“It was only a third of a cup and it spilled over the edges and side. It didn’t go into the mechanical part of it, and wet coffee wouldn’t cause that kind of noise.” Her voice became higher and louder as it became obvious she might’ve broken a $5,000 copy machine.
“Oh really?” Devon teased, “Now you’re a broken copier expert, too?”
Logan Dunn grabbed another paper towel to wipe the drops from the table and output tray. He powered up the machine, gently reset the buttons and pressed start. The machine gun noise quieted a notch. A document printed out on dry paper and landed in the output tray without incident. “Children, children,” he scolded in a Mom voice imitation, “this is why we can’t have nice things.”
On the way to her office Cassandra advised, “Try calling the office supply store and get a technician out here to service that. It sounded like the paper roller went bad.”
Closing the door, she rested her head on the desk for a moment. She was due at the Finance meeting in 20 minutes. In her head, she heard SpongeBob sitting at his school desk, “Can I be excused for the rest of my life?”
Chapter Twenty
High heels clicking on the gray sidewalk, Cassandra hadn’t made it twenty steps before the street preacher bounded right up to her with a big, friendly grin. “Hello, Dr. Sato! What a lovely afternoon the Lord has provided for us today.”
Cassandra had meant to sneak out the back door. Not that she was avoiding another social media debacle. She was very busy. The preacher fell into step beside Cassandra, who searched for a safe topic. “Hello, again. Is it normal for Nebraska to have so many cloudy days in a row?”
The preacher lady looked up to confirm the current weather pattern. “Live here long enough, my child, and you will find that in the space of one afternoon we can have all four seasons.”
She seemed very familiar with the weather peculiarities, like she’d lived here a long time. Cassandra wondered where she went overnights and how long she’d make her home on Morton’s sidewalks and benches. She itched to ask for her name and be more friendly.
As soon as Cassandra had made it past her zone, the woman pivoted back towards the students shuffling to their next class. She transformed from quiet philosopher to fiery preacher mode. “I know what you do on the weekends! Drunks and whores! Repent or lose your financial aid! You don’t repay student loans in Heaven!!”
The preacher’s voice faded as Cassandra approached the Music Hall on the Eastern edge of campus. Down the path, she saw a familiar man walking towards her. His dark brown leather flight jacket with a sheepskin collar was unzipped over khaki pants, a button-down shirt and hiking shoes. He didn’t saunter, bounce, or strut. His steps were efficient and quick reminding her of the many clean-cut, handsome military guys she’d seen on the Honolulu streets. Embarrassed by the amount of attention to detail she’d noticed about his approach, she fixed a natural smile on her face as Marcus Fischer got close enough to say hello. “Hey, I was on my way to your office to talk to you. Glad I caught you.”
“I’m going to a Finance Committee meeting in there,” she said, indicating the Music Building.
He glanced at the time on his fancy sports watch. “Oh. Bad timing, then. I told Professor Zimmerman in the Ag Sciences department that he could ride along with us this afternoon. Is three still a good time today?”
Her smile froze in place while her brain raced through her mental calendar for details on a three o’clock meeting. Several awkward moments passed before she admitted she couldn’t remember. “Um . . . remind me again where we’re going at three?”
“The site visit for the housing services contract . . . strictly a formality. Dr. Nielson asked me to go with you since it’ll be your first visit to a cattle farm . . . Remember the email he sent us last week?”
She opened the slim leather portfolio containing her journal and iPad. She’d been included on so many extra emails the last few days. How had she forgotten this important one? The answer, of course, was that they were all important. Dr. Nielson was big on partnering with nearby resources in any way possible. Her first cattle farm? Not at the top of her Nebraska bucket list items, especially this week.
Fischer frowned like she should’ve already known this. “The farmer provides very lean, good quality beef for our residence halls and Greek houses. I’ve seen the budget, and we’re getting a good price, too. If today’s not going to work, I can reschedule for next week.”
She was spending more time in meetings than with students. How many balls could she juggle until they started falling to the ground? She looked down at her blue light wool pencil skirt and matching suit top. Her navy pumps had 3-inch heels and a decorative gold buckle across the toe. “No rescheduling. I’ll make it work.”
