by Renee Hart
She took out some key pages from several of the reports and photocopied them, then returned the files to the boxes where she'd found them. She made note of the name on the most recent report, which had been filed only a month ago. It was written by a woman named Elizabeth O'Conner.
She searched through the company's HR database until she found a phone number and extension for Mrs. O'Conner, at Dunham's Eastern Pennsylvania branch. It was time for Tessa to find out what was really going on here.
Chapter 5
“Hello, Elizabeth O'Conner speaking, how may I help you?”
“Hi,” Tessa said. She stood in her apartment, pacing around her living room. She'd gotten off work early so she could go home and make the phone call before O'Conner left her own office. “My name is Tessa Cunningham, and I'm with the Dunham Department of Information Resources. I've just gone over your most recent inspection report.”
“Oh,” the woman said. Her voice sounded tense. “I wasn't expecting a response so soon. Is something wrong?”
“Well,” Tessa said, “that's kind of what I'm calling to find out. You see, we sometimes need to follow up on reports that indicate any possible problems, and you had a few notes in your report that raised some red flags.”
Technically, this was only half-true. It was part of Tessa's job to investigate the reports and ensure they were accurate. But she was supposed to report any serious problems to Mr. Morgan. She already knew that he wouldn't look into this any further. She just hoped he didn't find out that she'd been taking matters into her own hands.
“Is this about the pesticide tests?” Elizabeth asked. “I made note of them in my report. There was nothing above that went above the minimum safety levels, but...”
“But?” Tessa stood still, holding the phone in a tight grip.
“Well...” Elizabeth hesitated, and Tessa could almost hear the woman mulling it over in her head. “I'm not sure what exactly it is you want from me. I filed my report, and I made sure everything was done according to protocol.”
That's true. But you also noted in your report that you think there might be a need for further investigation.”
“Are you investigating me?”
“What?” Tessa asked. “No...no. It's not that. You're not in any trouble or anything.”
“Then what's going on?” Elizabeth asked. “I've worked at four different facilities and done plenty of inspections. No one's ever called me to follow up on one.”
“I'm just trying to find out if there's some kind of risk.”
“I can't say.”
“Can't?” Tessa asked. She frowned. “What does that mean.”
There was a long pause. Tessa waited for awhile, then checked her phone screen to see if the call was still connected. “Hello?” Tessa asked.
“I'm here.” There was another long pause. “Look, I don't want to stir up any trouble, you understand?”
“I understand.” Tessa nervously smoothed the front of her shirt. “I don't want that, either. I just want to find out if there's anything going on that we should be concerned with.”
“Are you authorized to order a more detailed study?” Elizabeth asked. “My facilities here are a bit limited. We only have the equipment to run basic tests, checking for harmful levels of any chemicals and pesticides, that sort of thing. We green-light shipments, and they go out. To run more detailed tests, you'd need to have things sent off to an independent lab.”
Tessa chewed on her lip. She didn't have the first clue how to go about that sort of thing. She racked her brain, trying to figure out what she should do.
“Can you authorize something like that?” Elizabeth asked.
“No. Not exactly.”
“What, exactly? Who are you, anyway? What's your position?”
“I'm a data entry clerk,” Tessa said.
Elizabeth muttered a curse. “Gosh, I don't believe this. I thought you were management. I shouldn't even be talking to you.”
“Wait, but—”
Elizabeth hung up before Tessa could get another word in. Tessa stood there, staring at the phone. She'd given her name and department to the woman. If Elizabeth decided to report this...
Tessa set her phone down and rubbed her face with both hands. She was too pent up, her muscles tense, her thoughts running a mile a minute. She imagined Elizabeth reporting her to Mr. Morgan, or someone else in the company. She wondered if they'd fire her, or if she could get into legal trouble for overstepping her bounds. Even if she hadn't technically done anything that was against company policy, there was a chance she'd be terminated just because she knew too much. Except that she didn't really know anything. Not yet.
All she knew was that Dunham was using crops that were supposedly resistant to pesticides, and as a result, they were using some kind of pesticide that had alarmed several inspectors enough for them to report it. What if, she thought, those pesticides were being used at dangerous levels? What if their products were making people sick, and no one knew about it?
She considered what Elizabeth O'Conner had said. Most of Dunham's inspections, the ones that went through Tessa's department, at least, were conducted internally. And it would be an easy thing for the company to set up procedures that would keep their own inspectors from finding anything dangerous. They might not even know what to look for. Or, like Elizabeth had said, they might not possess the right equipment needed to find what they were looking for.
The only way she could think to find out would be to get an external lab involved.
That, she knew, would mean crossing a line that she couldn't come back from.
Chapter 6
A few days passed. Tessa was out working in her garden one sunny afternoon. She still hadn't figured out what, if anything, she was going to do. Part of her still wanted to drop the whole issue. It wasn't like she had proof that Dunham was making people sick. There was just the small possibility.
A possibility no one else at the company was investigating.
