Cassandra’s voice rose into the hysterical range. “Meg! You’re forgetting we are the adults. You’re a mom! This is not like that time we drank too much and you puked on the Waikiki sidewalk next to the motorcycle cop. I can’t afford to screw up here. Don’t you get that?”
Lance smiled at the puking story then signed, “I’m sorry, Dr. Sato. You’re right. I don’t want to get you in trouble. I’ll keep your name out of this. I’m going to talk to Luke Peterson to see about taking Austin’s place at the lab. I need to know what Austin was doing there.”
Meg was already all-in. When she was supporting one of her students, she was single-minded in her loyalty. Cassandra had an entire student body to consider. “What did you see on his laptop that the police and campus security missed?”
Lance hesitated. “You sure you want to know what I found?”
Curiosity and eagerness to find answers kept tugging at Cassandra, like an undertow pulls a surfer away from the safe shore. Her mouth formed a grim line. “What did you find, Lance?”
He handed over a paper which Cassandra read while Meg interpreted his explanation. “An email to Austin with a recommendation letter for an internship at AlphaBioGlobal from Dr. Schneider.”
Meg stopped interpreting and asked, “The plasma center guy?”
Cassandra confirmed, “He’s the only Schneider I know.”
“Schneider says in the email that he will personally speak to the CEO in Lincoln at ABG. Guy’s name is Aram Baral,” reported Lance.
Cassandra was unmoved. “What’s weird about that? Austin worked at the lab. Dr. Schneider put in a word for him at a summer internship. Connections are how you get those good jobs.”
Meg countered, “At The Home Team the other day, didn’t Dr. Schneider say he hardly knew Austin Price? Here, he wrote him a glowing letter. More proof that they knew each other well.”
One recommendation letter wasn’t convincing. Cassandra’s head shook. “Ok, so they knew each other. That doesn’t prove anything sinister happened. Why do you want to work in the lab, Lance?”
Lance signed, “There’s work notes on the hard drive too. Like weights and measurements. Stuff that should be on the office computers, not his personal laptop.”
That indicated sloppiness, nothing more. “Maybe he brought the log home and uploaded the data to SharePoint remotely?”
Lance answered, “I never saw him do work from our room. Why would he when the lab was only five minutes from our house?” They both looked at her expectantly like children asking for a puppy.
They should leave the investigating to the professionals. “This is a horrible idea. We shouldn’t be interfering.”
Lance proposed, “Ok, then don’t tell anyone. Let’s keep it between the three of us. I’ll go over this afternoon and apply. If I get accepted, I’ll snoop around more plus help them finish up the research study. If nothing’s wrong, I’ll make a few extra bucks. If I see something suspicious, I’ll tell you and you can tell the sheriff. Deal?” He held out a hand waiting for her to agree.
She felt like a mother who knew her child was making a mistake, but the only way for him to learn was by experience. As long as no one else got hurt, she reminded herself. “Deal.”
They shook on it. Cassandra held up a hand like a stop sign. “BUT I reserve the right to text you to back off if I think it’s not safe or productive. Understand?”
Lance and Meg quickly agreed. “Understand!”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“The state patrol has combed through Price’s laptop since Lance Erickson gave us the passwords. I still think it’s odd that he ‘found it’ in their bedroom at the fraternity. Hidden under the mattress of Austin’s bed.” Andy Summers’ voice was skeptical as he stared pointedly at Cassandra, Fischer, and Bergstrom.
Cassandra’s cheeks flushed while she mixed together salad ingredients she’d brought from home. After the status meeting, she’d drive south 45 minutes to Lincoln for her first consortium meeting with her counterparts from the Eastern Nebraska Private Colleges Association (ENePCA). She looked forward to meeting professionals she’d corresponded with since her August hire date, but was leery of leaving campus at a critical time.
Fischer avoided eye contact with her and busied himself with opening a potato chip bag to accompany his sub sandwich. Cassandra had requested Professor Bergstrom join the trio to ensure the college was doing everything necessary. He also remained hunched over the conference table quietly chewing his lunch.
