He mopped up the remaining bread with syrup, took a swig of coffee, and wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin. “That was good. Now let's listen to Claire and put our toes in the water.”
They picked up thick towels from a pile on a chair and disappeared from view as they descended onto the rocky beach. They gingerly walked over the slippery stones to the water's edge and spread out the towels. They settled themselves, took off their shoes, and obeyed Claire.
“OK. Enough for me.” Elia pulled her legs up and put her arms around them.
“A half minute. I guess that counts.” Luis followed her lead. “I've spent a lot of time in the Pacific in Perú, and right now I'd say this is as cold.”
Later, they were about to pack their car and say goodbye, when Claire suggested they stop at a local spot for lunch.
“Eat. Then come back and pack.”
Again they obeyed Claire. They followed her directions and found themselves at The Clam Shack at Falmouth Harbor.
They sat on aged picnic tables on the dock and ate fried clam rolls and drank root beers. Beside them, close enough to touch, was the Island Queen — “the Queen” — to the natives.
“That's the ferry we'd take if we were going to Martha's Vineyard,” Elia said.
“Maybe someday we'll come back and visit there.”
“And Nantucket,” Elia added.
“Let's pick up our luggage and get moving,” Luis said as he climbed off the bench.
Chapter 73
Claire and George sat at the kitchen table watching CNN.
Claire's hands were clasped tightly in front of her.
“Come in, come in.” She motioned to Elia and Luis. “Oh this is horrible! There's been a terrorist attack.”
“Oh no! Where?” Elia looked at the TV.
“Here. Cape Cod. Mashpee.”
Elia lowered herself into a chair. “Mashpee?” It came jagged.
Luis stood behind Elia;
she felt his fingers tighten on her shoulders. Her breathing was shallow. “Where in Mashpee?”
She asked as though she were afraid of the answer.
Claire turned to look at her. At a B&B. The Paul Revere.”
They listened to CNN coverage. A housekeeper, who had already cleaned one room, had gone up the outside steps to a second floor room. From what the police could ascertain from the semi-conscious woman, she had knocked on the door and announced “housekeeping.” When she didn't get a response, she tried to open the door, but it was stuck. She saw a wad of cotton under the door and removed it, opened the door, and immediately became disoriented. She stumbled backward and fell down the stairs. She lay there unconscious until a passing guest found her and called 911. By the time help arrived she had regained some consciousness. She was taken to the hospital with what appeared to be a broken arm. “She's being evaluated for other injuries,” the reporter said.
The cameras showed the Hazmat team. CNN reported that a gas had been dispensed into the room. “Authorities say it's fortunate the maid fell backward instead of forward into the house. The gas would have killed her.” The reporter closed with, “Terrorism has not been ruled out.”
“We know those people,” Claire said quietly. “The owners. They're good people, for washashores.”
Elia reached for Claire's hand. “I'm so sorry about your friends. Claire, what do you mean by washashore?”
“Canal-jumper,” George answered. “A local.”
“Oh, George, be clear.” Claire turned to Elia. We're natives; there are only about eleven percent of us left. Locals are permanent residents not born here, certainly not natives. We call them washashores or canal-jumpers.”
She pointed to the TV. “Those are good people.”
Lorraine Fegan sipped coffee and mindlessly watched TV. Magazines had been kicked to the floor by her bare feet perched on the coffee table. She sat up straight when the screen flashed scenes from Mashpee.
She spilled her coffee on her white silk pajamas when she heard, “A maid entered an empty room and was overcome by fumes in what authorities say was a premeditated plan to poison.”
“What the hell!” She jumped up, ignoring the hot coffee that splashed on her hand. She turned up the TV.
“Where the hell's the rest of the story?”
Chapter 74
“Millen.” Luis was driving south on I-95. “He's the only one who knew where we were going.”
“Not only that, he sent us to that B&B. He wants to see us when we return. Did he really think we'd be returning?” She fanned herself with her hand and leaned over to adjust the AC. “Is it me, or are you hot too?”
“I'm sweating. Our adrenaline has kicked in. If we had any doubts someone's been trying to kill us, we can relax and know we're right.”
“Real funny.” She wasn't smiling. “If he knew he was going to kill us, why did he want the meeting?”
“To throw us off?” Luis shrugged.
“Well, let's throw him off. We'll keep that appointment.”
“He tried to kill us; think that's a smart idea?”
“Well he didn't suggest meeting him in a dark alley; we'll be in the Pavnor building.” She fiddled with the AC. “Feisty adrenaline.” She picked up the map to fan herself. “And we aren't even going to be meeting in his office. We're meeting in Lorraine Fegan's office.”
“Dot Scharff's friend.” He nodded. “Didn't Dot say she's second in command?”
“Exactly. Maybe we can enlist her to help us uncover what's going on.”
“Maybe. If this thing doesn't end, we'll be forever looking over our shoulders. Do you have Pavnor's number?”
She dug in her pocketbook for her notebook and leafed through it. “Uh huh. Who do you want to call?”
“Lorraine Fegan.”
“Don't have her number, but I'll call Pavnor. Want to make an appointment with her?”
