Buried Agendas

by Donnell Ann Bell

  As for those inside the plant, at least a dozen worked in the labs. So which one was Leo?

  As a last resort, she could ask Carmen if Michael had mentioned Leo’s last name. But Carmen had already challenged “Candy’s” curious nature. Carmen would never buy that excuse a second time. Further, she might alert someone who’d care. Already, Diana had created a buzz just by walking into a plant full of men under the guise she’d soon be a divorced woman. She couldn’t afford to fall under any more scrutiny than she already had.

  She’d managed to reach the I’s on the computer when she looked up and saw Buddy approach. She wasn’t sure what she liked less, his smug expression or the mountain of clipped reports he dumped on her desk.

  She ordered herself not to flinch.

  “Harold needs these ASAP.”

  She logged off and stared at the time-consuming stack. From the looks of this project, it would take the remainder of the morning and the majority of the afternoon. Diana refused to give Buddy the satisfaction of seeing he’d added to her stress. She also refused to look at the creep. “I’ll get right on this.”

  “Why don’t you like me?”

  Diana bristled. Would he never quit? Did he egg on every woman in the department, or was this some kind of test for the new hire? Prepared to tell him what he could do with his perverted behavior, she met his gaze and stifled a gasp.

  Sometime after their last conversation, Buddy had inserted red contact lenses.

  The last thing she needed to do was to go crying to Harold, but why had no one complained about this jerk? Diana could no longer hide her disdain. She came to her feet. “You love scaring people, don’t you? Why do they let you get away with this? Exactly what are you trying to prove?”

  Buddy grasped his chest like he’d been shot. “Just trying to be who I am.”

  Lucifer came to mind, but Diana kept her mouth shut.

  “Maybe you should get to know the real me,” he said. “I’m not going to be in the mailroom forever, you know. I’m moving up around here.”

  “Oh, are you?” she said, oozing sarcasm. “Dressed like that?”

  He planted his hands on his hips. “That’s right, I am. If you’d lose the stuck-up bitch routine, I might take you with me.”

  Diana glared at him. “I don’t want to go anywhere with you, Buddy.”

  “I know why you wanted the directory. I can see right through you,” he said.

  Her heart raced. She touched the rims of her glasses. “And what do you see?”

  “You think you’re too good for the mailroom. You’ll do anything to get out of here. You’re trying to figure out who you should meet to help you get there. Why else would you go snooping through the directory?”

  She liked where this was heading. “Okay, you’ve found me out. But you’re trying to improve yourself, too—not that your clothes show it,” Diana said, rolling her eyes. “What’s wrong with me doing the same?”

  “Not a thing. But I’d help you if you were nicer to me.”

  Diana thought she might gag. She reached for the first stack to copy. “Treat me with a modicum of respect, and we’ll talk.”

  Buddy’s devil-red eyes narrowed. “Modi—what? For a girl from the sticks, you know some pretty big words.”

  Watch it, Diana. That was stupid. “What can I say, I like to read.”

  “Whatever.” He shrugged. “But back to treating you with respect, I’ll show you some . . . if you’ll go out with me.”

  She started to shake her head, but changed her mind at the last second. “All right.”

  His gaze widened and his mouth flew open. All at once the little devil looked all of twelve years old. “You will? No foolin’?”

  “Sure. But first, you have to show me and every other female in this department the respect they deserve.”

  He nodded. “Piece of cake. I can do that.”

  “For a month.”

  His jaw snapped shut.

  “Think about it,” she said, checking the copy machine bin for paper.

  She couldn’t stop her grin from spreading as she added a ream. In a month, she’d be far away from Jordan, and Buddy might have learned a valuable lesson.

  Later that afternoon, she’d stopped grinning. After copying sheet after sheet of undecipherable jargon, the term dead on her feet took on a new meaning. Never had she survived on so little sleep. Just the same, she probably could do this job with her eyes closed, and took impish delight in wondering if anybody would notice.

  What was she copying anyway? The caption read Chemical Analysis Report. Now there was a riveting topic. But as she skimmed the page, noting terms like toxicity levels, byproduct percentages, and chemical names she couldn’t pronounce, something on the report provided her with more oomph than a cup of espresso. On the last page of each report, she discovered a line that read verified by.

  Diana glanced at the stack she’d already copied and tagged them, then proceeded to the next bin. Names of plant chemists flew by as she now held each sheet with fascination.

  Harold stopped by to remind her to go to lunch, but sensing she was onto something, Diana said, “If you don’t mind, Mr. Mulberry, I’d like to keep working. Buddy said you needed these ASAP. I sure would like to get the job done.”

  Approval lit his face. “It is a rush job. But don’t go too long without a break.”

  By two o’clock, she needed a breather and then some. Nowhere on these reports had she seen a Leo, or for that matter, a Leonard, a Leon, a Lionel or a Leland. She’d spent the last hours duplicating a dead end.

  Close to tears, she reached for a new stack. She’d just known this was it. Dropping the detestable reports on the table next to her machine, she reviewed the stacks she’d yet to copy and decided to go to lunch.

