Infected

by Sophie Littlefield

  Looking back on her high school years before Tanner, Carina realized that she had been well on her way to becoming just like her mother and uncle, spending long hours on problems, fueling her passion for math and cryptography. On the track team, she pushed herself just as hard, and routinely won the long- and high-jump events. She sometimes skipped social events to stay home and study, something Nikki especially gave her a hard time about. Because Madelyn and Walter valued focus and drive, she worked hard to earn their admiration, trying to substitute it for their attention.

  Then she’d met Tanner and realized that her life could contain more than work and study. She had applied to Berkeley because of their strong math program, but she’d also looked forward to being near Tanner during college. Now, though, the future stretched ahead like a giant question mark. For the moment, she had a place to live—Sheila said she was welcome to stay with her until she left for college—and there was some sort of trust fund that Uncle Walter left that would pay for her schooling and whatever else she needed. She was a little hazy on the details, but she knew the lawyers would figure it all out.

  “We can check that address on my computer, if you want to come over,” Tanner said. “I mean, if you can.”

  Carina felt her mood slip, the brief distraction of decoding the address already fading. “I’m supposed to stay at Sheila’s tonight. I guess some people are coming over. Bringing food and all that.”

  After her mom’s funeral, the casseroles kept coming to her uncle’s house for several weeks. It was weird, the way people brought food when they didn’t know what else to do. And scientists had to be among the worst at expressing emotion; many of them seemed to be at a loss for words when they showed up with their Tupperware containers full of lasagna and salads.

  Almost a year ago, Carina had stood in the kitchen staring at the mounting pile of food on the counter, wishing she’d tried harder to be close to her mother. Maybe if she’d been more outgoing herself, the type of person who could chatter on about anything, or if they’d shared more interests—if Carina had asked her to take up tennis or yoga or go shopping once in a while—Madelyn would have opened up to her. Maybe if she’d simply pretended to need her mother more, for the kinds of talks other girls seemed to have with their moms, about boys and sex, she would have made it true. The problem was that Carina hadn’t had any questions left after her mother gave her a stack of books on the subject of sexuality and reproduction.

  “I understand,” Tanner said, resting his chin gently on top of her head. “I’ll be there, though, if you need me. Sitting by the phone.”

  Carina smiled against his smooth cotton shirt. “Yeah, I bet. I can just picture that.”

  Tanner was hardly the type to sit still. He’d taken up track in middle school when a gym teacher noticed him lapping the other kids during a class run and suggested he give it a try, as opposed to Carina, whose mother had always enrolled her in every after-school program she could find as a way of keeping Carina busy until she got home from work. After a season of cross-country, Tanner had tried the field events and discovered a talent for throwing things—shot, discus, and javelin—and he’d made the state finals for the last two years. He had the muscular build that resulted from intense training, a fact that girls never failed to appreciate.

  “Okay. Maybe not sitting, but—I’m there for you, Car, if you need me.”

  That made Carina remember the letter. Now was the best opportunity she would have to read it with Tanner for company—and she definitely didn’t want to read it alone. She glanced over at Sheila, who was glaring impatiently in their direction. She knew they didn’t have much time.

  “There is one thing,” she said hurriedly, taking the envelope from her purse. “I found it this morning, when we went by the house so I could pick up a few things.”

  She’d wanted to get a handbag that matched the navy dress, and Sheila had waited in the car while she went inside. It had been so strange to be in the house she’d shared with Walter, for the first time in nearly a week. His presence still lingered, in the newspaper he’d left folded on the hall table, in the faint scent of the coffee he loved so much. Carina had hurried to get her things, overcome by all the memories. After grabbing her purse and a few changes of clothes, she noticed the recycling can in the hall and remembered that it was pickup day. She took the can so she could dump it in the bin and wheel the bin out to the curb on her way out.

  A letter had been hidden under the can. The envelope bore her name in Uncle Walter’s handwriting, apparently left there before his trip to Texas, before the accident. Carina knew immediately that he’d wanted her to find it; he’d hidden it there knowing that she never forgot to take out the trash and recycling.

