Cassandra remembered the phone in their bedroom like the one in Meg’s office. Meg’s story got faster as she got more excited. “This is totally between you and me, right? You can never say you got this from me. Tate started to leave the room then turned around and said, ‘How does that video thing work? Does it have memory like a cell phone?’ and Lance said, ‘Well . . . there’s a call history saved on there. But we both used it, so I don’t know if you’ll find anything helpful on it.’ Then Lance goes, ‘You could take it and check the phone numbers and messages . . . I don’t have time to do it between school and this new job.’”
Meg said, “So Tate looked concerned and said, ‘Is it safe for you to work here, Lance?’ . . . Then Luke kinda looked over at them funny. Lance’s eyebrows went up like he’s thinking, ‘Oh great. You, too?’ But then Luke defended Lance and said, ‘He’s a quick learner, and I could really use his help to finish my research this month.’”
Cassandra knew enough from being around Meg to know that deaf people can do nearly anything they want to do. And safety isn’t an issue when your visual skills are more acute than the average person who can hear. “What is with these people?”
Meg wasn’t done. “Wait! So after Tate left, Luke called someone and scooted into the storage room around the corner to talk privately. Of course, I inched over to that wall where he couldn’t see me and listened while Lance kept working.”
Cassandra didn’t know whether to admire her friend’s bravery or smack her across the shoulder for nosiness. Admiration won. “You didn’t!!”
“I think I heard Luke say, ‘The deputy came back and asked me more questions. I don’t know what they’re worried about . . . I’m starting to feel like this place is bad luck . . . If I hurry up everything, I could finish all the tests by end of next week . . . I’ll try to . . . yes, I know we need to finish this.’”
So many things had happened in just a couple of hours. Cassandra had a lot more to think about now. “I wonder who he called?”
They sat silently for a couple of minutes until Cassandra said, “I wish I knew more about biology. My undergrad degree was in Secondary Education for history.”
They hit the northern outskirts of Lincoln, where there were more houses and traffic when Cassandra’s phone beeped with a text notification. She handed it to Meg to read for her.
“It’s from Marcus Fischer.” Meg teased, “Are you sure I should read it? What if it’s personal?”
Cassandra rolled her eyes. “C’mon. Please. Just. Stop.” Although there was one little part of her heart that made a teeny leap . . . Her brain overrode that thought. “What does it say? I hope nothing happened at Morton.”
Meg read, “I’m calling a halt to the farmer’s beef served in the cafeterias. Want to check on kids with flu at health clinic. Better safe than sorry.”
Cassandra dictated a reply: “Could just be a virus. But safe is fine with me too.”
Marcus replied immediately: “Summers arranged for extra off-duty deputies on campus.”
Cassandra nodded, “Tell him ‘ok, thanks for letting me know.’”
Meg smiled while her thumbs worked the screen. “I’ll add a couple of kissy face emojis for you.”
Cassandra didn’t blink. “And then I’ll break your thumbs.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Meg’s head was wedged between the reclined seat and the car door when Cassandra returned to the parking lot two hours later. Eyes closed, her mouth hung slightly open with drool on her chin, and she snored softly. Cassandra stood there for a few seconds smiling, then whipped out her phone to snap a picture. Never knew when she’d need an embarrassing photo of Meg.
A few minutes later, on the way to the shopping mall, they passed an office park to the south. On one three-story building, AlphaBioGlobal Inc. was emblazoned in huge white letters. In an uncharacteristically spontaneous move, Cassandra whipped the Prius into the next available turn and doubled back to the parking lot in front of the building. Meg’s head swiveled around, and she looked puzzled for several moments after the car had stopped. “Oh . . . This must be the home office for the plasma center in Carson, huh?”
“Must be,” Cassandra confirmed and checked her watch. “It’s only 3:50. Remember that email recommendation letter on Austin’s laptop for a summer internship here? Since we’re so close, we should check it out. Maybe I could talk to a recruiter. Find out more about the internship and what types of students they want next summer. I’d be able to network better if I’d met them in person, right? It shouldn’t take very long. Ok?”