“I think so. We're meeting with her and Millen day after tomorrow.”
“Got it. You want to tell her what we're thinking without Millen around.”
“She might have the same thought.” Luis kept his eyes on the road. “Let's go into New York tomorrow and meet beforehand.”
She pulled out her cell phone. “Any chance you remember the train schedule?”
“Vaguely. If we catch one about eleven, and no later than noon, we'll make a two o'clock show.”
“I'll try to set something up about 10.” She started punching in the number for Pavnor. “It'll be a relief to get someone else involved.”
Chapter 75
Lorraine Fegan showered, chose a linen pewter-gray outfit, one shade darker than her hair that she pulled back into a 1970s chignon. Fatigue and the out-of-style hairdo added ten years to her face. She looked in the mirror and noticed the tense pucker of her mouth. With the palm of her hand, she tried to smooth her face. “Relax,” she told the face that stared back at her.
She took three deep breaths, and patted on makeup. “Damn. How did things get this far?”
She arrived at the office late afternoon, stopped at her secretary's desk and picked up her messages. “Anything urgent?” she asked, as she leafed through the pile of pink slips.
“Yes. I marked them. Two. One from Mr. Millen and the other from Elia Christie.”
“Elia Christie?” She wrinkled her brow. “Elia?”
She rifled through the messages. “Millie, I know of only one Elia, but her name is Spanish.”
“She didn't sound Spanish. She and her husband,” she stopped in mid-sentence. “That's her, Lorraine. Her husband has a Spanish name. Sorry, but I didn't write it down. A long name.”
“Well?” She tapped her fingernails on the pile of messages.
“Oh, sorry. She and her husband want to come in to see you in the morning. They said they have an appointment with Mr. Millen and you day after tomorrow, but they have to see you before.”
Fegan's fingers stopped. She thrust the messages at Millie. “Find it.”
Millie pulled i
t out of the stack and Fegan grabbed it. She turned and bolted into her office and slammed the door.
Millie looked at the rest of the messages, took a deep breath, and opened Fegan's door.
“Your other messages,” she said as she quickly walked to the desk and laid them in front of Fegan.
Fegan stared at Elia's message. “What?” she barked.
Millie had her hand on the doorknob, ready to escape. “Your messages.” She pulled the door shut behind her and muttered, “Your Royal Highness.”
Lorraine put her hand over her fast-beating heart. “What's going on?” she said aloud.
Chapter 76
Elia and Luis were back in Greenwich when Lorraine returned the call.
“We haven't met, Ms. Fegan, but we're friends of Dot Scharff's.”
“Lorraine. Please. Yes, Harry Millen has mentioned you, so I feel I know you.”
“Actually, he's the reason we're calling. We're meeting with him and, I understand, with you day after tomorrow.”
Lorraine looked wary. “Yes? Is there a problem with the time?”
“No, no, it's fine.”
“Yes?” She tapped her fingers on the messages Millie had dropped on her desk. She didn't try to hide her impatience.
It wasn't hard to miss the tone in Fegan's voice. “Angry,” Elia mouthed to Luis while pointing to the phone.
“Lorraine, we need to talk before the meeting.”
“It can't wait until our scheduled meeting? I'm very busy.”
Elia rolled her eyes at Luis and grimaced. “I don't think so. Listen, something's going on at Pavnor and we think you might be able to shed some light on things.”
“Me? How do you think I can help?” Lorraine felt perspiration running down her back and chest, the linen wrinkling at a fast pace.
“Maybe we shouldn't talk on the phone. May we come in?”
“Now?” Fegan looked at her watch.
“No. Tomorrow.”
Fegan opened her appointment book. “Would four work for you?”
“Could we make it early morning? Luis and I are going into New York for the afternoon. And we think you'd want to hear this as early as possible.”
Lorraine pulled her blouse away from her chest and used it as a fan. “Let me think.” She was silent for half a minute. “If you're taking the train, will you leave from Port Chester?”
“I guess. Why do you ask?”
“I live in Rye, right near there. There's a coffee shop close by; I can meet you there. It'll save you a trip all the way over here.”
“That sounds good. Is ten okay?”
Lorraine made a note in her appointment book. “That's fine. Look for Johnny Cakes. See you in the morning.”
“Oh, wait. One more thing. Please don't tell Harry Millen about our meeting, or that I said we'd be going into the City.”
“You can be assured I won't say a word.” Fegan ended the connection. She picked up her messages, held them in her hand, then turned to her waste can and dropped them in. “I don't need any more problems.”
Chapter 77
They parked and walked around the corner to Johnny Cakes. “How are we going to know Lorraine when she gets here?”
“Luis, look around. Do you see anyone dressed for business? These people have on jeans and shorts.”
They ordered coffee and watched the door. They weren't the only ones watching that door. A half block away, Lorraine Fegan sat in her car with a clear view of the coffee shop. Her fingers tapped the steering wheel. She turned on the engine, drove closer, and circled the block before she found a parking space to suit her. “What is their game?” Her tapping fingers played the finale. She opened the car door. She opened another door and stepped into the coffee shop.
“That's gotta be her.” Elia was about to wave when Lorraine signaled to them. “How did she pick us out?” Elia looked down at her clothes. “I'm not dressed up.”
