He shook his head.
“Harry, you have to eat.” She had a twinkle in her eyes. “Do I have to feed you?”
He smiled, but there was no twinkle in his eyes, just tears.
“Harry, stop it. I'm feeling fine. I promise I'm not going to die tonight, so you can relax and eat your dinner.”
He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “I'm going to miss you, Jeannie.”
“I'm sorry about that, I really am, but I'm tired. So when I do go, please know I was tired — and ready.” She reached for his hand. “Harry, you have to take care of the company. Then you can relax. Promise me.”
“I'm trying, but Lorraine's working against us.”
“Harry, take care of the company,” she repeated. “Promise me.”
“I promise.”
She smiled. “Now eat!”
Later, with his wife sleeping peacefully upstairs after her morphine dessert, as she called it, he sat at his desk in his study and thought about their conversation.
He had told her about his meeting with Luis and Elia. “Bermuda was a fiasco — a mistake,” he had told her. “Everything went wrong.”
“It's my fault, Harry, not yours,” she had said. “You would have been there but for me.” She wouldn't listen to his protests.
Looking at her broke his heart. She wasn't shrinking away; steroids gave a false idea of weight; it was more a drifting away. Farther and farther every day. Soon she'd be beyond his reach.
He thought about their conversation.
“Talk to me, Harry,” she had said. She had laid her hand, black and blue from numerous needle pricks, atop his. She sounded angry. “We've gone over this.”
He smiled. “Things just aren't working out at Pavnor.”
“Nothing is so bad that it can't be fixed.” She smiled, but the smile never reached her eyes. “Is it?”
“I don't know. I've lost control.” He took his wife's tray and set it on a table. “When Lorraine went behind my back with production, sending work to China…” He started pacing around the room. He clenched and unclenched his hands, a gentleman's anger control.
“That's done all the time. Why are you upset?”
“For one thing, she didn't clear it with me.”
“Oh, Harry.” She closed her eyes a moment. “Is this a pride thing?” She reached out for him. “You have enough problems without letting pride get to you.”
Millen stopped walking and looked over at his wife. He walked slowly back to her bed, sat in the chair beside her, and put his head in his hands.
Jeannie put her hand on his head. “You've been preoccupied with me. She was just trying to take some pressure off you.”
He raised his head and frowned. “By sending production to China? No. She did it to save money.”
“And that's a bad thing?”
He shook his head. “I think she's into something else. And it's not to take pressure off me.
“Harry,” she had said, “this is one more chink in Pavnor's armor. I think it'll work out after all.”
“Ah, Jeannie, what am I going to do without you?”
He sipped a Scotch, placed it on his desk, and moved it in circles through the puddle it made on the mahogany.
Chapter 61
They followed the directions of the GPS to get onto I-95. The traffic was moving swiftly and Luis merged smoothly and stepped on the gas.
“We go through New Haven. Want to stop at Yale?”
Luis glanced at Elia. “Yale? Why?”
“Machu Picchu? Ring a bell?”
“Por su puesto! Of course! I had forgotten.”
Yale University had a display of artifacts taken, or stolen, some say, from Machu Picchu in the early 1900s when Hiram Bingham from Yale discovered the ruins of Machu Picchu in Perú. Over the course of several years he carried crate after crate of gold and other artifacts out of the country. When the Peruvian government found out, it agreed to lend the treasures to Yale for a specified amount of time. The time has long since passed, and Yale has yet to return the treasures to Perú, the rightful owner.
“We don't have to stop; we've seen the real thing. Besides, I want to get to Cape Cod in time for a lobster dinner.”
“Men. We haven't even had lunch yet, but you're already thinking of supper.”
Elia opened the map. “Let me see what's in our future.”
Luis heard the crinkle of the map, while Elia studied it. “Here's a place that sounds intriguing. Mystic Seaport.” She tapped her finger on the spot.
“Just point the way, you're the navigator.”
“Me and the GPS.”
They rode in silence. Luis watched the traffic, which thinned once they were past New Haven, and constantly checked his rearview mirror.
“You're making me nervous.”
“Can't help it. Better nervous than surprised.”
Nervous and surprised would come later.
Chapter 62
They got off I-95 at the well-marked sign for Mystic Seaport and drove slowly past the welcome center through the picturesque town. Clapboard homes with picket fences lined the streets, flowering rhododendrons bloomed profusely. They drove past the seaport with small boats bobbing on the water. The site looked like it could have been a scene from Jaws.
“Hungry?”
Before Elia could reply, her cell phone rang. When she answered, she motioned to Luis that it was Harry Millen.
Luis mouthed, “Be nice.”
She made a face and stuck her tongue out in response to his comment. As she spoke to Millen, Luis got the gist of the conversation. Millen wanted to see them.
“Harry, we decided to take your advice. We're driving up to Cape Cod. Martha's Vineyard? I don't know if we'll go; this is a quick trip.”
“Wait a sec.” She covered the phone. “He's got suggestions of what to do in Cape Cod.”
“See what happens when you're nice?” Luis whispered.
