the wall, its glass shattered. Scatter rugs had been pushed back, and books were strewn all around the bookcase.
“Damn!” She dashed up to her bedroom and was enormously relieved to find Perky still in her cage, its door latched. The bedside table and dresser drawers were pulled out, their contents thrown on the floor. Her jewelry box was upside down with her jewelry scattered around it. The bedspread was half off the bed, the blankets tangled up. She went through the other rooms and found they had all suffered the same fate, the guest bedroom less so than the rest. The master bedroom bath wastebasket lay overturned, the hamper contents flung on the tile floor and the medicine chest left open, its contents knocked into the sink. Apart from the wastebasket flipped on its side, the guest bath was untouched. In the kitchen A
“Good grief!” she said as she entered the kitchen. The cabinet drawers were pulled out, their doors left open. Even the glass canisters next to the sink had been dumped upside down leaving the counters covered in flour and sugar. The flowers she had put in her old ceramic pitcher were lying in a pool of water on the kitchen table, and the pitcher itself was on the floor, broken into two pieces. She picked up the pieces and shook her head sadly. “Sorry, old friend,” told it.
The front door buzzer sounded, startling her so much that she dropped the remnants of the pitcher. She retrieved them, went back into the living room and picked up the intercom phone.
“Dressed for a visitor this time?” Kyle asked.
“I am, but my place sure isn’t,” she answered.
“What?!”
“Come on up and see.” She buzzed him in.
“What on earth happened?” he asked when he came in and saw the mess.
“I have no idea. It was like this when I got here a few minutes ago. I found it like you see it.”
“Is Perky ok?”
“Yes, thank god. That was what I checked right off.” She tilted her head. “That’s not the first thing most people would ask.”
“It’s what would matter most to you.” He looked at the broken pieces of vase. “Oh, for god’s sake, did whoever it was have to break that? Here, let me see, maybe it can be glued back together.”
She handed the pieces to him. “And that’s not the second thing most people would notice,” she said.
“Most people are idiots.”
She laughed. “There you go again. Thanks for reminding me that you’re not perfect.” She had been touched that he paid so much attention to what she cared about.
“Do you know if anything is missing?”
“Not as far as I can tell. The few pieces of decent jewelry I have are next to my jewelry box, with the box turned upside down. The whole place has been trashed. My laptop is on my desk. I can’t thi
nk of anything else worth stealing. The TV is bolted to the wall and much too heavy to be carried out of here anyway. Maybe the laptop would be worth a hundred or two, but that’s it, and like I said, it’s still here. Come back to the kitchen with me. That’s where he got in. I can’t imagine how he got around my security system, but he did.”
Kyle surveyed the ransacked kitchen, then went over to check out the back door. “Heck of a job climbing over the fence the way he must have. We’ve got to call the police and a locksmith. I’ll need to make sure you get much better locks on both of your doors. I can take care of that while you report the break in.”
Camellia picked up her phone and dialed 911. While she waited for a response she asked, “Why would anyone do this?”
Kyle was holding his phone but hadn’t dialed yet. “You’ve mentioned stalkers. Have you had any problems lately?”
Camellia was dismissive. “Oh, just a guy with a seriously deficient IQ. Hasn’t got the sense God gave a goose. They take him in every now and then and tell him to leave me alone. I’ve refused to press charges. He’s harmless. But I suppose now they’ll give him a hard time.”
“I’m sure they will.”
The 911 operator came on, and Camellia told her what had happened.
Kyle checked the location of the nearest locksmith and placed a call.
“It doesn’t make sense,” Camellia said after they had both hung up. “But maybe the police will be able to figure it out. How come you’re here anyhow?”
“I texted you and you didn’t respond this time either, so I came over. I’d heard about Frank and knew you’d be worried. What’s the latest?”
“I saw the text, but I was busy dealing with all this.” She looked around the trashed room. “He’s still in intensive care. The doctor hasn’t been able to…”
She paused as her phone rang. “I’d better take it, could be about Frank.” She picked up the kitchen extension and listened to what someone was saying, her expression increasingly concerned, and then hung up.
“He’s worse?” Kyle asked.
“It’s not that. I was just warned not to talk about Russian intentions in the Arctic. The voice seemed disguised, but he said that if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be around much longer.”
Kyle picked the flowers up from the table, got a tall glass and put them in it. “Welcome to my world. Couldn’t tell you how many death threats I’ve gotten over the years. Happens to a lot of climate scientists and activists. You find things like dead rats, garbage or horse manure in your mailbox. Or you get emails threatening to kill your family or your pet dog which in my case wouldn’t even apply. Maybe someone thinks you’ve joined our ranks.” He filled the glass with water, put the flowers in it and placed it on the table. They were mostly twisted with petals and leaves broken off. “Which reminds me, I gather Trotford has been receiving death threats now that people know he infected the President.”
Camellia frowned as she wiped flour and sugar off the counter. “I doubt that he’ll be more understanding of what happens to scientists as a result. I haven’t shared with viewers that he caught the disease through negligence. If they knew that, he’d really have to worry about death threats. But as for the call, it could have just been another of my crazy stalkers. Though that isn’t the kind of thing most of them say. It’s true that I’ve gotten more malicious calls lately from viewers who take issue with my comments and have somehow managed to find my unlisted phone number,” she admitted. She still didn’t want him to know how threatening the calls had been, so she rinsed out the sponge she’d been using, then turned to him and said, “You’re not going to like this.”
“What?”