  Still, she couldn’t make herself walk away. Compelled, she skipped the copy part of the job and started flipping to each report’s last page. Half-way through the last stack, her breath caught. There on the signature line was the name Leonard Winters, Sr. Chemist, Lab Eight. It wasn’t just his signature that held her enthralled—the block printing on the report seemed familiar.

  Adrenaline raced through her. Glancing around to ensure no one was watching, she copied the last page, stuffed it in her hip pocket, and headed for her desk. Then, grabbing her backpack, she race-walked to the ladies’ room.

  Locked in a bathroom stall, she opened her bag, removed the note from the lining, and compared it to the block printing. Sweat beaded her brow as her hands grew clammy. Noting the identical patterns, relief shook her. No mistake about it, she’d found the author of the anonymous letter.

  Leonard Winters was Leo.

  Diana sped into the mailroom and nearly bowled over her boss leaving his office. “Mr. Mulberry, my attorney just called about my divorce,” Diana lied through her teeth. “He’s leaving town tomorrow and can only meet with me this afternoon. I worked through lunch. Can I leave early?”

  “Of course you may,” Harold said. “I appreciate your hard work. You’re doing a great job, Candace. See you tomorrow.”

  Not if I can help it. Diana clutched her backpack containing the proof that she needed and never looked back.

  Chapter Sixteen

  YOUR FATHER’S A high-strung man, Mr. Jordan. Additional stress will kill him.

  Haunted by the doctor’s words, John rummaged through files behind the library’s closed doors. Instinctively, he knew he would find nothing pertaining to the phone call he’d had with Congressman Bill Harrison. The search was pointless. If Clayton wanted to keep something hidden, he certainly wouldn’t leave it in a place the whole family had access to.

  After John learned of his father’s deceit, his first impulse had been to rush upstairs and grab the old man by the throat. Despite his rage, John still had the presence of
mind to know Clayton would never admit to any wrongdoing, and violence had never solved anything.

  John could have simply asked the Congressman for a copy of the report. Yet, with the family’s constant exposure to the public, the Jordans guarded their privacy as well as their tight-knit family image.

  Admitting to the politician that he’d never seen the report, nor had his father seen fit to confide in John about its contents, pretty much blew that pretense to kingdom come. John knew firsthand from heading up a company that, no matter how much you stressed confidentiality, there was always somebody who talked.

  He had to know what was in that file. Even so, the only way he would approach the congressman again would be after he’d exhausted all other means.

  John slammed the bottom drawer, turned toward the bookcases, and honed in on a section devoted to his father’s favorite reads. One by one, he thumbed through Clayton’s books, then, becoming confused where he’d left off, set them aside on the floor.

  What in the hell had his father been doing inquiring into Benton Reid’s disappearance?

  I gave your daddy a detailed report years ago. John couldn’t rid himself of Harrison’s words.

  Years ago, Clayton had barely known Faith Reid. John’s parents hadn’t lived at the ranch when John’s wife Amy had been diagnosed with cancer, and Faith hadn’t yet been assigned as Amy’s visiting nurse. So, why would Clayton have been interested?

  John dropped the next book on a chair and paced the length of the room. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he jingled the coins within as though the motion could jar a connection free.

  No. Faith hadn’t been in the picture then. But Diana had. John stopped cold. And Clayton had been none too pleased.

  Squeezing his eyes closed, John shook his head. What had the son of a bitch done?

  A knock sounded on the door. “John, may I come in?”

  He looked around the ransacked study and raked his fingers through his hair. “Sure. Come on in.”

  Faith entered, took one look at papers all over the desk, the piles of books on the floor, and faced him with a bewildered expression.

  His mood lifted the moment he saw her. Smiling, John walked toward her. “I’ve lost something. Must be going senile.”

  She returned his smile, stepped around a stack, and looked about the room uncertainly. “Need some help?”

  Always offering assistance. John shook his head. Was that why he loved her? Or was it because she was simply the most exquisite woman he’d ever met? A few gray strands stood out against her ebony hair as her dark eyes searched his.

  Had the silver been there the last time they’d met? Was she worried, tired? Lord, he wished he could make her life easier, the way she had his.

  He cleared his throat. “Is this a social occasion, or are you here to check on Dad?”

  “Both, actually,” she said. “A few of us are getting together for dinner Saturday night. I wanted to invite you, if you’re not busy.”

  Things were looking up. Faith had a trusted circle of friends, and it had taken a while for her to include him. She’d wrongfully assumed that the wealthy John Jordan had a vast social life. But while Amy had lifelong friends, John had associates. When John retired, he’d left those people behind. He’d never forgotten Faith’s stunned expression, or that of her friends, the night he’d showed up at the bowling alley. She’d mentioned they couldn’t find a substitute. It’d been thirty years since he’d tossed a ball down the lane. When she’d teasingly asked him if he might be interested, he’d gone out and bought one. Soon after, he’d joined her league.

  “I’d love to join the group for dinner.”

  “Seven o’clock?”

  “Looking forward to it. Want me to pick you up?”

