A month into their long-distance relationship, Chuck quizzed Peggy Lee about her views on environmental preservation and when he flew to Wilmington later that week, he told her about Project Antisis.
“His vision seemed so admirable and so important to the health of the planet,” Peggy Lee said. “We were in his hotel room, eating room-service food, when the idea came to him. A product using one of his company’s adhesives and a synthetic version of the wild leafy shiff bush extract. Something that girls would put on their skin to ultimately reduce population growth and save natural resources.”
I swallowed my last bite of quesadilla and started on a Coors Light. “That’s when the two of you came up with Derma-Zing.”
“Right. Derma-Zing was phase one of Project Antisis. Chuck had been planning the project for years. He already had the name, a play on the goddess of fertility. He just hadn’t yet figured out how to implement his vision. Anyway, we discussed it and realized the skin adhesive idea would work. So he hired marketing people to handle the advertising and stuff. Once Derma-Zing ran its cycle, Chuck planned to move forward with another product. Phase two.”
From my perch on the mammoth ship, a pleasure boat cruising past looked like a toy. “And you went along with this plan, no questions asked?”
“He convinced me it was all for the better good,” she said. “At that point, I’d have done anything for Chuck. Plus he said that the girls could get pregnant later on, after they’d stopped using the product. I guess I convinced myself that was true, so really, we wouldn’t be doing any harm.”
“But deep inside, you knew that the majority of the girls would never be able to have a child, didn’t you?” Studying her, I couldn’t grasp that the woman in front of me was capable of participating in such a horrendous act.
“I don’t know. Maybe,” she said. “I just loved him. I loved him so much and I believed everything he said. It’s almost like I was under his control. I guess it took me getting pregnant to see things clearly.”
She talked for another half-hour and finally, the story and the guilt purged from her system, Peggy Lee gained an appetite and dug in to her food. When she finished, she ate my leftovers.
I asked the chemist about the items they’d found in her apartment, including the book on depression. I’d seen the detailed list.
“There’s nothing in my apartment on Project Antisis. Nothing. Not even my past research notes. Everything was at the lab. Chuck insisted on it. And the self-help book on depression? It’s not mine. The only books I have are chemistry books.”
I caught a glimpse of Ox and Paul out of the corner of my eye. Paul had barely said three words to me since he appeared in my home, but now he and Ox were laughing like old fishing buddies. Or in Paul’s case with the hang-ten duds, old surfing buddies.
“What about your diary?”
Lines appeared on Peggy Lee’s forehead. “I have a diary, yes. I used to call it my depression diary. It was sort of like going to therapy, I guess. Only I’d write my thoughts down instead of talking to somebody. When I met Chuck, I was happy and quit writing in it.”
Ashton called to tell me he was on the way over with someone to take an official statement from the chemist. If there was enough evidence to do so, they’d arrest Holloman in Roanoke, Virginia. If not, they’d simply pick him up for questioning.
“He’s going to pin everything on you, Peggy Lee. You’re the chemist, and the lone employee at the Wilmington lab. You did the research on the shiff bush. There’s incriminating verbiage in your handwritten diary. The notes on Project Antisis were found in your apartment. It doesn’t look good.”
“But it was his plan, not mine! And Chuck was sleeping with me, to make me fall in love so I’d go along with what he wanted. He said we’d get married.”
I finished the beer and considered a second one. “So? He was sleeping with his live-in girlfriend, too. Not to mention the receptionist at ECH Chemical Engineering&Consulting. He’ll say you were just another lay.”
She let out a wail that turned into sobbing. I can’t stand crying, especially when it’s coming from an adult. I grabbed another beer and joined Ox and Paul at the deck’s railing. A short time later, Ashton came aboard with an assistant.
He nodded in the direction of Peggy Lee. “Can you make her stop crying? We need to get a statement.”
“Not my job,” I answered. “But if you’ve brought some food, she may stop wailing long enough to eat again. She’s eating for two, you know.”