Meg nodded approval, “Good thinking, kiddo. You could take credit for building a partnership with a global pharmaceutical company. The administration will love it. Let’s see who we can meet. Do you remember the guy’s name on that internship letter?”
Cassandra was already thumbing through her phone; she’d sent herself a copy of the letter Lance had given them.
Twenty minutes later they were wearing visitors’ badges and had talked their way past the front desk sentry by giving their official job titles and mentioning they’d like a tour for potential internships from Morton College. They’d met an HR department lackey who had shown them some conference rooms, generic offices, the Wellness center gym, and handed them several glossy brochures about the wonders of modern medicine produced by AlphaBioGlobal Pharmaceuticals. They’d also heard what a great place it was to work with state-of-the-art facilities, on-site day care, and the employee cafeteria.
After mentioning Dr. Aram Baral’s name several times, they found themselves waiting in his empty office. Lined in opaque glass, it was sleek and sterile. The only personalizations were his framed diplomas hanging on the one real wall: Masters in Public Health from Creighton University and his MD from Johns Hopkins. Otherwise the desk, bookcase and modern gray molded seating looked like something from thirty years in the future. Finally he appeared, hurried yet friendly and shook their hands. “Dr. Sato, Ms. O’Brien, good to meet you. Sorry to keep you waiting. Thank you for stopping by today. How can I help you?”
Cassandra pegged the CEO at 60-ish years old. Dressed in a light gray linen suit with a narrow pink tie, he exuded money and power. His dark hair and eyes could place him in any of several races or cultures, but his name and short dark beard suggested Indian heritage. “Thank you for seeing us, Dr. Baral. I appreciate your time and apologize for dropping by unannounced. Morton College is always looking to optimize our students’ opportunities in the surrounding communities. We’d like to explore ways we can work with your company to give our students more hands-on experience in the biomedical fields. I understand that you offered a summer internship to one of our students, Austin Price.”
Baral’s face blanked a moment, searching for a memory. “Austin Price . . . Morton College . . . The one who just died? I did read about that boy’s tragic story in the newspaper. Too young. I’m sorry for your school’s loss.”
Cassandra acknowledged, “Thank you. It has been a long week. Since you’d been counting on him to work here next summer, and I happened to be in town for another meeting, I thought this might be a good time to stop by and offer Morton’s help. We’d like to suggest another student to fill Austin’s summer internship, as well as learn what types of skills you need for future internships. We’d like ABG to feel confident in recruiting our highly qualified students and graduates.”
A slight frown crossed his face. “Internship? Here . . . are you certain?” he said slowly. “Oh . . . that internship. Yes, it was in the very beginning negotiations stage.” His head cocked a bit to the side. “How exactly did you learn about the internship, Dr. Sato? From Arnie Schneider, up in Carson?”
Cassandra realized she had overstated, but didn’t know how to backpedal. She ad-libbed, “No, I don’t think he told me himself. I must’ve heard someone else talking about it. However, Dr. Schneider did mention to me that he’d like to partner with the college to develop more internships.”
Baral’s frown lingered a second, but he quickly recovered his good humor. “Certainly. We’d be happy to take on a few students next summer in our testing or research labs. Of course, they’ll be doing mostly boring microbiology and lab assistant type positions, but it’ll expose them to the environment here. Everyone has to pay their dues.”
She had nearly blabbed about Austin’s letter. A little zip of relief buzzed Cassandra’s spine. “I can have our career services contact ABG to set up applications and interviews so you can choose from our top students. Thanks for your time, Dr. Baral. I appreciate you seeing us unannounced.”
He shook their hands. “It was pleasant to meet you both. Have a safe trip back to Carson. Thanks for stopping by.”
Back in the car, Meg spoke up, “That went pretty well. Although it seemed like that internship for Austin Price wasn’t a done deal yet.”
Relief gave way to excitement that she’d pulled off two successful meetings in one afternoon. “Yes, I got the same feeling. Oh well. At least we met him and now he has faces to match our names. He’ll know where to find us next time he comes to Carson. He seemed open to the idea of increasing our internships.”