When no one commented on the circumstances surrounding the ‘found’ laptop, Summers continued, “Isn’t it interesting that his laptop turned up, but not his phone?”
Again, no response from the group. Fischer said, “After five days of investigating, they don’t even know whether Austin injected himself on purpose before he fell down the stairs. Maybe you should call in more state patrol people to get this ball moving.”
Caught unprepared, Cassandra’s eyes widened. “Do you think the sheriff’s office isn’t doing enough?”
Bergstrom paused mid-bite of leftover fried chicken he’d been eating from a plastic takeout container. He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “You’re reading the big city newspapers too much. They just want to blame someone and splash our name around to sell papers. The articles contend the campus is full of gossip, innuendo, and terrified students instead of a medical incident.”
She agreed with Bergstrom. This wasn’t a one-hour detective show where they figured it all out in a neat little package deal. Besides so far, it’d been her name mentioned most often in the paper, even though she hadn’t given an official statement. Talking to reporters made her forehead so sweaty her makeup felt like it dripped down her temples, along her neck, and into her shirt collar.
Summers shook his head. “We’re working closely with the sheriff and patrol. I think our problem is people aren’t being completely truthful.”
Fischer’s normally controlled energy became tense. His lips flattened and a cheek muscle beat a little pulse along his jaw. “The problem is that some people are more worried about kissing up to alumni than finding out what happened to our student.”
Cassandra didn’t have time for bickering. “Let’s give them a few more days to get the test results back and focus on our Homecoming events.” Nielson had been crystal clear about that.
Summers referred to his notes. “Main thing is, more was going on than a lab accident. Either Price hid his phone or someone else has it. We know he was paid, but no idea for what. His death could relate to his work in the lab, the enzymes themselves, or the money. Until we know otherwise, we increase security this week. Especially with the large numbers for homecoming events.”
Fischer’s frustration dissolved and his shoulders straightened into military mode, ready to take orders. “We can send over some housing and maintenance staff in Morton jackets to the Student/Staff Volleyball game, the parade and carnival, and the bonfire. Just let me know where and when . . . Hey, normally we don’t check bags at the football games, do we?”
Summers flipped through the small notepad he always carried and nodded at Fischer like they were having a private briefing. “Not normally. With only a few hundred-people attending, it’s usually a non-issue.”
They weren’t usually all in one room together. Cassandra’s eyes bounced back and forth between Summers and Fischer. Their looks were light and dark, heavier and thinner, farm and city, but both had that all-business vibe going when there was a critical goal in front of them.
Cassandra’s brain snapped into focus at the sound of Bergstrom saying her name. “Dr. Sato, I’d advise some generic security announcements on the website for this week.” He slowly stood up and gathered his trash.
Her watch said that she’d barely enough time to pack up and get to the consortium meeting, provided she didn’t get lost in Lincoln. “Yes, we can use the website to let people know that we’ll be strictly enforcing the rules and checking bag
s. Anything else, gentlemen?”
Summers rose and came closer to speak privately to her, while Fischer and Bergstrom walked to the hallway together. Andy was irritated. “You didn’t look surprised by my update. Did Lance really find that laptop under Austin’s mattress?”
She hated lying straight to his face. She wasn’t good at it, either. Her palms sweat, and her voice wavered. “If that’s where he told you it was, then I can’t tell you anything different.”
Andy’s eyes were hurt and his tone unusually harsh. “So you won’t tell me the truth? Maybe they were in it together. How do we know Lance doesn’t have Price’s phone, too? What if this is some Deaf Community thing? Ask yourself if you’re helping this investigation, or wasting my time.”
The anger in his voice stung. “I’m telling you everything I can think of that will help.” Cassandra’s first loyalty would always be the students. Summers was a grown man who could fend for himself. They’d become friends and she regretted messing that up, but she wouldn’t change her stance on supporting her students.