Luis shrugged and stood to greet Fegan. “Thanks for meeting us.” He introduced Elia and himself and offered her coffee.
She declined and sat opposite them. “What seems to be your problem?” She spoke with a distinctive Boston accent. Elia expected to hear “Haavud” any minute, if Harvard would happen to factor into the conversation.
Luis took over. “It's not our problem, Ms. Fegan; it's yours.” He sounded annoyed.
Lorraine's face hardened. “Mine?” The perspiration trickled down her back.
“Pavnor's.”
“I'm aware of Cyptolis, if that's what you're referring to.” She ran her tongue over her lips and shifted slightly on her chair. “We're on it.”
“But there's more, and I think it's high up.”
Lorraine stopped fidgeting. “How high?” She could feel the beating of her heart.
“Millen.”
“Harry?” She laughed. “Harry?” She visibly relaxed.
“You're surprised; so are we.” Elia leaned forward on the table almost knocking over her coffee. “But look, he heads the company and it's his job to make a profit.”
“You think he deliberately put the drug back on the market?” She sat back in her chair. “Hmmm, interesting.”
“We don't know,” Luis said, “but once it came out, we think he's been trying to cover up the fact that it had been out years ago — and pulled.”
“And he certainly doesn't like us poking around,” Elia said. “We think he's trying to scare us off. Or worse.”
“What are you saying?”
“Someone's trying to silence us,” Elia said.
“Silence how?”
“Kill us.”
The words hung in the air like the aroma from their coffee.
Finally Fegan spoke. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because we're meeting with Millen tomorrow, in your office, I believe, and we need your help to find proof,” Elia said.
“Have you talked to the police?”
“Here, no.” Elia looked at Luis. “We will.”
“No!” Lorraine blurted out the word. “I mean, you should definitely have proof before you talk to the police. Harry is an important person in this area.”
Elia nodded. “That's why we're talking with you.”
“I don't know what I can do.”
“Can you go back into your records and find the history of Abecour?” Luis asked. “I can find only so much; but you can delve into Pavnor history.”
She held up her hands to stop him. “Abecour? What's that?”
“Cyptolis,” Luis said. “I thought you said you knew about the problems Cyptolis was having.”
“What is the connection with Abecour?”
“Same drug.”
Lorraine ran her tongue over her lips again. “I knew this, but I wondered what you knew.” She looked at her watch. “I have a meeting this morning.” She pushed back her chair.
Elia took hold of her arm. “Don't you want to hear how many times Millen tried to kill us? And how many people he did kill?”
“Tell me.”
Chapter 78
Luis and Elia climbed the stone stairs to the Port Chester train station.
He inserted his American Express card into the machine and bought two round-trip tickets to Grand Central Station. As they waited for the train, Luis kept glancing down at the parking lot.
“Now what?”
“Nada. Just habit.” He turned his attention to the oncoming train. When they got on, Luis took the window seat. He grinned at his wife. “I didn't forget; you like the aisle.”
And he liked the window seat. He leaned close to the window and stared out at the few embarking passengers. He glanced right and left, not really knowing who he should be concerned about.
Most getting on the train were Hispanics; some were young mothers pushing baby carriages and holding toddlers by the hand, others were tattoo-sporting teens taking one more drag on unfiltered cigarettes before throwing the butt on the ground. It wasn't until the train pulled away that Luis relaxed. He cl
osed his eyes for the rest of the trip.
New York City's Grand Central Station was teeming with rushing people. “Everybody's in a hurry.” Luis held Elia's hand and followed the signs to a street exit. “What's their urgency?”
“You, my darling husband, have been in the South too long.”
“Guess you're right. I'm from the deep South, really deep; born and reared.”
“And I'm from Pittsburgh; I'm used to folks moving fast.”
“The pace is slower in Augusta, but even there it's much faster than what I imagined for the South.”
“No wonder. Augusta has a lot of Yankees.”
“I noticed that. Wonder why.”
“Lots of reasons.” To tick off her points, her fingers pressed Luis's hand that was wrapped firmly around her own. One, the Medical College of Georgia has physicians on staff and in training from all parts of the country and the world.”
She pulled on his hand. “Speaking of pace, let's pick up ours.” They followed the crowd across a street. “Two, ditto for Fort Gordon. Soldiers from every state in the union, our territories, and like the medical college, all over the world, have been, and are, stationed there. And Fort Gordon is home to the Signal Corps, bringing more diversification to the city.
“Three, Savannah River Plant is right across the Savannah River in South Carolina.”
“I can see the medical college and the army base, but the nuclear plant? How does that figure in?”
“Big time. Pittsburgh is a big part of the story.”
Luis looked down at his wife as they walked toward the theater district. “You're enjoying this, aren't you?”
“Do you want to hear Pittsburgh's connection or not?”
“I'm listening.”
“The bomb plant — that's what Georgians and South Carolinians called it for years — was constructed in 1950 at the direction of the government and the Atomic Energy Commission.”
“To make bombs.”
Die Before Your Time (Elia Christie / Luis Echevarria medical mysteries) Page 18