  When Carina discovered the letter, a wave of grief passed through her that was so strong she felt like she was going to break down on the spot. It was the last thing Uncle Walter gave to her, the last time he wrote her name, and suddenly all the feelings of love and loss that she’d been carefully suppressing for the last few days threatened to erupt. And that couldn’t happen. She had to go back outside and get in the car with Sheila and make conversation like nothing was wrong. The idea of confiding in Sheila was too uncomfortable to consider. Carina was grateful to have a place to stay, but the truth was that she and Sheila had been little more than friendly acquaintances until tragedy had forced them together.

  So she’d stuffed the letter into her purse for later.

  “He must not have meant for you to find it right away,” Tanner said. “Otherwise he would have left it out in the open.”

  “That’s what I was thinking.”

  “You want to open it now? I’d understand if you wanted to wait until you were in private.”

  “This is private. As private as I need it to be, anyway.”

  Carina opened the envelope with care and pulled out a single page, typed and signed in Uncle Walter’s careless, sloppy handwriting. A key fell out of the folded paper, a plain brass house key with no markings. Carina exchanged a look with Tanner, and they began to read.

  Carina,

  With any luck I’ll be back before you even see this, but just in case, I wanted to tell you two things. First of all, if anything happens to me, and I don’t mean to worry you, but just in case, you MUST be careful around Sheila Boylston. Do not speak to her about me. Try not to go anywhere with her alone.

  The second thing is that I’m so glad you’re in my life. I know you’re my niece, but I’ve come to think of you like a daughter, and I’m proud of everything you do and the person you are growing up to be. Sorry, that was probably a little mushy!

  If you do get this letter and I am gone, get to the address below as soon as you can, and use this key. Do not tell anyone where you are going. You’ll learn more when you get there.

  I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to talk to you about this sooner, but something has recently come up that makes this critically important.

  I am also sorry that I let things go this far, that I have allowed you to be endangered. I’ve been in denial. I couldn’t bring myself to believe that someone I trusted deeply had betrayed me. My work has been my life, Carina, but in the end my pride and ambition caused me to make some terrible mistakes.

  If I do return, as soon as I get back I will work out a new guardianship arrangement. I don’t mean to worry you needlessly, so if you find this before I come home, just set it aside and I’ll explain more later.

  Be good while I’m gone,

  Your Uncle W

  220 Gordon Place

  Apartment 2E

  (Between Stockton & Powell)

  The paper trembled in Carina’s hand, and she realized that she had stopped breathing somewhere after the first few sentences.

  “Holy shit,” Tanner said.

  “I don’t …”

  Carina scanned the letter a second time, trying to comprehend Walter’s message. But when she got to the bottom she still didn’t understand. He was insistent that she stay
away from Sheila Boylston—but why? Sheila and Walter had worked together for years, along with Madelyn. They’d written several papers together that had appeared in scientific journals, and submitted grant requests and research proposals. When Carina was younger she’d wondered if Sheila and Uncle Walter would get married someday, until she realized that each of them was essentially married to their job.

  Sheila had been perfectly kind ever since they’d gotten the terrible news. Granted, she hadn’t offered much in the way of comfort, at least not the hugging-and-hot-cocoa variety, but like Carina’s mother, Sheila had never been a warm, fuzzy person. She’d given Carina a room, food, bought her clothes, and even taken her to the spa. There really wasn’t much more she could have done, given that she was dealing with her own grief as well as planning the memorial and funeral.

  Uncle Walter had to have been mistaken about whatever he’d been worried about. Maybe they’d had an argument, or a misunderstanding, or—or—

  “That’s not like your uncle at all,” Tanner said uneasily. “He’s the most chill dad I know. I mean …” He looked embarrassed by his mistake.

  “No, it’s okay,” Carina said, covering his hand with her own. “He was like my dad. I just wonder why he didn’t talk to me about this instead of leaving a note.”