She pulled out a few handfuls of weeds and old roots, dropping them into a big plastic bucket. Then she carried the bucket to one of her neighbor's plots. Mrs. Mackenzie was an elderly widow with arthritis, so Tessa helped her out a lot with carrying out her garbage or sometimes bringing in groceries. She knelt down at a pile of leaves and weeds that Mrs. Mackenzie had pulled out of her own plot, and dropped them into the bucket. The wet leaves weighed more than she'd expected, weighing the bucket down. Tessa grasped the heavy bucket by the handle and headed off to the compost bin.
Her strength started to give out just when she got to the bin. She set the bucket down for a moment, took a deep breath, then hauled the bucket up to dump it into the compost bin.
It slipped out of her grasp, spilling leaves, roots, weeds, and specks of dirt all over the ground.
“Damn it,” she muttered. She was almost tempted to leave it all there. It wasn't like it was real litter when it was all biodegradable plant matter. But her neighbors would get irritable with her about it, and she didn't want to do something like that just because she was lazy.
She knelt down and started scooping up the debris, hauling it into the bin a double-handful at a time. When she was grabbing her second handful, someone crouched down next to her and started lending a hand.
“Had a little accident?”
She looked up and saw it was Mr. Jones. He was an elderly African American man who lived in Tessa's building. She didn't see him out and about much, other than when he was checking the mail or taking out his trash. There were rumors that he was an ex-con, and some people claimed he'd spent several decades in jail for a murder committed when he was a young man. Tessa couldn't see that in him. Even though they didn't talk much, he was always so reserved.
“This is what I get for not making two trips,” Tessa said, scooping up some more leaves.
“No harm done,” Mr. Jones said. He smiled at her, revealing the deep lines in his face. There was a sadness to his smile. As if he knew he only had so many
smiles to give, and each one was the loss of something beautiful.
Working together, they cleaned up the mess in no time. “Thanks,” she said, brushing off her hands. “Have a nice day.”
“You do the same.”
He watched her walk away as she circled around the building. He watched people a lot, she noticed. His apartment had one of the best views of the garden plot, and on many days he sat at his rear window, sipping tea, and watching the community around him as they worked on making things grow.
Tessa paused in her step, thinking it sad that such a sweet old man could only ever watch the making of life. She wondered if he would ever be interested in a patch of his own. She turned to ask him if he'd ever considered it, but he was already gone.
When she got back to her garden plot, Tessa found Samson there. He had a thermos and a few cups in his hand, and he was pouring some tea for a few of the neighbors. He poured her a cup and handed it to her. “For one of the loveliest gardeners in the community,” he said. “After Mrs. Mackenzie, of course.” He winked at her.
“Oh, stop,” Mrs. Mackenzie said, waving a hand at him and chuckling. “I could be your grandmother.”
Mrs. Mackenzie took her tea back to her own plot. Tessa stood with Samson, sharing a drink with him. He looked at her over the rim of his cup, studying her. “You're just a little ball of overwhelming stress today, aren't you?”
Tessa's shoulders slumped. “Is it that obvious?” She still hadn't told anyone about her situation at work. The burden of it was starting to get to her.
“Only because I'm used to seeing you so chipper.”
“Me?” she asked. “Chipper?” I gave him a look of mock irritation and rolled my eyes. “Please. I'm Grumpy McGrumpypants all the time. I'm really starting to hate my job.”
“Then quit.”
“Ha!” Tessa snorted and shook her head. “Yeah, sure. Just quit.”
“Why not?”
Tessa planted a fist on her hip and tilted her head to the side, raising her eyebrows at him. “Umm, hello? Rent, groceries, cell phone bill, et cetera.”
Samson shrugged. “Get a different job. One without all the stress. I can talk to the boss down at the music shop.”
Tessa shook her head. “Thanks, but I'll manage.” She had left the retail world after she finished college. That sort of career might be right for Samson, but he was clearly the sort of person who didn't have any aspirations of promotion and advancement. He would probably be content to work at the same little music shop for the rest of his life. Tessa couldn't imagine dealing with that. She'd hated working in retail. Customers could be so demanding.
“Well,” Samson said, pausing to sip his tea, “if there's anything I can do, you just let me know.”
Tessa sighed and shook her head. “Not unless you know any chemists or biologists.”
“Sure,” Samson said. “My friend Gregory, he works at the university. Part time professor, full time researcher. What do you need a chemist for?” He frowned at her in puzzlement.
Tessa blinked, staring at Samson for a moment. “Wait, you really know a chemist?” She downed the rest of her tea, then set the mug down on one of Samson's benches. “Can he like, run tests? For things like chemical fertilizer?”
Samson's eyes narrowed slightly. “This isn't about Topher, is it?”
They both glanced down the line of gardens at one of their more irritable neighbors. Topher was always overly-energetic, he who talked too much, and he never seemed to understand when Tessa was trying to avoid him. He grew vegetables that he took down to gardening shows, where he could win prizes for the biggest zucchini or the most perfectly shaped tomato. His crops were always bigger and thrived more than anyone else's. Tessa was pretty sure he used some kind of chemical fertilizer, despite the community rule that everything had to be natural and organic.