“All right, Harry, we can meet again. Something new?” She shrugged at his answer. “We'll be back in your area in a day or two; want to set up something now?” She dug in her pocket-book for a pen and pad. “Shoot.” She wrote down the date and time. “Lorraine Fegan. Got it. See you in her office.”
She snapped her phone shut. “Yes, I'm hungry.” She pointed to what looked like a shack with a crusty boat parked on the corner of the lot as a come-on for tourists, it seemed. “They say the shacks have the best food.”
“Why did Millen call?”
“I'll tell you while we're eating.”
“Who's thinking of food now, señora?”
They pulled into a shell-covered parking lot beside a yard-full of picnic tables. They stood, stretched, and then ambled to the take-out window to place their order. They could see through the windows that tables inside were occupied. They both turned around and looked at the picnic tables.
“Outside is fine with me,” Elia said.
“Even better.” Luis turned his attention to the menu. “Lobster roll. Yes.”
“Make that two. And a bottle of water.”
He looked at the selections and ordered a beer.
When their food was ready, they carried it to a table, took bites of their lobster rolls and sat for a minute savoring the delicacy.
“Millen?”
“He thought we were still in Greenwich and wanted to see us.” She frowned. “Now that I think about it, he sounded kind of distressed, especially when I told him we weren't there.”
“Distressed?” Luis was devouring his lunch while he talked. “Not too distressed that he could act as a tour guide.”
“Maybe he's just being a gentleman.”
“What did he tell you to see?” He held up a hand as he got up from the table. “Wait a second. I'm getting another lobster roll. Want one?”
She grinned at him, and shook her head. She ate while he was away from the table.
Luis returned with his seconds and sat down across from Elia. “What'd he say?”
/> “He thinks we should take the ferry to Martha's Vineyard, and he said to visit Mashpee in Cape Cod. He recommended a bed and breakfast there.”
“Sounds like he's got our itinerary planned for us.” He sounded sarcastic.
“You think that's strange?”
“I spent the last two hours looking in the rear-view mirror, and now someone is telling us where we should go.” He pushed his beer bottle out of the way. “And you told someone where we were going. Maybe we should keep our plans to ourselves.”
Elia looked at the rest of her lobster. Suddenly she was no longer hungry.
Chapter 63
Frank Hanssen had carried his files home on the train from the New York office. He now sat in his study at his computer and worked the numbers. He saw Pavnor stock sliding — and not in the direction he wanted. He had staked his reputation on this one company because of assurances he got from Fegan.
He pushed back from his desk. “Damn woman,” he said through clenched teeth. He had lobbied his clients to put large chunks of their money into the business because he knew — yes, knew — that Pavnor would sail.
The new drug Cyptolis was touted as the best in its category of treating spasticity due to any number of illnesses and problems. With the military in Iraq and Afghanistan, and resultant spinal cord injuries, the drug was expected to hit the top of the charts. But something went wrong.
Hanssen wanted to strangle Jim Cramer. Ever since the Mad Money show with the hypothetical question about a pharmaceutical company, Pavnor's stock plummeted, investors were breathing down his neck, and his phone was burning up the wireless industry. It was tricky easing investors back into the fold after the beating Wall Street took in the past, but drug companies are usually a good bet. And this was a sure thing. He got it from the top. Or so he thought.
His home office was cluttered with folders strewn throughout the small room. He surveyed the mess. This room was no more cluttered than the rest of his condo. Ever since his divorce the year before, except for the way he dressed, he had been living like a slob. Mary Louise wouldn't put up with this, he knew. Even his study was in order when she was around. She'd enter his domain regularly and organize it.
He missed the order that she could make out of his chaos. But it was just that fact that got him in trouble. That got him caught. In one of her forays with the dust cloth she found his extra cell phone. She easily bypassed security and checked his messages. There were several. From women.
Hanssen thought of his stupidity, leaving the cell phone lying around. He had never once thought he had been stupid, let alone immoral, cheating on his wife. In fact, he had blamed her for snooping.
She showed she had a backbone, he realized, when she stood up to him. She took the kids and moved back to Virginia near her family. She kept her dignity. He now saw that.
And now he was having regrets. He missed the kids, even missed his wife. He was tired of playing around, and he no longer had an excuse when he wanted to dump a girlfriend. When his wife was still in the picture, he could tell the current girlfriend it was over because he and his wife were trying to work it out. Well that plan's DOA.
But he knew moving away was the best thing for the kids. He wouldn't want them seeing what their father had become, and he knew they'd be mortified if their friends found out about his cheating. “I screwed up.”
He ran his hands through his hair then stared at the folders. He got up from his chair and began putting them in piles.
Pavnor. He thought back to when his troubles began. “Bermuda “ He could have said rotting garbage and it wouldn't have sounded uglier. He slapped his desk with a file. One day he's sailing the Atlantic off Bermuda. Today he's ship-wrecked.
It's not Cramer, he said to himself, who got me into this. Or the guy who called in to the show. How in the hell did that guy have an inkling about Cyptolis? Hanssen frowned at that thought, then shook his head. No. It was Pereda. He was now conveniently out of the picture; that turned out to be a stroke of luck. It seemed the gods were shining down on Hanssen just when he needed some shine.