We looked up to see one of the security guards leading a group tour: Spud, Fran, Bobby, and Lindsey.
“For Chrissakes,” Ashton said. “This is supposed to be a safe house, not a damn party pad.”
“I overheard Jersey and Ox talking about this floating hideout.” Spud’s cane shrugged. “Doodlebug wanted to see the ship. And Fran made a pie for the chemist lady.”
“It’s lemon,” Fran interrupted. “I must have gone through a lemon pie a week when I was pregnant.”
“And Bobby’s here because we drove his van,” Spud finished. “We couldn’t just leave him out there.”
“There you go,” I said to Ashton. “Problem solved. Feed the chemist some pie and you can get your statement.”
The guard took my father, his girlfriend, Lindsey, and Bobby on a tour of the ship while Ashton’s assistant carried the pie to the captain’s quarters.
An hour later, we’d lost Spud and his entourage and we’d run out of beer, but at least Ashton had the statement he came for. As I figured, he said they’d question Holloman, but there wasn’t enough evidence to arrest him. The crazy man with a God-complex would probably go free.
“What will you do with the chemist?” I asked.
“Keep her here for a few days. Most likely, she’ll be imprisoned.”
“What about the product?” Ox asked. “It’s still on the shelves, being used by millions.”
“The plan is for ECH Chemical Engineering to agree to a worldwide recall, pay for the advertising, and offer full product refunds.”
I looked at my handler. “That’s it? Give people their money back? What about all the affected teens?”
“It’s a delicate situation, Jersey. First, we don’t want to create panic. Second, we’re still not exactly sure what we’re dealing with. The chemist says Holloman told her to increase the amount of the suspect ingredient in the adhesive. Anyone who has used the latest Derma-Zing, according to her, could be sterile after one or two applications. Girls using the earlier product wouldn’t be affected until three or four months of use.”
We immediately thought of Lindsey, who was happily eating lemon pie with the chemist in the captain’s quarters. Of course she’d used the latest product because she was getting it for free, shipped straight from the production line. Once again, Ox faced the water with closed eyes, breathing deep, as if drawing strength from some unseen source.
“Peggy Lee says there’s nothing to be done. For those users whose systems have already been affected, the damage is irreversible.” Ash-ton wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. “We will implement a course of action that is in the best interest of the public.”
I could read between the lines of Ashton’s diplomatic double-talk. His superiors didn’t want to create a nationwide scare. After all, if a simple cosmetic product could cause sterility, what other horrors might be present in unregulated personal hygiene items, makeup, or even clothing fibers? Not only would the United States’ economy feel the impact, but there would be a public outcry for regulation of absorbable consumer products. The Food and Drug Administration is already understaffed, underfunded, and under fire from citizen watch groups. It wouldn’t be good.
“Hey, you guys!” Lindsey called, skipping our way with the chemist in tow. “Listen up. She can fix things. She can make an antidote!”
“Is that true?” Ashton asked the woman, sitting her in a chair.
Peggy Lee nodded.
“She was like, all weepy and stuff,�
� Lindsey said, “like it’s the end of the world or something. Saying that a bunch of girls can never have baby and it’s all her fault. Blah, blah, blah. So I ask her, how can she be pregnant, when she’s been working with this bad chemical, right? And she goes, it’s the by-product!”
“Explain,” Ashton demanded.
“Basically, when you squeeze extract from the plant, there’s a pile of stuff left over,” Peggy Lee said. “Think of it as pulp, if you will. It’s soft and waxy, and I’ve been rubbing it on my hands and arms because it’s a wonderful moisturizer. Then I got pregnant. My doctor says it’s a miracle, but Lindsey just made me realize that the by-product is the answer.”
“Go on.”
“I think I was on the right track all along, during those years of frustrating research. Purified extract from the plant produced the opposite result of what I wanted—it causes infertility—but something in the by-product holds the answer for fertility. It stimulates and heals the ova. It might be the seed casings or the woody stem bark. I’m not sure. But something created a reversal of my condition, my faulty eggs. If I can isolate it, I can create an antidote. I can undo all the damage that Derma-Zing has done.”