  A pleased smile crossed her face, and she nodded. As always, he used any tidbit of encouragement to give him hope. An awkward moment passed before John said, “C’mon, I’ll take you upstairs.” Although, at the base of the steps, he had a second thought. “What would you think if I moved Dad downstairs?”

  Actually, Faith had already made the suggestion shortly after Clayton had his stroke. Clayton, of course, would have no part of it. He liked his room with its adjoining shower and tub. Once he’d come home from the hospital, he’d had Neil and Brad carry him back upstairs, and had been there ever since.

  Faith studied the long flight of stairs. “I don’t know. I thought at one time you’d talked about an elevator. I’m not sure he’s up to it.”

  “We did talk about installing one, but Dad argued about the noise. I offered to put him in assisted living until the construction was done.” John winked. “I think he was worried I’d leave him there.”

  Faith lowered her head, but a fleeting smile crossed her face.

  “Sometimes I wonder how we’re even related.” John shook his head. “All I can tell you is his disposition’s getting worse. He’s been spending hours looking out his window. He’s bored. And whether he likes it or not, I think a change of scenery might do him good.”

  “I think you’re right.”

  “So, why don’t we test him?” John rested his hand on the railing.

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “Go round up Gloria; ya’ll set up a place for him in the family room. I’ll help him downstairs, and you can work with him in there. He’s using his cane more frequently, the family room has a full bath, and the sofa makes out into a bed. We’re going to try this.”

  Faith headed off in the direction of the kitchen.

  A man didn’t get where John Jordan had gotten without strategizing. He nodded, liking this idea. He’d never invaded his father’s privacy. But Clayton Jordan was a man with secrets, and the only place he enjoyed complete solitude was in his room.

  I gave your daddy a detailed report years ago. John had to know what the old man had done. And if he’d hurt Faith in any way . . . only God Almighty could save his father.

  Chapter Seventeen

  WITH BRAD’S appointments cancelled for the rest of the day, he headed for home. The culmination of no sleep the past several nights had dragged him under. A nap had helped, but hadn’t solved the pressure coming at him from all directions. Talking to people already struggling about why he supported a water rate hike had to be one of the hardest things he’d done since entering office. Then there were Liz’s allegations. Now that Diana had left town, he was on his own again in solving that potential hornet’s nest of a problem.

  Bleakly, he stared down into the cerulean pool, hypnotized by the sun’s rays reflecting off the water. His father had built a rectangular-size pool specifically for laps. But the truth was, it had been an oasis when it came to helping his family tolerate the brutal heat.

  Brad dove in. He swam laps at full speed, then, lungs close to bursting, eased his pace. Forty laps later, he returned to the pool’s shallow end and collapsed, holding onto the edge the way he was trying to hold onto his way of life.

  Move on, Brad. You were right to tell her to leave. But his inner voice wasn’t so kind when it reminded him that even when she had returned to Diamond, it hadn’t been because of him.

  A towel dropped on the cement in front of him. He raised his head and shaded his eyes. Also outfitted in swimming trunks, Neil joined Brad in the water. “Your office said I’d find you here.”

  Brad moved to a series of steps built into the pool. Semi-floating, he propped his body with the support of his elbows. “Came home to sleep.”

  “Is that what you’re doing?” Neil laughed. He looked out toward the length of the pool. “Think you can still take me?”

  “I just swam laps.” Brad eyed his older brother. Neil, with his lighter hair and fairer skin, took after their mother’s side of the family. He was also a workout machine. Brad had let exercise slide since taking office. “What’re we ta
lking about?”

  “Ten laps. Loser buys supper.”

  Brad had never turned down a challenge from his brother in his life. Noting the competitive gleam in Neil’s eyes, Brad said, “You’re on.”

  Neil shouted, “Go,” as they kicked off from the three-foot wall. Then using their arms and legs, they cut through the water, expending all the strength and adrenaline two athletes could muster. Over the years, racing had often resolved a number of issues when fists had been vetoed by their parents.

  They were side by side the majority of the race, but during the last lap, Brad’s residual energy deserted him, and Neil swam ahead. He was panting and resting his head on his arms along the pool’s edge when Brad came up for air.

  “Name the time and place,” he said, between breaths.

  “Trail House. You pick the weekend. I’m ordering the works.”

  Brad shook his head. “You got it.”

  The two waded back to the steps. Lifting his face to the sun, Brad relished the lazy moment, as well as the fond memories of his brother that followed. Times like these were rare nowadays.

  Too rare, Brad thought. So infrequent that he was certain Neil hadn’t stopped by for a race and a family reunion. “Did you take off the afternoon to challenge me to a race?”

  “Nope, I actually stopped by to get Dr. Garcia’s contact information. I’ve decided to meet with her.”

  Brad nodded. “Wise move. I’ll contact her and see if she’s amenable.”

  “Amenable?” Neil splashed the water. “This woman’s spouting garbage about our company, and you’ll see if she’s amenable? Whose side are you on?”

  The question was so ridiculous Brad didn’t deem it necessary to answer. Liz hadn’t said not to get Neil involved. Whatever the case, Brad wanted to clear it with her first.