She shook her head. “No, it's not about him. But...if I brought your friend some samples, do you think he could run some tests for me?”
“Sure, I could ask. He'd want to know what it was for...” There was a look in Samson's eyes that told Tessa he was curious what this was about himself.
“I'll explain later. I've...got some things to figure out.”
She gave him a quick hug, then gathered her gardening supplies and headed back into her apartment. She quickly washed up, then turned on her computer and logged onto the Dunham network. She searched through it until she found the forms she was looking for, then printed them out.
She sat in her living room with the pages in hand, tapping her fingers against them. What she was considering could get her fired. But this issue wouldn't stop bugging her. She simply had to know.
And if she was going to pull it off, she realized, she was going to need help.
Chapter 7
Tessa paced around Samson's apartment, wringing her hands. He'd offered her some tea, though what she really needed was a stiff drink. “I want you do understand,” she said, “I'm not sure what I'm asking you to do is strictly legal.”
“Is it important?” he asked. Samson sat on a wicker chair, watching her pace. The entire apartment was decorated in wicker, rattan, throw rugs, and oriental lamps. There was an odd yet appropriate clashing to the decor. Nothing about it quite fit together, just like sometimes Tessa couldn't quite fit the things she knew about Samson together.
“I think it is,” she said. “It could be nothing. Nothing but covering up harmless use of GMOs because they're afraid of the bad publicity.”
“But?”
“But,” Tessa said, “it could be something more. I've seen a lot of reports indicating possible harmful levels of pesticides. Which could be hurting people. And the only way to find out is to get some tests done.”
“Okay,” Samson said. He slapped his hands on his knees and nodded, a determined look on his face. “What is it you need me to do?”
“Help me sneak samples out of one of our main sorting facilities.”
He frowned and rubbed his chin. “Can't we just get some Dunham products from the supermarket?”
“No.” Tessa made a cutting gesture with her hands. “That won't be good enough. Dunham's produce is triple-washed before it goes to the markets. In theory that helps make it safe, but residue from pesticides can be absorbed by the produce, or stick to the skin. Especially the skins of certain fruits, like apples. I think we need to get some samples before they've been washed, so we can get a complete sample. Find out exactly what's going into this food. Even if it's only in there at reduced levels after the produce has been washed, it might be the sort of thing that becomes dangerous when consumed in large quantities over a long period of time.”
“And you're worried those 'reduced levels' will be low enough to slip past most tests,” Samson said, “but high enough to still be dangerous.”
“I think so.” Tessa threw up her arms. “I mean, I don't know. I'm not a scientist. I'm going off what I've learned from online research here. But I have a list of some of the highest-risk fruits and vegetables. Apples, strawberries, grapes, celery, peaches. A few others. I want to get samples of each.”
“Okay.” Samson stood up and walked over to her, sticking his hands in his pockets. “So, you work for them. You can get us in, right?”
Her face scrunched up. “Sort of?”
“Uh-oh.” He rubbed his chin. “What does 'sort of' mean?”
“It means I found copies of all the forms needed to get the goods released to us, but I'm technically not authorized to submit the orders. I'd need signatures from upper management, like my boss, Mr. Morgan. And that's not going to happen.”
“So, if I'm hearing you right,” Samson said, smirking, “you need someone to play the role of 'Mr. Morgan' during your visit to the sorting facility.”
Tessa shrugged, her lips twisting in a wry grin. “Do you own a suit?”
* * *
They pulled up to the Dunham Enterprises Eastern Pennsylvania Sorting Facility mid-Saturday morning, driving a rented picku
p truck. Tessa was dressed in her smartest business suit, with a cream-colored blouse and maroon pants and jacket. This wasn't an unusual look for her; she dressed like this whenever there was an important meeting at work, always conscious of making the best impression.
Samson, on the other hand, was completely transformed. Not only was he wearing a suit and tie, he had also cut his hair. Instead of hanging down to the middle of his back, it was in a short ponytail that just brushed his neck. He was also clean-shaven, and Tessa was pretty sure she detected a hint of cologne.
“You look like a secret agent,” Tessa said as they got out of the car.
Samson pulled out a pair of dark sunglasses, put them on, and said, “Just call me Bond. Samson Bond.”
They walked up to the facility. Tessa tried to keep a purposeful stride in her step. People wouldn't be as likely to question them if they looked like they belonged here, like they knew what they were doing.
They walked in the front door and found a bored receptionist sitting at her desk, playing Angry Birds on her computer. Tessa walked right up to the desk and cleared her throat. The receptionist cleared her throat and sat up straight. “Can I help you?” she asked.
“Yes,” Tessa said, pulling some papers out of her briefcase and handing them to the girl. “I'm Ms. Cunningham, this is Mr. Morgan. We're from the Department of Information Resources. We're here to pick up some samples for inspection.”
The girl looked at the forms, her face tense. She skimmed the pages, licking her lips, but it was clear she had no idea what to do in this situation. “Umm, okay. Do you need me to call the floor manager?”