Elementary, My Dear Watkins

by Mindy Starns Clark

  “So how is it that Alexa ended up living here with you?”

  Her grandmother shook her head, saying that it all happened rather quickly.

  “Dr. Stebbins had been monitoring the ongoing progress of all of the Fibrin-X/ADHD patients, but he was particularly intrigued with Alexa’s case. In reviewing some of her old records, he realized that she had had some IQ testing as a child and had scored at a near-genius level, but that her ADHD had been so severe that she had barely functioned in school. He came to me, to ask if I might consider sponsoring her—paying for a boarding school education, all of the best and brightest opportunities, whatever it might take to see if this child could reach her full potential in the wake of her treatment with Fibrin-X. We both agreed that she would make an amazing case study for his presentation.”

  Jo could understand why. Her story was compelling.

  “Frankly, I didn’t think boarding school would present the best opportunity for her as she simply had so much catching up to do. I thought it over and decided to make an alternate proposal: Private tutors, private lessons, and one-on-one instruction with some of the best teachers that money could buy. Before I knew it, we had managed to work out the details for her to come and live here. Her mother signed over temporary guardianship, grateful that her daughter might have the chance at a better life than she was able to provide.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “In the beginning, I really didn’t expect to have Alexa here for very long, perhaps a month at the most and then we would make more long-term arrangements. But she was very little trouble and really quite pleasant to have around. One month turned into two, which turned into three and, well, you know the rest. Given her age, living in a mansion with an old lady probably isn’t the best situation for her, but it’s certainly better than what she had at home.”

  Much to Danny’s surprise, Georgette wasn’t as upset as he thought she’d be about the change of plans. Apparently, Luc had been her first choice for making the trip anyway because of his language skills.

  “Let us be honest, Dah-nee. You may be a hard worker and a very likeable person besides, but you have been living in France for more than a month and your French still sounds like something you learned from a book. Yesterday.”

  While she didn’t mind that the Africa trip had turned out as it did, she was not as happy about the fact that Danny might not be at his desk first thing Monday morning.

  “I do not care which one of you comes back here to Paris and which one goes down to the Congo, but if I am not getting Luc back on Monday, then I need Dah-nee instead. It is that simple.”

  “I’ll try, Georgette,” he said, knowing that it would be difficult, if not impossible, especially considering the time difference. That would give him only about 24 hours in the States before he’d have to turn around and get on an airplane to return. Considering that he wasn’t sure why he was going home or what he might find when he got there, he wasn’t going to make any promises. “Again, this is a family emergency. I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

  “Well, I tell you what is going to happen here. Wednesday, at the latest. You have until Wednesday. If you are not back by then, you do not need to come back.”

  “That seems a little harsh.”

  “It is a harsh business. I am not trying to be mean. I get dozens of internship applications every month. If you will not take advantage of this opportunity, then there are plenty of other people waiting in line who gladly will. An internship is not like a regular nine to five job, Dah-nee, where you can take personal time if you need it. By design, it is an intensive, three-month commitment that must be an absolute priority.”

  Danny closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, a headache just starting behind his eyes.

  “I understand,” he said, feeling that same helpless urgency he’d felt when they offered him the internship in the first place—and then gave him only one week to wrap up his affairs, move to Paris, and begin. If the job hadn’t come with an apartment, measley as it was, he never could have made it work. “I’ll keep you posted.”

  “Please do,” she said, and then she said goodbye.

  Sighing heavily, Danny hung up and tried to focus on his next call.

  It was time to speak with Jo.

  As he dialed her cell phone number, he decided that, unlike in last night’s conversation, she would have to be honest with him this time and tell him if anything strange was going on. The more he thought about it, the more suspicious he became about that whole interchange. Pumped about his trip and excited to hear her voice, he had done almost all of the talking. But now that he thought back on it, he realized that when he had asked her how she was or what she was doing, she would turn the conversation back to him. Even her brief mention that she was on her way to stay at her grandmother’s house seemed very odd in retrospect. Jo’s grandmother made her crazy. When had she ever willingly gone just to stay with her?

  Was Jo hiding something from him? Just trying not to burden him? Or was he jumping to conclusions?

  All he knew was that he had 30 minutes before they would begin boarding his next flight. Using the calling card, he dialed Jo’s cell and listened to it ring.

  Jo could feel her cell phone vibrating from her pocket, but she decided to ignore it and call whoever it was back later. At least the volume was turned off, so that there was no ring tone to interrupt what her grandmother was saying. Eleanor was just getting to the part where she was explaining how Alexa’s situation had some bearing on Jo’s situation. Other than the Bradford connection, Jo still didn’t see how it related at all.

  “Do you remember in the meeting here yesterday,” Eleanor said, “when Kent told you that one of our subsidiaries is at a major crossroads, and he and Neil have taken opposing views on the matter?”

  “Yes.”

  “The subsidiary in question is the pharmaceutical company. The argument between your father and your uncle has to do with the release of the information about Fibrin-X and its ADHD connection at next month’s symposium.”