Fischer shrugged. “We’re somewhat flexible. Let me know when your meeting is done, or if you can’t make it, we’ll go without you this time.”
When she’d traveled to Lincoln in September, the farm smells had assaulted her nostrils long before her eyes saw the barns, fences, and animals. Although Hawai’i’s economy was largely supported by agriculture, Cassandra was a city girl at heart. She’d grown up on a 44-mile diameter island inhabited by nearly 1 million souls. Island crops were mostly pineapple, sugar cane, or locally grown produce for the markets. Maui and the Big Island had dairy farms, cattle, and fishing. None of them were as smelly as the operations she’d driven past between Omaha or Lincoln and Carson. “Thanks for being flexible. I’ll do my best to be done in time.”
Sitting in the conference room before the finance meeting began, she realized that seeing the farm first-hand might answer the mystery about why Austin had saved the contract with Nielson’s signature. Who was hiding what from whom?
As luck would have it, the main chairperson was out sick and Dr. Schneider was also a no-show. Absent key leaders, those present discussed the projected timeline, but no one wanted to make big decisions. The meeting was cut short and Cassandra found herself back in the office early.
She passed the copier technician on the way in and gave the thumbs up sign to Lance sitting at one of the student worker desks. He smiled back and waved hello. Rachel, Haley, and Logan stuffed envelopes for a mailing. Haley held up pink message slips that Cassandra scooped up as she walked past the reception desk and into her office.
She grabbed her navy Morton College plastic bottle off the desk and went back into the main office for a water refill near the corner snack table. Surveying the food in the baskets, she noticed someone had brought Halloween candy fun-size bars and Skittles that’d already been picked over. The other basket someone had stocked with healthy granola bars, cereal bars and peanut butter cracker packets. She wondered who brought in the goodies for the students and staff to eat, and made a mental note to pick up some treats the next time she went to the food market. Most of these kids were far away from homemade treats and nurturing parents.
Tuning into their conversation, she realized the students were discussing the upcoming Obstacle Course races planned as a study break after dinner. Students formed into teams of 6 with their fraternity or sorority houses, dorm room floors or friend groups, and dressed in Halloween costumes. Rachel said, “Alrighty, then. Here’s the deal. My friends are zombies. We’re going to wear our regular ratty clothes and put on gross makeup. We’ll look sick.”
Lance stood up and showed off his zombie walk and scary face while the girls cringed in mock terror at him. Logan lived off-campus and was on a team with friends from his PoliSci class. “We’re going to be superheroes. I think I’ll just dress as myself.”
Haley rolled her chair closer to his and smacked him on the shoulder. She teased him, “Very original. What’s your superpower?”
Logan made a classic weightlifter muscle pose and boasted. “Go out with me Friday night, and I’ll show you my superpower.”
Rachel laughed. “Yeah, I don’t think Atomic Farts count.”
Haley said, “Our team is doing a beach theme. I guess I
’ll just wear flip flops and a sundress. Maybe carry a towel? I don’t really have any more.”
The event’s excitement was contagious and gave Cassandra an idea about something she’d thrown into a file cabinet drawer on move-in day. She rifled through the miscellaneous junk from her old office at Oahu State. Must be something in here for a beach theme. She discarded a straw hat, large white plastic sunglasses and a cheesy Tropical Vacations, Inc. vinyl tote bag. Maybe a grass skirt?
Rachel scooted her chair closer to the others and held up her phone. “Hey Logan help me send a SnapChat to Devon with a picture of your face while you’re using your superpowers. Here, make a face. Ready?”
They all crowded in front of the camera and took a selfie. “Wait . . . that was no good. Try again.”
At the exact moment Rachel snapped the photo, Cassandra returned from her office holding up a coconut shaped bikini by the strings. “Haley, I can’t remember who gave me this, but—”
Rachel flipped the phone around and showed the photo . . . including Cassandra stepping out of her office, the bikini in front of her chest, her face lit up by a helpful smile. Her cheeks turned a deep red. “I swear if that ends up online somewhere, you guys are all fired!”