“Definitely worth our time. Glad you took that little detour . . . And now, if you turn onto Pine Lake Road and drive a few blocks, we should be at the mall. I’m feeling lucky. We’re going to find you some good deals!”
Ten pairs of jeans later, Cassandra’s shopping patience was near its end. Most were too big or too long. Finally, she found one pair that suited her tiny frame—not super skinny, but a flattering fit in a dark wash. When she came out to model them in front of the mirrors, Meg exclaimed, “You look hot!”
Thirty minutes later they’d found more jeans, shirts, a heavy scarf and gloves, and had crossed the mall’s courtyard on the way to the parking lot. Cassandra was puzzled. “Who builds an outdoor mall in Nebraska? Totally impractical. In Hawai’i, the malls are open air and filled with gorgeous tropical plants. Why would anyone willingly walk in and out of shops in the freezing cold of winter?”
Meg shrugged. “I never come to this one in the winter. I go to the indoor mall from December to February. Of course, then you have to fight the senior citizen mall-walking enthusiasts.”
“That’s a thing?”
“Just wait. You’ll see.”
They’d driven through Runza for dinner on the way home. Cassandra hadn’t realized those breaded meat buns Nielson had served her in his office actually formed the central concept for a very popular restaurant chain. She skipped the cabbage and ordered a Swiss mushroom burger and Frings—an ingenious combination of French fries and onion rings. She’d earned the extra grease. Once they were back on the road, Cassandra recounted for Meg the moment after the meeting earlier with Fischer. “Seemed like Fischer was warning me that Summers wants to date me. At the same time, he practically accused me of leading Andy Summers on.”
Meg said, “Duh. I told you so. It’s obvious to anyone with eyes, Cass. It might be the wrong timing, but he’s interested for sure. They both are, if you ask me.”
Dating multiple men was not in the plan right now. “I don’t have time for that.”
On the way home, Bergstrom called. She was tempted to let it go to voicemail since it was after work hours. Her guilt got the better of her, and she answered on speaker phone so Meg could hear. He said, “Cassandra. I’m glad I caught you. The board members are concerned about the negative publicity regarding the lab and the college.”
Even Meg didn’t know the full extent of her tenuous position. Cassandra glanced at Meg while Bergstrom warned, “This situation is volatile. We need to reach out to our allies. Remind them that student success is our priority. Do you have time tomorrow to make some calls to board members? You need to assure them you’re doing what Nielson wanted.”
When she hung up a few minutes later, Meg said, “It’s a good thing you have Bergstrom’s support. Geesh! I just show up, do my job, and go home. Your whole academic politics rigmarole is stressful! You can keep your lofty Vice President title. I don’t need that.”
She had a point, agreed Cassandra. Unless that “Vice President title” was a step along your life plan. Then the politics were just another skill she needed to master to reach her end goal.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
By the time Meg dropped Cassandra at home Wednesday night, temperatures had dipped into the lower fifties; the wind had picked up to 23 mph, scraping the high branches of the back yard’s large oak tree against the windows and side of the house. The first few times it’d happened she had been startled; by now she recognized the noise and didn’t jump at every scratch. Hearing the wind blowing against the walls made her feel chilled. She left her shoes in the front entry and padded over to the thermostat in the hallway. She cranked it up to 74, carried her packages into the bedroom, and carefully unpacked the dress shirts neatly wrapped in white tissue paper, putting everything away.
Comfortably dressed in sweats and a long-sleeved shirt, she opened a bottle of Cabernet from the pantry and savored the wine’s smooth earthy taste. Since Friday afternoon, she’d been worried some outlandish science conspiracy was endangering students. Getting away for a four-hour mini-vacation with Meg had felt relaxing and normal. Cassandra had even enjoyed trying on clothes, although she’d never admit that to Meg. On the way home, they’d turned up the radio and sang along to a couple of pop songs, chatted about her brother’s family, and her mom’s Mahjong club.