Summers’ brisk steps carried him the opposite direction down the hall from where Bergstrom and Fischer waited. Bergstrom said, “see you later,” and followed Summers more slowly.
Fischer silently accompanied Cassandra back to the main office door. They hesitated a moment too long, as though he was dropping her off after an awkward first date. She searched for something simple and non-committal to say before he left, but her thoughts were interrupted.
Bridget had replaced Devon at the front desk, while Rachel made copies. “Dr. Sato, the health clinic nurse just called because three students checked in today with flu-like symptoms. They thought you’d want to warn others to be careful to wash their hands and prevent the virus from spreading.”
All awkward date thoughts aside, Cassandra turned to Fischer. “Now the flu? Don’t we have enough to worry about already? I guess it will be easy enough to add that to the media department’s website announcements.”
He shook his head. “We can’t seem to catch a break this week, huh?” Those clear blue eyes held hers for a few beats. “You know Summers has it bad for you, right? You can tell that, can’t you?”
Fischer’s directness surprised her. Was it that obvious? Sure, she had wondered what Andy’s intentions were, but she’d hoped it was friendship. He was so nice to her; a genuinely good guy.
She’d always been slow to realize when men were interested in her romantically. Previously guys had asked her to dinner, a play, or event and she misunderstood thinking it was either work-related or a platonic invitation. Because Cassandra focused on work most of the day, she assumed everyone else did too.
Her strict no-dating at work policy had served her well so far by allowing her an easy excuse to numerous men. Including the super-creepy married Vice Chancellor who once tried to scam a weekend at a San Diego resort alone with her—by faking a board meeting for a national association. Before him, subtlety, distraction, and coldness had always worked. However, when Super Creep stole a kiss and groped her in her office, she dropped all subtlety. She told him if he said one more word about them doing anything but reviewing student files together, she’d take his arm and accompany him upstairs to the EEOC office to file a harassment claim with him standing right there. He finally got the message, and then tried to make her feel like she had led him on. In what language did, “Good Morning, Vice Chancellor” equate to flirtation? Idiot.
She considered Fischer’s question. When she was near Andy Summers, she felt brotherly camaraderie, no sparks or flames. Not quite what she felt when Fischer stood close and spoke to her in his deep, careful voice. She tried to ignore the fluttering in her stomach. She needed to leave for Lincoln, instead of feeling frozen to this spot in the doorway deciding whether to deny it all or not.
“Uh, um . . .” she stammered, “Andy’s been very nice and helpful since I started working here in August . . . I can use all the friends I can get right now.” Lame. That was such a lame thing to say. Ugh.
Fischer nodded once. “Your call. Lotta guys mistake friendliness for encouragement. Talk to you later.” Before she could even think of a reply, he’d already left.
She did a mental head shake to get her scrambled brain back to business and marched into her office. Not before she heard Rachel’s voice behind her, “Oh, I think someone else has it bad for you, too. And it isn’t Officer Summers.”
Bridget had laughed and said, “If you don’t want him, he’s not too old for me, is he?”
She poked her head back out of her inner office. “Really, ladies? I don’t have time for this.”
Bridget held up a finger and drew a little zig zag in the air. “I’d make time for him. That man is fine.”
Cassandra stuffed the meeting documents, her journal, and water into her tote bag. Behind the door she grabbed her coat, wondering whether it would be colder in Lincoln. She might have to hike a few blocks from the parking lot to her meeting.
Halfway to her car, she stopped abruptly. Wait a minute. Was Rachel right? If Fischer was warning her about Summers, did Fischer see him as a rival? Could he possibly like her? She hurried forward again. Maybe she’d have some quiet time on the car ride.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Meg chattered while Cassandra steered the college’s Toyota Prius down the highway past rolling cornfields. “It was easy for Lance to get the job in the research lab! He offered to take Austin’s place because he knew the study ended in only a few weeks. At first Peterson was reluctant, but when he found out Lance is a computer science major, he put him in charge of entering the numbers from the log books into the database. Apparently, there’s a backlog.”