Logan turned to the room and held up a finger, scolding them in a fake Mom voice. “You all should leave now, and think about what you’ve done.”
Everyone except Lance grabbed their bags and scattered. Cassandra shook her head, dropped the coconuts on the desk, and went back to her office.
Her office clock showed 2:30 and Cassandra stared at the foot-high pile of student folders on her desk awaiting her attention. She also had reading to do for her grad students’ theses. Well, this was a bit of a dilemma. Probably Fischer and the professor could handle the farm visit without her. She recalled President Nielson’s admonishment to get out, meet people, and make herself more visible. Perhaps there was a little teeny part of her that wouldn’t mind getting to know Fischer a bit better, and a car ride is a great way to converse without pressure.
She’d nearly talked herself into calling him back, when she looked up from her desk and jumped. Marcus Fischer stood in her doorway, arms casually folded across his chest. “I saw you walking back to the office.”
Yeesh! Was he stalking her? Fischer’s head tilted towards the main street. “Professor Zimmerman is out front in the car. We’re just leaving now. This cattle feedlot supplies about 22,000 hamburgers’ worth of beef annually. How cool is that?”
She stood, put on her jacket, grabbed her bag, and followed him out. “You really need to work on your sales pitch.”
She pantomimed to Lance using the few signs she knew. “I’ll be back here around 6. Please lock the door when you close the office. Thanks.”
He gave her the thumbs up back.
Maybe they could stop on the way to buy nose plugs?
Chapter Twenty-One
Fischer dropped Cassandra at her house on the way back from the farm, then returned the college’s car to the motor pool with Professor Zimmerman. She swore the men were laughing at her as they drove away, but their heads faced the street, so she wasn’t 100% sure.
With great relief, she saw no neighbors when she dropped her Michael Kors pumps outside the back door. They were a total loss, caked in an inch of smelly, dried mud. A few minutes into scrubbing her feet and legs under the outdoor spigot, her stomach rumbled as a reminder that lunch’s soup and salad were distant memories.
Once inside, she paused to empty the water from her bottle into her Plumeria plant that lived on the end table she passed on the way to her bedroom. She gently stroked the long green leaves for a moment and inhaled the fragrant scent of the solitary yellow bloom. The smell instantly reminded her of leis and home, however not enough to disguise the farm stench she’d tracked inside. In her bedroom, she quickly changed into loose-fitting running shorts, a gray t-shirt, University of Hawai’i zip-up hoodie, and comfortable Brooks cross trainers. She stuffed her muddy suit into a trash bag. She’d let the dry cleaner decide later whether her outfit was worth salvaging. Her face burned with embarrassment at the afternoon’s memory.
The farm had turned out to be a short twenty minutes west of Carson. Fischer drove the white Chevy Malibu and chatted mostly with Professor Zimmerman in the passenger seat. The radio was turned down low, the windows rolled up to prevent field dust from covering the car’s cloth interior. Cassandra listened to them talk about select grade beef, and whether it was worth paying more for certified meat in the dining halls. The two-lane highway wound over gently rolling hills. Every couple of miles they passed small family farms surrounded by acres of harvested fields that left behind clumps of broken, golden cornstalks in haphazard rows. The only water in sight was a pond every few miles.
When there was silence in the front seat, Cassandra leaned forward and asked, “Can you tell me more about the partnership the college has to buy locally sourced beef?”
Professor Zimmerman turned to face her. “It’s a great example of private and public interests merging to benefit all of us. Dr. Nielson grew up in this area and introduced us to Brian Hopkins who raises cattle and runs a small feedlot here. We contract to purchase our beef from him, exclusively. He gets a good customer; and we get lean beef from a known source.”
“In the future, will you do something similar for the other foods you purchase for the college? Like chicken and vegetables, too?”
“We already have a large garden and greenhouses that supply vegetables in season. We also opened community garden space to the public to plant their own produce. Last month the garden overflowed with zucchini and tomatoes.” Zimmerman smiled at the memory. “Our food service cooks’ creativity was stretched to the limits to design recipes using those ingredients for every meal possible. Even I got tired of BLTs this year.”