  Jo sat back and exhaled slowly as the phone finally stopped vibrating. That certainly wasn’t where she thought her grandmother was going with this.

  “For very good reasons, Neil is eager to support Dr. Stebbins’ efforts, and he is doing everything he can to facilitate the development of the drug and prepare to get the word out about the findings. Your father, on the other hand, for equally good reasons, is opposing the release of data at this time. He thinks it’s extremely premature and wants to push the matter back by several years at least.”

  “Several years?”

  Jo’s phone began vibrating again, so this time she reached her hand into her pocket and simply turned it off.

  “That’s not unusual,” Eleanor said. “The average drug takes twelve years to go from conception to completion. As it is, for every five thousand new substances developed, only five will make it to human trials, and of those only one will ever end up on the market. Drug development is a phenomenally costly endeavor.”

  “Gran, while I appreciate having a little background here, I don’t really understand the implications. Your theory—and my father’s—is that someone is trying to kill me to gain control of my shares so that they can take this particular decision in one direction or the other. Correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why on earth is this worth killing over? It sounds like any one of a dozen similar business decisions that these folks have to make every month. I just don’t see why it’s that big of a deal.”

  “I’ll tell you why,” her grandmother said, folding her hands and putting them in her lap. “Because the average cost of bringing one new drug to market is one billion dollars. It’s an astonishing amount of money, but the return profits on successful drugs, if the process is handled correctly, are well worth it.”

  “Meaning…”

  “Meaning the right decision here, on this particular drug, could mean a multibillion-dollar windfall f
or everyone involved. The wrong decision could bankrupt the pharmaceutical company.”

  “Wow.”

  “There is no room for error. Someone, it seems, wants to make certain this decision goes their way, even if it means they have to kill for it.”

  Alexa woke up and glanced at the clock, trying to figure out how many hours she had slept. Not the full eight, but it would have to do.

  She sat up on the edge of the bed and thought about how nice it was to have a day off, with no tutors or teachers or therapy or anything. She had a feeling she should play sick more often.

  But now she needed a shower and then she thought she would go down and look for something to eat. She had to play this just right, because if she acted too sick the old lady might call in a doctor, but if she acted too well she might get mad that Alexa had asked them to cancel her lessons. Maybe later she would do some homework anyway, just to keep up. She needed to practice her piano too.

  Most important on the agenda, though, was trying to figure out what Winnie had been doing last night in the old lady’s bathroom. When Alexa thought about what she had seen—Winnie crossing the lawn in the darkness, climbing into the house through the window, and messing with the old lady’s medicine cabinet—she couldn’t make any sense of it at all. But if she told the old lady or anybody else about it, she’d have to admit that she had snuck out herself, and that she couldn’t do.

  As her tutor was fond of saying, it was a real catch-22.

  Jo stepped outside, chilled to the bone despite the bright morning sunshine. Walking slowly toward the guest house, her mind was spinning with what her grandmother had told her, trying to make sense of it all. At least now she understood why someone was after her. When billions of dollars were involved, life suddenly grew a bit cheaper. Like the Bible said, the love of money was a root of all kinds of evil. And how.

  Trying to put the conversation with her grandmother out of her mind for now, Jo continued toward the guest house, bodyguard in tow, eager to collect one last toaster so that she could get down to work. That would take her mind off of things, at least for a while.

  Of course, Jo thought as she walked up the stone path toward the small but elegant building, getting this last toaster means facing the wrath of Winnie. I hope she’s calmed down by now.

  Jo reached the door and knocked but got no answer. She decided to try the greenhouse instead. As she went, she thought about Alexa, her heart going out to the girl. She seemed incredibly well adjusted, considering how much her life had changed in the past year. “The resilience of youth” was the phrase that came to mind.

  Some kids could withstand so much and still come out shining in the end.

  Danny paced near the telephones, trying to figure out what to do. The plane would begin boarding in ten minutes, and he still hadn’t been able to reach Jo. Finally, he decided to try the number she had given him last night, for her grandmother’s house. He pulled out the crumpled paper and called it now.

  A woman answered on the second ring. Danny identified himself and asked for Jo Tulip, but instead, after a few clicks, Jo’s grandmother came on the line instead.

  “Danny, this is Eleanor Bosworth. How are you?”

  “I’m fine, ma’am. I’m calling from Europe, looking for Jo. Is she around?”

  He hated to rush her, but people were already starting to get out of their chairs and line up at the gate.

  “I’m sorry, but she’s out in the studio right now. I’ll have to have her call you back. Can I give her a message for you?”

  He hesitated. What should he say? That he was on his way? That he’d see her tonight? Suddenly, he felt like the biggest idiot on the planet.

  Should he skip this plane and not get on at all?

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Bosworth,” he said, thinking he might have lost his mind. “This might sound crazy, but I’m standing in the airport trying to decide whether or not to get on a plane to New York to come see Jo. It’s hard to explain why, but can you tell me if she’s okay? Is everything all right?”

  “Well, the police are doing what they can, but they don’t really have any solid leads. Jo’s safe for the time being, now that she has twenty-four hour bodyguards. And Bradford’s still in the hospital, though he’s out of intensive care. Does that tell you what you need to know?”