  “My guess is he was hoping he could wait to talk to you when he got back, and he didn’t want to scare you before he left. And also …” Tanner hesitated.

  “What?”

  “Well, it seems pretty paranoid, but I mean, if he was really worried, he might have been concerned that the house was bugged somehow. Listen, Carina …”

  “Just say it,” she said, trying to ignore the dizzy rush of fear Tanner’s words were causing.

  “Well, are you sure this is his signature? His handwriting?”

  Carina examined the letter and envelope carefully. It certainly looked like Walter’s blocky handwriting, his unintelligible signature. “I mean, yeah, I’m almost positive.”

  “So … that’s good.” But he looked doubtful.

  “Tell me. Whatever you’re thinking, Tanner, tell me.”

  “Just that it could be a fake. If someone had a copy of his writing, they could conceivably fool anyone who wasn’t an expert.”

  “Why? Why would anyone go to that kind of trouble? I mean, seriously, Tanner, that would be—that would mean Uncle Walter had been killed on purpose, and someone didn’t want me to trust Sheila, and they broke into our house and knew what day the recycling gets picked up—and left me this key—”

  “Yeah, I get it, it’s not very likely. But then again, neither is the idea that your uncle is tied up in some sort of … I don’t know, black-ops thing.”

  “Black-ops?”

  Tanner looked embarrassed. “Sorry, I don’t know what to call it. I don’t exactly have experience with this sort of thing. Listen—are you sure your uncle was working only on that nutrition project?”

  “Well, yeah.” His team had been working on it for several years, refining various kinds of proteins, trying to optimize delivery and packaging for portability in various environments and conditions. Walter hadn’t talked about the project much, saying he knew how boring the topic was to most people.

  Unless …

  Unless he made the whole thing up. Because he was secretly working on something else.

  “Because,” Tanner said carefully, as if he knew what she was thinking, “if he was working on something classified, and Sheila, I don’t know, wasn’t supposed to know—”

  “But that doesn’t make any sense. They worked together. They always did. My mom too.”

  Someone approached their bench, walking purposefully from the direction of the mourners, and Carina groaned. “Just what we need—Meacham.”

  “Who?”

  “One of the security guys who was sitting with me and Sheila? Baxter’s cool, but this guy—I don’t know, he’s got an overdeveloped sense of power or something. Listen—will you hang on to this? I’d just feel better about it in case he wants to go through my purse.” She pressed the folded letter and key into Tanner’s hand.

  “Sure, only I’ve never really heard of anyone being searched at a memorial service,” Tanner said, slipping the envelope into his pocket, covering the motion by shifting toward her.

  “I’m serious, Tanner, these guys have been all over me. Hi,” she added coldly as Meacham arrived in front of them.

  “Miss Monroe, Ms. Boylston asked me to have you join her.” The man barely spared a glance at Tanner.

  “Huh. Well, seeing as I’m in the middle of a conversation with my friend right now, that’s not really convenient.” Carina held Meacham’s gaze, even though a prickle of unease traveled down her spine. There … under his jacket. Shoulder holster, right? Which meant a gun. Which she’d always suspected, but now it seemed to imply that whatever he asked her to do was more than a friendly suggestion. Not that he’d ever use it on her, she knew, but it was hard to imagine saying no to a guy who was armed.

  “Perhaps you could talk to your friend another time.”

  “Hey.” Tanner got up and stepped between Carina and Meacham. “Over here? Yeah. Me. I’m the one she’s having the conversation with, and if she says she isn’t finished, then I guess she isn’t finished.”

  Meacham turned his head a fraction of an inch to stare—sunglasses and all—into Tanner’s eyes. They were about the same height, and the security guard matched Tanner’s solid build from the broad shoulders to the muscular neck, but he didn’t appear the least bit intimidated. “This really doesn’t concern you,” he muttered softly. “How about you go read a comic book or something.”

  “Leave him alone,” Carina said, getting to her feet. She grabbed Meacham’s arm, intending only to draw his attention away from Tanner.