Ox grabbed me and his daughter into a tight circle for a group hug. Lindsey never considered that she might be one of the infertile ones. I’d been agonizing over how to tell her that her ovaries were damaged. But Ox’s faith in his vision remained strong—the one where he saw grandkids in his future—and he decided that Lindsey didn’t need to know what the doctor’s test results revealed. At least not until she was older. And now, not ever. Relief and amazement flowed between me and Ox. The embrace would have held much longer if Lindsey didn’t wiggle her way loose.
“So all the kids who’ve used Derma-Zing can have babies if they want to,” the girl announced. “I mean, you know. Someday. Like maybe when they’re forty or something.”
Spud, Fran, and Bobby slowly shuffled our way in one geriatric clump. “This ship is huge,” Spud declared. “We need Fran’s scooter to get around on this thing, for crying out loud. I’m exhausted.”
“Have a piece of lemon pie,” Fran said. “That will perk you up.”
Lindsey shook her head. “Peggy Lee ate it all.”
The chemist smiled. “And it worked wonders.”
FIFTY-THREE
Edward Charles Holloman acted shocked when two federal investigators showed up at his office, escorted by a local city cop. A man and a woman, both wearing suits and stern expressions, flashed badges and asked for twenty minutes of his time.
He kept them waiting an appropriate ten minutes before buzzing his secretary to usher them to his office. When they explained they were there to discuss Peggy Lee Cooke and Derma-Zing, Chuck made a worried face.
“She tore up our new satellite lab and I haven’t heard from her since. At first, I thought it was a burglary, but then I realized my own employee had done it. I didn’t bother to file a report with the Wilmington police because it was more vandalism than actual monetary damages.”
“Why would your employee do such a thing, Mr. Holloman?”
Chuck stood, shut the office door, and returned to his executive leather chair. “We were having an affair and I broke it off with her,” he confided. “I know, I know. It’s bad policy to date an employee and I shouldn’t have allowed it to happen. But things were fine until recently, when she started making demands. She even bought herself an engagement ring and said she wanted to get married. I think she’s delusional.” He leaned on the desk and released a heavy sigh. “The next thing I know, she’s demolished my lab, and trashed the computer.”
“I’m curious,” the woman interviewer said. “Why did you set up a lab in North Carolina to begin with?”
Chuck opened a desk drawer, pulled out a folder, and slid it across the desk. “I’ve had plans to open some satellite labs in the southeast for some time now. Those are the maps and demographic statistics of locations we’ve considered. The journals say that satellite labs are good for independent thinking and innovative research to generate new products. You know, get away from the status quo and all that. Strategically, Wilmington is a good location. It’s the first satellite we opened.” He waved a hand at the file of maps and demographic data. “But now, after this incident with Peggy, I’m no longer sure that satellite laboratories are a good idea.” He chuckled. “I think I’ll just stick with my real estate investments as far as out-of-state holdings.”
One of them consulted a list. “Your company owns beach condos in South Carolina and Florida, land holdings in West Virginia, and a chalet in the Montana mountains. You personally own a soybean farm in Iowa, and a ranch in Texas.”
Holloman tried to appear modest. “I don’t like to play the stock market, but I’ve done very well with real estate. The condos and the ski chalet are wonderful write-offs because we use them to entertain clients.” He stopped to ask if anyone would care for a bottled water or cup of coffee. Everyone declined. “After all, ECH adhesives can be found in products everywhere, from automobiles to airplanes to high-rise construction sites. It’s good business to wine and dine the decision makers who buy raw materials.”
The woman jotted something down. “Mr. Holloman, have you ever heard of Project Antisis?”
Chuck wrinkled his forehead in thought. “Project Ant-what?”
“Project Antisis.” The woman spelled the letters out for him.