  Danny stood there like a stone for a long moment, simply staring at the receiver. Did that tell him what he needed to know?

  “My flight gets in at eight forty-five tonight,” he finally replied. “I’d like to come straight to your house, if I may. Could you give me directions? I haven’t been there in years.”

  She offered to send a car and driver to the airport to pick him up, but he declined, telling her that his travel agent had already reserved a car. Danny preferred to have his own set of wheels.

  “That’s fine,” she replied, rattling off a simple route that would take him from JFK to her estate in Westchester County. “Of course, you’ll stay here. There’s plenty of room. Frankly, I’m relieved that you’re coming. In a way, the key to Jo’s safety lies in your hands.”

  “Ma’am?”

  “If you were to marry her, then this whole problem would be solved.”

  As Danny watched the people at the gate filing onto the plane, he was unable to form a coherent reply.

  “You told me last fall,” she added, breaking his silence, “of your intentions toward my granddaughter. I assume they still hold true?”

  “Absolutely,” he said, finding his voice. “I love Jo more than life itself.”

  “Then do the right thing and get here so the two of you can tie the knot. You can still have a big church wedding and all of that down the line. The important thing now is to get those shares vested, which would happen the moment she says ‘I do.’”

  “Mrs. Bosworth, I don’t know how to say this, but I have no clue as to what you’re talking about. Jo has told me nothing. We spoke just yesterday, and she acted as though she didn’t have a care in the world. Unfortunately, if I don’t hang up this phone in about two minutes, I’m going to miss my flight.”

  Mrs. Bosworth was quiet for a moment.

  “She hasn’t told you anything?”

  “No, ma’am. The only reason I was flying home was—” he hesitated, not wanting to mention the Helen Tulip connection just yet. “Well, it’s complicated. But from what you’ve been saying, it sounds like things are even more complicated there.”

  “Complicated and confusing and frightening. Strangest of all is why Jo hasn’t shared any of this with you.”

  Danny had to agree. He wasn’t sure whether to feel hurt or suspicious or simply scared.

  “Mrs. Bosworth, would you do me a favor? Would you not tell Jo that we talked or that I’m coming? She doesn’t seem to want me there and, knowing her as I do, I’m sure she has her reasons. But that’s not going to stop me. It sounds like she needs me, whether she’s willing to admit it to herself or not.”

  “Hear, hear! You go ahead and get on that airplane, young man. In the meantime, my lips are sealed.”

  19

  Jo hobbled to the greenhouse, her bodyguard a few steps behind. Through the foggy glass she could see Winnie at the potting table, deeply immersed in her work. Jo stepped inside, inhaling the wet, loamy smell of green, growing things. Muck, the gardener, was sitting on a cement bench nearby, sorting through a big box of sprinkler heads.

  Jo greeted him and then walked toward the back of the structure, calling out a hello to her aunt. Winnie glanced up, did not reply, and simply returned to what she’d been doing.

  “I’m sorry to bother you,” Jo continued, “but I wanted to see how you’re doing. Plus, I need to ask you a favor. First, though, are you okay?”

  “What do you think?”

  Jo could see that Winnie’s hands were shaking and that she was handling the seedling much too roughly as she moved it to a bigger pot. Not wanting to set her off into a rampage, Jo quickly tried to change the subject, admiring th
e plants and commenting on some early blooming hothouse roses. Winnie seemed to be growing more and more agitated, though, picking up the spritzer and vigorously pumping out squirts of mist at the newly potted plant.

  Suddenly, Jo could feel the bodyguard’s hand on her elbow, gently leading her backward a bit so that he could insert himself between the two women. As he did, Jo felt a brief flash of fear—and she wondered for the first time if it was possible that one of her closest relatives really could be a killer. Winnie had always been a little “off,” as the family would say, but Jo had never, ever seen anything in her that was evil.

  Eager to distance herself even more, Jo walked back toward Muck, who seemed to be dealing with some frustration of his own, though not in a frenzied way like Winnie. Clearly, there was a problem with the sprinklers. Jo asked if he needed help, and all he said was “Clogs.” Muck had always been a man of few words.

  Jo picked up one of the sprinkler heads to examine it more closely and found that many of the tiny holes where the water was supposed to come out were indeed clogged. This problem she could handle. She advised him to use a three-step approach: scrub the heads with a toothbrush, use the hose to force water backward through the holes, and finally clear any remaining clogs with a wire. Considering how many sprinklers he was dealing with, though, that was going to be a tedious and time-consuming process.

  Jo glanced back at Winnie, who seemed to be calming down. Now she was spritzing a nearby tray of seedlings, much more gently than before, her expression vague and distant.

  “Thanks,” Muck mumbled.

  “Those clogs are caused by sediment in your water,” Jo added, turning her attention back to him. “Are you drawing from the old well?”

  He nodded. Back in the pasture was a picturesque stone well, now slightly crumbling, but still, apparently, functional.

  “House is tied into municipal now,” he said, “but I still use the well for the grounds.”