Always multitasking, she went down to the laundry chute opening in the basement and threw a load into the washer. That laundry chute in the hallway outside her bedroom door was the coolest feature of living in a 1920s house. She’d never seen one until Meg had demonstrated by opening the little door, throwing a towel down and then guiding her to the basement to see the towel sitting in a heap only steps from the washing machine!
Setting her wine glass on the living room end table, Cassandra relaxed into the plush gray sofa. Admiring the dark wood floors, antique doors and white brick fireplace, she appreciated the house’s cozy and comfortable vibe. Maybe Nielson was right, and she should make more of an effort to invite people over for dinner parties. She served as adviser on a few masters and PhD students’ committees. Maybe she should plan small student group meetings in her home. Perhaps if she were to decide when and how often people were invited, she might be more open to sharing her private sanctuary. She added it to her mental to do list after the president returned from his trip.
She’d made it through ten minutes of a Season 2 rerun of The Office, half-watching/half planning Thursday’s tasks, when she focused on her wine glass sitting on the simple black end table. Something was different in the room, but she couldn’t say what it was exactly. She shrugged and watched the rest of the show where Jim finally admits to Pam that he loves her.
The washing machine beeped to signal the cycle was finished. When she stood up to move it to the dryer, she grabbed her empty glass to return to the kitchen. Again, she paused and looked around the room. Really looked. What was different?
Several minutes later when she closed the dryer and pressed start, it occurred to her what was different. She ran upstairs to the main floor and rushed into the living room. Not there. Went back to her bedroom and into the bathroom. Peeked behind the shower curtain. That’s so weird!
She didn’t remember moving her Plumeria plant. Sometimes she brought it into the bathroom for water or to wipe off the leaves, but it wasn’t in there. She turned on all the lights and stood in the middle of the living room looking high and low. Three steps to the small sun room area in the very front with its wicker furniture and built-in bookshelves. Honestly, she should probably move the Plumeria in there because it would get more light during the winter.
Opening the front door and turning on the porch light, she took a few steps out and looked around. Nothing. She closed and locked it up then went through to the back door
Ya
nking it open, she flipped the light switches and froze in the open doorway.
Illuminated by the bright spotlight over the detached garage was a black stain. Lots of smaller black chunks clung to the garage door. Her brain finally caught up to her eyes and allowed her legs to move a few feet into the middle of the driveway. Under the splattered soil was a small lump of broken red pottery and soil with a foot-high plant tipped over. Some of the tender branches were snapped off and a broken yellow flower wilted atop the mound. A small scream escaped her lips. Her hands flew up to cover her mouth, and her stomach dropped like an airplane during turbulence. Finally her legs worked again, and she ran inside the back door.
What else did they touch? What else did they break? She raced up the spiral staircase to the second floor’s seldom-used two bedrooms. Her heart pounded from the running mixed with growing fear. Flipping the lights, she darted from room to room. The simple guest bedroom with its white queen bed, end table, and small reading chair were untouched. The extra room was empty save a few full boxes she hadn’t gotten around to unpacking yet. She tugged at the cardboard to peek inside, but nothing had been moved. Standing, she put her hands on her hips while her breath came in short gasps.
Slowly, carefully, she descended the spiral steps, wondering if each turn would bring her face to face with an intruder. How long had she been inside? The initial adrenaline wore off, and tears flowed down her cheeks as she absorbed that someone had broken into her house and smashed her plant. She grabbed her phone from the bedside table and called Andy Summers, because she knew he lived near campus too. Did they even have 911 out in the middle of nowhere?
When Andy pulled up a few minutes later wearing jeans and a Packers sweatshirt, she was on the back step huddled into a sobbing, shivering ball. He crouched down beside her and put an arm gently around her back. “Cassandra, are you hurt? I see the broken plant. Is anyone else inside your house?” She opened her eyes, and his concerned face was very close. “I couldn’t really hear you over the phone. Are you ok?”
Death by Dissertation (A Cassandra Sato Mystery Book 1) Page 17