“We often assign nicknames to various research projects, or a new custom-manufactured adhesive,” Chuck said, rubbing his chin. “But no, that name doesn’t ring a bell. I’ve never heard of it. Why?”
Ignoring his questions, the two suits quizzed Chuck for another half-hour while the policeman looked on, seemingly bored. Finally, Chuck allowed some annoyance to show, and turned the questioning on them.
“Look, you said twenty minutes and I’ve tried to accommodate you. But I have a full schedule and I really don’t understand why you’ve come all this way,” the company president said. “I know I should have probably filed a police complaint about the damaged lab, but nobody was injured and it’s not like the research was confidential or high-tech information. My company produces adhesives. Has the Cooke woman done something I don’t know about?”
Looking at each other, the agents decided they’d already gotten all they were going to get out of Charles Holloman. He’d performed brilliantly and had a reasonable explanation for everything they’d thrown at him. The woman told Holloman that something in Derma-Zing might be toxic and harmful. Some users of the product had exhibited physical symptoms related to their reproductive systems.
“What?” Chuck stood up. “Derma-Zing is formulated with a nontoxic adhesive! It’s been independently tested and proven safe. We took extra precautions with the formula, since it was our first product marketed to individual consumers. Are you sure these girls’ problems are tied to Derma-Zing?”
“We’re fairly certain,” the man said, and explained that testing was in progress.
Chuck fell back into his chair. “It’s inconceivable. But if there’s even a chance that Derma-Zing contains a harmful ingredient, then we must do an immediate recall. It’s going to cost the company a ton of money, but I don’t know what else to do.”
Once again, the two agents eyed each other. Holloman agreed to a recall, even before they’d suggested it.
“It must be the Cooke woman,” Chuck mumbled to himself. “She must have altered the formulation somehow. But why would anyone do such a thing?”
Before the interrogators left his office, Chuck agreed to implement a full product recall, citing potential side effects. He agreed to refund consumers’ money and postage costs if they mailed in their unused Derma-Zing, or even if they sent an empty package. And he agreed to halt further production, pending a complete investigation.
When the visitors had gone, Chuck sat back in his chair and smiled. The recall simply meant a delay in selling off the Derma-Zing division. Both retail buyers and consumers
had short memories, he thought. As soon as he launched another advertising campaign, Derma-Zing sales would be stronger than before, at which point he could market the division for sale. Peggy had run off like a scared rabbit and he didn’t get the opportunity to kill her as planned, which was a bothersome detail. But if agents ever did catch up with the woman, she’d go to jail for a long time. All the evidence pointed to her—he’d made sure of that. He’d even been so helpful as to provide the agents with a recent photograph of Peggy from her company ID card, as well as all the information from her personnel file, and the make and color of her car.
Outside, as they climbed into their rental car, the agents had a gut feeling that Holloman knew a lot more than he was telling. But they couldn’t do a thing about it.
FIFTY-FOUR
The best thing about having a handsome, brightly clad giant shadow me is that Paul gave me something to think about other than sterile teenagers and a rogue former SWEET agent. And even though I found it disconcerting that Paul slept on a cot inside my bedroom by the door, the nearness of a mysterious hunk helped to keep my mind off of Ox and his night with Louise.
“Shouldn’t you have one of those curly wires or something sticking out of your ear, like they do on TV?” I said to him, when I’d emerged from the bathroom and he followed me to the kitchen.
“I’m in direct contact with every operative assigned to coverage duty.”
Maybe he was bionic. Maybe there was a communications device wired inside his head. Maybe he didn’t really exist and I’d conjured Paul from my imagination.
Spud sat at the table with a nearly empty plate in front of him. Since my father isn’t supposed to use any heat-generating appliances, I could only assume that Paul made breakfast. And since illusions can’t cook, I decided that Paul wasn’t a figment of my imagination, after all.
T. Lynn Ocean - Jersey Barnes 02 - Southern Poison Page 25