But another frown crossed his brow when he thought of Pereda's death. He slowly brought his hand to his face and massaged his jaw. “Aaron?” He spoke aloud. “How do you figure in all this? Jake? What about you? What the hell is going on with that drug?”
He opened one of the files and fell heavily into his chair. Leaning back, he kept his frown.
He thought about Bermuda — and then Kiawah. One common denominator seemed to be Echevarria and his nosy wife. And he learned from Fegan they had come to Connecticut to see Aaron's wife and meet with Millen.
“What next?” He pressed his lips together in the universal look of disgust and conjured up a picture of Fegan. “You better fix this, bitch.”
Chapter 64
The “bitch” had her own problems. Millen had called her after his talk with his wife and said he was going to meet with the Echevarrias and he wanted her there.
Lorraine Fegan held her phone so tight her knuckles turned white. “Who are these people that they think they have to save the world?” Fegan spit the words out. “And why do you think you owe them an explanation?”
“What's the matter with you? You should be concerned with the safety of our drugs. Those people are trying to get to the bottom of what's happening here. And what happened in Bermuda to their friend.”
Fegan paced around her Pavnor office. Usually it felt like a haven for her. The walls were painted a soft taupe with off white trim that brought peace and quiet into her hectic and complicated life.
One wall held her diplomas that surrounded a large framed painting of the original building of her alma mater set in the mountainous town of Greensburg, Pennsylvania. She graduated from the same college as her mother and aunts. When she and they attended Seton Hill, it was a women's college; now it was coed.
She looked at the painting, done by one of her classmates, Ann Heckel, who had been an art student at Seton Hill.
A flash of guilt pulsed through her body thinking of what she had become. But quickly, and then the guilt was gone.
She was still on the phone with Millen. “I'm afraid I've been out of the loop,” he said, then added in a regretful tone, “because of Jeannie. When they return we'll come by your office; you haven't met them, I don't believe.”
All she heard was, “When they return.” She stopped pacing. “Return? Where did they go?”
“Up the coast. To Cape Cod.”
“Oh?”
“I gave them some suggestions, so they may be gone a couple of days.”
“What kind of suggestions?”
“Just where to stay. A B&B in Mashpee. Why? You have a better idea?”
“No. Well, maybe. What B&B did you suggest? I might have a better idea.”
“Paul Revere House. You know it?”
“No. I'm sure it's fine.”
“You know, they have had a bad time of it. They were at their wedding and honeymoon when Pereda got sick and died.”
“I'm not an ogre, Harry.”
“I'll call you when they return. I want you to meet them.”
“I'm looking forward to it.”
Millen replaced the receiver. He looked confused. “Looking forward to it? I would hardly say that,” he mused to the silent phone.
Chapter 65
“Elia, mind calling information and getting the number for that bed and breakfast Harry recommended?” They were back on the road but off the main drag. Their GPS was taking them on scenic, but slow, Highway 1.
“Do you think that's a good idea?” She had the map opened on her lap, her finger on their route. “You have me thinking. I don't think we should stay in Mashpee at all.”
“How are we going to know who's threatening us? Or if someone is?” He reached over and ran his hand lightly over her cheek. “I can't stand this, Elia. I'm scared. Scared for you, and hell, scared for us.” His voice cracked. “You keep saying either we're in, or we're out.” He
took his eyes off the road for a second to glance at her.
“And we're in now?” she asked.
“It's like we have to get on board the train, pay the fare, or jump off. From Bermuda to Kiawah to Connecticut.” He slapped the steering wheel with his open hand. “We are on that damn train, and until we stop it, we can't get off.”
“So we go to Mashpee and, well, to stick with your analogy, wait for the train wreck?”
“Sort of.”
“All right. You're the conductor.” She called information, then called the Mashpee Paul Revere B&B and made reservations for that night.
He pointed at the map in her lap. “Where to now?”
“Hmm, looks like we pass close to Newport. Want to stop?”
“Dinner?”
“Luis! We just had lunch.” She laughed and felt the tension drain from her body.
“Ah, mi amor, it's good to see you laugh.”
“Luis, it'll be okay. We'll be okay.” She unfastened her seat-belt and leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I love you. We'll be okay.”
“Safe. We'll be safe.” He looked at her seatbelt. “Buckle up.”
Chapter 66
Millen was hunched over a table in the small library at Pavnor going through the history of the company. He had Madison cancel appointments and hold calls. He was lost in his reading. His tie was off, shirt sleeves rolled up, and a bottle of water on the table;
he forgot time.
He scratched his head with the sharpened pencil he held in his hand. He was so engrossed in his reading he didn't realize he had slipped back into the old habit he had developed while still in grade school. Jeannie had sat behind him in seventh grade and had been grossed whenever he was deep in thought and used his pencil as a head scratcher.
“It helps me think,” he had told her then. When they began dating in college, she reminded him of his pencil head, as she called it. He assured her it was a thing of the past.
Die Before Your Time (Elia Christie / Luis Echevarria medical mysteries) Page 16