So much for quiet thinking time on the drive to Lincoln. Cassandra loved Meg, but really could’ve used a couple hours for a mental break. Meg had met Cassandra near the parking lot wearing her I’ve-got-a-great-idea-and-you’re-going-to-love-it smile. “Lucky my afternoon class was canceled! After your meeting, we can hit the mall and shop for warmer clothes. Perfect timing!”
Cassandra wore another Ann Taylor power skirt suit ensemble today, this one in a tan color with a magenta shell peeking out from her lapels. Taupe pumps with gold buckles completed the outfit. The top of her hair was clipped up in back and she’d remembered to bring colored lip gloss to apply before the meeting. The only part of her that wasn’t fancy was her fingernails. She didn’t have time to manicure them herself, and she wouldn’t have paid someone to do it for her. The suit fabric was medium weight wool, and she was comfortably warm in the 65 degree partly cloudy weather.
Meg held up a dog-eared copy of My Antonia. “I’ll read this Willa Cather novel from one of my English classes while you’re in the meeting. Oh . . . one problem: malls here are tiny compared to Ala Moana in Honolulu and not a Gucci or Tiffany’s in a four-state area. But you’ll find some sweaters and warm boots.”
Cassandra didn’t want to admit it to Meg, but part of her was glad she’d have a co-pilot to navigate around Lincoln. She’d been there twice, but not enough to know her way around. “As long as we’re home pretty early. I need to get some sleep tonight. So . . . when does Lance start the job?”
“Luke Peterson must’ve been desperate for help. He let Lance start right after a short tour of the lab (which smelled like nasty disinfectant.) Where they keep the food, how to set up the water, and clean the cages. I almost gagged . . . Luke gave him the computer login and password information and a short orientation to the notebooks and database. Lance picked it up quickly. Guess who interrupted our training time, though?”
Cassandra hated playing 20 questions or those stupid guessing games. She shrugged. Just say it, already.
Meg continued, “Deputy Tate, that strapping farm boy who came in and questioned Luke. I couldn’t help overhearing them while Lance was going through an online database tutorial thing. He asked general stuff like, ‘how concentrated is the enzyme they give to the rats, had he noticed any negat
ive side effects, when will the study be completed’ . . . that type of thing.”
Cassandra chuckled at Meg when she said “couldn’t help overhearing them.” Right. Meg’s ears would be tuned into anything related to this investigation. “Interesting. They’d already asked him those questions when I was there with Andy and Deputy Tate the first time. So . . . he seemed concerned about the enzyme itself and its side effects?”
“That’s what I thought at first, too, but then Tate changed direction and asked Luke ‘when are they planning another trial using the synthetic enzyme?’ Luke didn’t give a firm date, but said six months at the earliest. Tate asked how much Austin was paid, and if there were other medications in the lab that Austin could’ve sold on the side. Luke got kind of defensive then. Next Tate asked, ‘Were you asking him to do extra tasks and paying him on the side?’ You should’ve seen the look on his face!”
When Cassandra glanced over, Meg was making an appalled expression with big eyes. “So Luke answers, ‘I’m not doing anything wrong. I’m just following the research protocol. You’re welcome to look at anything. I’ve nothing to hide.’ That convinced him to back off.”
Cassandra guessed, “They must be suspicious about the enzyme or those money transfers that Lance found in Austin’s laptop. He won a small prize for the blood drive coordination, but no one knows where the extra $600 came from, yet.”
Meg continued, “After he finished grilling Luke, Tate noticed Lance quietly working on his database tutorial and interrupted him. Good thing I was there, right? . . . Then, Tate asked Lance if he’d found anything in his fraternity room that belonged to Austin.”
The two-lane highway went straight South to Lincoln, and at midday there wasn’t much traffic. Cassandra easily paid attention to both the road and Meg’s story. “Lance said, ‘No, between his parents and you, Austin’s backpack, books, clothes . . . everything is gone—except our video phone.”
Death by Dissertation (A Cassandra Sato Mystery Book 1) Page 16