“Speaking of garbage, I didn’t tell you that someone dumped my trash all over the front steps the day before you gave your methane talk and someone left a dead rat on the bottom step after that. There was also a nasty note pinned to my door. So maybe you’re right. Maybe it was someone who doesn’t exactly like me.” She didn’t tell him about the skull and crossbones, the rag doll or the broken window and especially not about the attack when they got back from Siberia.
“Damn! Did you report all that to the police?”
“Yes. But nothing came of it.” She squeezed water out of the sponge. “And I’ve had to report so many crank calls that I don’t think they really pay attention to me anymore. Maybe this break in will make a difference.”
“It darned well better.” Kyle slammed a cabinet drawer shut and went over to her. “You should have told me about all this.” He was angry.
“I figured you’d have a conniption fit, and I was right.”
He took her by the shoulders and shook her slightly. “It’s because I care. You absolutely must know that by now.”
“Umm.”
“Well, if this doesn’t tell you, nothing will.” He drew her into his arms, kissed her fiercely until he could feel her pulse begin to race and then stepped back before she had a chance to pull away.
“Oh,” was all she could manage to say as she caught her breath.
Not wanting to press her further, Kyle turned to the kitchen table, gathered up flower petals and leaves littering the tablecloth and put them in her compost pot. He decided she might be more comfortable if he changed the subject. “By the way, anything new on Trotford’s possible connection to a Russian firm? Sure would be good to nail something to him.”
“Not yet unfortunately. But the way he runs on these days about the need for drilling, he could talk the hind legs off a dog. Shouldn’t we leave the rest of this for the police to see?”
“Right.”
They went back into the living room and put the couch cushions back where they belonged. They sat down on it together in silence, each thinking separate thoughts. She did sit close enough for their legs to touch, leaned against him and didn’t move away when he put an arm around her shoulders. The mood was broken by the arrival of the police.
A senior detective supervised the proceedings as other officers fanned out to check the various rooms and catalogue the damage. A locksmith arrived while they were at work. He replaced the backdoor lock and added a heavy-duty bolt to it. Then he added more secure locks to the front door and windows. Camellia called the security company and arranged for them to come out and beef up her system.
When the police left Kyle said, “You can’t stay here tonight with your place like this.”
“It’s safe now. I’ll be fine,” she said.
“I don’t like it,” he said. “Either let me stay with you or come home with me.”
“No,” she insisted. “I’ll be ok. I need to pull myself together. I can do that best if I’m here by myself, and I wouldn’t dream of leaving Perky alone right now. Besides, you heard the police say they’ll keep an eye on my place for a few days. If you really want, you can help me straighten up a bit more.”
He sighed, realizing that it was pointless to object. “What is it you Southerners would say, something like you could make a preacher cuss, right?”
“You’re learning,” she said. “Come on, we’ve done enough with the kitchen, let’s straighten the living room and my bedroom a little more. The guest room was hardly touched so we can skip that. Then you can go home.”
He left a half hour later reluctantly, taking the broken pieces of the pitcher with him.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
NEXT DAY
NIP ANCHOR DESK
“I HAVE THE VERY SADDEST NEWS TO REPORT,” Camellia said. She held a crumpled tissue in her hands. A black linen jacket was draped around her shoulders. Her hair was tied back haphazardly.
“Our beloved colleague, Frank Cho has died,” she managed to say. “He hung in there and fought as hard as he possibly could. He did manage to ask that we take care of his family.” She stopped, pulled another tissue out of a box on the desk and wiped tears from her eyes.
“I knew him. We were close friends. His son Bobby adores him. Adored him. Lord knows i
f his wife Sujin or Bobby were infected before they were vaccinated.” She dabbed her eyes with the tissue. “Frank was such a good guy. The very best. He liked to play practical jokes. Harmless jokes. Like adding salt instead of sugar to your coffee or suddenly popping a balloon behind you. Halloween he’d come in dressed as Batman or Spiderman and hand out candy corn. He simply didn’t deserve to die like that.” She dabbed at her eyes again. “He was only 34 years old.”
Camellia started to cry, grabbed a whole wad of tissues and wiped her eyes furiously, smearing her makeup. She put her head down on the desk, and her body wracked with sobs. Someone in the control room indicated she was being cut off. A sponsor’s ad showed on the screen. Stacey and a makeup artist rushed over to clean her up.
When Camellia had herself back under control, she continued. “We have new skyrocketing figures on the worldwide death count from the Mystery Fever thus far. It’s a guess of course, but approximately 1150, most of them in the D.C. area. And we’ve just learned that the donors who went to Ireland and Puerto Rico have not only caught the disease, they’ve infected others who are also dying. We hear some European countries are considering closing their borders though how they could manage that effectively is a good question. With our vast country there’s no way we could separate parts of it. Here’s Chakir Almasi reporting from Paris.
Chakir was standing in front of the Hospital Du Perray, mic in hand. There was a larger crowd nearby than last time with police around the edges. “There have now been 187 victims brought into this hospital alone,” Chakir reported. “We’ve lost 156 already. The doctors aren’t holding out much hope for the others. There aren’t enough beds, so patients who should be in intensive care are lined up in the hallways, cordoned off. The city morgues are being overwhelmed. Funeral homes can’t cope with so many requests. And now we’re having a problem with family members who are resisting quarantine. You can see the police don’t quite know what to do.”
The camera panned to the crowd that had become restless with some jostling and cursing. The gendarmes were clearly concerned but still standing by patiently.
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