She was surprised to hear Morton was on the cutting edge of food supply trends. “In Hawai’i, we had plenty of local fruits, and my family had a small garden. Nebraskans eat way more steak than we did though.”
“I’m on Luke Peterson’s dissertation committee, and we saw this opportunity to incorporate research into the business partnership. When we realized that the enzyme was naturally produced by human physiology, we made a protein concentrate additive to give to Brian Hopkins. Now he uses that feed additive with his cattle to boost enzyme production in the meat. Then he turns around and sells the beef to us. When our students eat the beef, it naturally raises their enzyme levels, giving them further disease protection.”
Luckily this wasn’t the first time Cassandra had heard about the cancer research enzyme. She thought she understood most of the science.
Zimmerman said, “Luke is the second or third student who’s been involved. Earlier they identified the enzyme, developed the protein feed additive for the cattle, and isolated the enzyme for this GA’s experimental treatments. Fun fact: SODs are also related to ALS (Lou Gehrig’s disease) and Down Syndrome. If the team develops an injection or pills to protect people from superoxide toxicity that would be a huge breakthrough. We’ve noticed an increase in the enzyme among the students eating the treated beef who donate blood and plasma. So this in turn provides more of the enzyme used in our research on campus.”
No wonder Nielson was so proud of this partnership. Made sense that he was anxious about negative publicity for their operations. Cassandra said, “It’s pretty complicated, but if the results work the way you expect, it could have a big impact on food production and medicine.”
“I’m proud to play a small role in the research process,” agreed Zimmerman.
Soon they turned off the main highway and onto a dirt road, then a nearby driveway in front of a 1980s-style yellow one-story house with an attached two car garage nestled into a good-sized yard of green grass and surrounded by a protective stand of twenty-foot-tall pine trees. The circular driveway continued past the house to the other farm buildings and a barn.
Cassandra didn’t
know all the buildings’ purposes but identified the really tall metal one as a grain storage bin. Halfway down, an open door had a conveyor belt hooked over the edge which continued to the ground near the driveway. Two large Lab dogs, one chocolate, the other yellow, bounded over to greet the visitors as they halted in the driveway in front of the garage.
Fischer and Zimmerman opened their doors, got out of the car and stood in the driveway waiting for the farmer to see them. Fischer petted the yellow Lab who gave a couple of welcoming barks, tail wagging, tongue slobbering as he danced excitedly around the men.
Cassandra sat in the car. No way was she opening that car door and getting dusty paw prints on her clean suit or scratch marks down her bare legs. That chocolate Lab probably weighed more than she did. She peered out the window wondering how long she’d have to sit there. She heard a piercing whistle at the same time she saw a tall, broad-shouldered man leave the shadow of the barn and walk towards the car. He wore dusty jeans, cowboy boots, a plaid shirt, yellow work gloves, and a black trucker style cap. His curly blond hair stuck out along the edges of the hat, and he called the dogs to his side while he took off his gloves.
A friendly smile broke across his face, and as he got close enough, she noticed he was younger than she’d expected. When he approached the car, he turned and pointed back towards the barn, commanding the dogs, “Out!” Immediately, they both stopped their circling and galloped back to the barn. Cassandra opened the car door and climbed out carefully onto the driveway’s hard-packed dirt.
Professor Zimmerman and Fischer shook the farmer’s hand. “Good afternoon, Brian! How’re you?”
He spoke in low, measured voice. “Too much rain last week. Flooded my storage room and messed up some fencing, but otherwise I’m good.”
After introductions and a tour of the buildings, they stepped outside again and regarded the large fenced in cattle yard filled with massive 1,000+ pound animals. The increasing wind gusts came out across the yard and kicked up a sandy dust cloud along the drive. Cassandra turned her face away and wondered if her hair would end up like Medusa’s by the end of the visit. Cassandra had seen cattle from the road before, but up close these beasts were larger than she expected. Smellier too.
Death by Dissertation (A Cassandra Sato Mystery Book 1) Page 13