  And a funny thing happened. Strange funny … and maybe a bit comical too, because somehow she pulled his arm a lot harder than she meant to, and he ended up tripping over his own feet. He stumbled as she leapt out of the way, and as he regained his footing his hand went to the inside of his jacket and suddenly he was crouched down in a shooter’s stance with a gun in his hand.

  “Are you out of your mind?” Tanner snapped, pulling Carina backward against him.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded as Meacham appeared to think twice and quickly, almost sheepishly, stowed his gun. Whatever she’d done, it had unsettled him—and left her feeling plenty unsettled as well. The almost electric surge of energy that had accompanied her actions had not entirely subsided, and her nerves felt like vibrating guitar strings.

  The feeling had to be caused by some sort of extreme adrenaline rush. She had eaten only a protein bar for breakfast, and it had been a very emotional morning; plus she’d been sitting still for too long. All of which should have made her less responsive, less alert, and certainly didn’t explain her move on Meacham. He was a trained professional. How she’d managed to outmaneuver him—without even trying—was a mystery.

  “Hey, hey, what’s going on?” Baxter was jogging over, his hand on his earpiece. Meacham scowled, dusting himself off.

  “Nothing,” Carina said hastily, wondering if Baxter had seen the way she’d made his partner stumble. She gave him a smile that was meant to be reassuring. “A misunderstanding.”

  Baxter’s expression softened. “Okay, Miss Monroe. Look, I know this is”—he cleared his throat before continuing, glaring at Meacham—“a hard day for you, and if there’s anything we can do to make it go easier—”

  “Maybe you could just keep Meacham company for a few minutes,” she said, grabbing Tanner’s hand and dragging him away, around the stone bench to the path that led farther into the gardens. She doubted it would be that simple, but she had to try. “We’re going to go talk. Okay? I’ll come find Sheila when we’re done.”

  “Well, what do you know,” said a familiar voice behind her. “I can save you the effort.”

  Carina whirled around and found Sheila standing wit
h her arms crossed a few steps down the cobblestone path. Her mouth was set in a grim line. Apparently she’d recovered from her grief and moved straight to fury.

  Carina moved closer to Tanner and gripped his hand tightly. “I told Meacham that I needed to finish talking to Tanner.”

  “And I wish there were time,” Sheila said smoothly, quickly rearranging her features into the bland expression she usually wore. “But unfortunately, something has come up that requires you and me to go straight back to my house. Alone.”

  “Why, did you leave the oven on?” Carina said, not bothering to hide her sarcasm.

  She had a smart-ass side that came out when she was stressed. It was something she’d been working on controlling, and more than once she’d had to apologize to Uncle Walter for something said in the heat of the moment. He had been very understanding. Sheila didn’t look like she intended to be. Carina thought she saw Baxter trying to cover up a grin.

  “No, the matter is of a far graver nature. As soon as we are alone I’ll fill you in.” She glared at Tanner, who scowled back.

  “Actually, I’m not going anywhere without Tanner,” Carina said as evenly as she could manage. “He’s my boyfriend and I need him today. I just lost my uncle, in case you forgot.”

  Sheila looked like she was going to snap back, but instead she clamped her mouth shut and exhaled hard. So subtly that Carina thought she might have imagined it, Sheila made a small motion with her hand, and Meacham edged closer, circling around so that he was positioned between them and the thinning crowd.

  “All right. In that case, Tanner is welcome to come back to the house with you for a while, but I really do need to speak to you in private for a moment. Tanner, you don’t mind, do you? Carina and I will be right under that tree.” She pointed at a flowering tree that shaded the path. “I promise we won’t go anywhere without you.”

  Carina exchanged a glance with Tanner and let go of his hand. As she followed Sheila to the tree several yards away, she wondered if it was possible that this new and combative side of her guardian could merely be the result of the stress she’d been under—or if there really was something to her uncle’s suspicions. Perhaps Walter and Sheila had had a fight before he died, and if Walter had lived they might have eventually patched things up, come to a new understanding. There was no way to know now, and Carina had to decide whom to trust—and fast.