Doug nodded, thoughtful, and made a note in his phone.
Cliff’s eyes were on the monitor. “Luis, Carl, will you be okay there for a while? I think you’re pretty well stocked. Is there anything you need?”
Luis and Carl exchanged a glance. “Well, there is one thing,” the older man said. “I can’t have Elena pick up my new copy of Blood World at Blue Lake Games because then they’d ask her where I was. But if someone could smuggle us a copy—well, between that and Carl’s food I’d be pretty much set. This Lazos guy has a primo gaming system here that no one has touched.”
A chill fluttered down my spine. I remembered the claustrophobic feeling of Nikon Lazos’s basement lair, beautiful as it was, and how I feared I would never leave that place. I tried never to look at it when I visited Allison, but sometimes my eyes would dart across the street and remember the horror of that house. On the other hand, we had found treasure in that cave-like dwelling: Baby Athena. And we had the joy of reuniting her with her mother. The pendulum had swung back . . .
“It sounds like my dinners will be a real disappointment after Carl’s cooking. I had no idea, Carl!” Elena said.
Carl shrugged. “I watch a lot of cooking shows,” he said. It seemed to be his mantra, and it made me smile.
“Carl, I’ll need you at Wheat Grass very soon. That gives us incentive to resolve everything quickly,” Adam said. “Andre can’t wait to meet you.”
Carl looked pleased. He nodded, then walked away with Luis’s empty coffee cup.
Doug said, “Luis, thank you very much. We’ll be in touch. I’ll leave you to say your good-byes to your wife.”
He went into Camilla’s front hall, where I found him checking his texts. Belinda joined us. “I have to go,” he said, slipping an arm around her. “Cliff and I have work to do. But I’ll see you tonight.” He kissed Belinda on the cheek. “How about if you drop me off at the station? Cliff can drive the other car back.”
“Okay,” Belinda said, pleased.
“Go start the car, I’ll be right there; I just want to ask Lena something.”
She waved at me. “See you tomorrow.”
After she had gone out Camilla’s front door, Doug said, “Who’s going to be here tonight?”
“Full house,” I told him. “Camilla, Adam, Sam, me.”
“Keep your eyes open.”
I edged closer to him. “What’s going on?”
He tapped his phone a few times and then held it out to me. “Is this the man you saw in the window?”
I gasped. “Yes! Oh my gosh—who is he? How did you get that picture?”
Doug looked grim. “His name is John Driscoll. He works at Crandall Construction; from what I can tell he doesn’t have actual training in the trade, but he’s a sort of general dogsbody. He’s got a record; he served time for breaking and entering. I’ve got an APB out on him, but he hasn’t been seen since he appeared in your window Sunday night.”
“Huh.” I stared at the photo; it was a mug shot in which Driscoll was scowling, so his expression was pretty much just as I remembered it. “Okay, now you have me nervous.”
“I just want you to be vigilant. I’m guessing he won’t return, but this whole thing with Luis, and Plasti-Source, and a spy on your property—it’s giving me bad vibes.”
“Okay. We’ll lock up tight. We’ve got two German shepherds and four smart people. Adam, as we have all learned, possesses a gun, despite Camilla’s reservations.” I didn’t add that Adam had saved my life with that weapon, but Doug and I both remembered that drama quite well.
He said, “That’s really cool that Camilla and Adam got married. I’ve known them both a long time.”
“It is. They’re both so happy.” We looked over as the couple in question strolled out of the office, conversing with Sam and Cliff.
A horn tooted outside: Belinda letting Doug know she had pulled up to the door. Doug said, “I’ve got to go. Remember what I said.” His gaze shifted to the other cop in the room. “Cliff? I’m going with Belinda—see you at the station.” He waved and moved out the door.
Cliff said something to Camilla, gave his brother a quick hug, and walked past me.
“Ready for your date?” I murmured.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” he said with his charming Cliff smile. Isabelle was going to fall hard, I was sure.
He strolled out the front door, whistling under his breath.
Sam appeared at my side, and I felt his forehead. “You might almost be healthy,” I said. “You feel good.”
“So do you,” he said, squeezing me against him.
I giggled.
“What was Doug saying? He was wearing his ‘concerned father’ face.”
“He found the man from the window. An ex-con named Driscoll who is currently on the loose.”
“Of course he is.” Sam sighed. “So he wants us to batten down the hatches?”
“Yes. He has bad vibes.”
Sam was quiet for a moment. My head was still resting on his chest; I could hear the rhythmic beating of his heart. He put his nose into my hair and murmured, “We need to live in a monastery or something.”
I stepped away from him, reluctantly. “Nowhere you can go that human evil can’t reach you.”
He studied my face. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I probably just need some lunch.”
His eyes left mine to find Adam and Camilla. “What sounds good for lunchtime?” he said to them. “Should I order something for everyone?”
Camilla came closer. “Rhonda has us covered. Adam and I are going to take the dogs out for a minute, and then we can regroup.”
“Stay close,” Sam said.
She and Adam understood; they had seen me talking to Doug.
“We will,” Adam said. Elena and Joe came out of the office, and Camilla walked them to the door, speaking graciously to them. Elena hugged her in a sudden burst of emotion, and then she and Joe disappeared down the steps.
Camilla returned and looked at me, reading my mind in her Camilla way. “Everything will be fine,” she said.
I wanted that to be true. I wanted to get back to the preparations for her party, to sit with her and talk about her new book projects. I wanted to walk the dogs with her and share Blue Lake gossip without fear that somehow we were being watched, or that the very water we drank might be contaminated.
Camilla understood all this, and she squeezed my hand. “Mark my words,” she said. “By the end of the week, this will all be over.”
21
In a Gothic tale, there must always be a terrible structure. It is the embodiment of evil.
—From the notebooks of Camilla Graham
STAFFORD WAS NOT a pretty town, but it had a certain dignity, thanks to some antique architecture and a rather grand town hall. The Plasti-Source building was on the outskirts, between a gas station and a used-car dealership. It sat on a huge lot like a gray metal spider, and when we pulled off Blandings Road at six o’clock, we found many available parking spaces, since the factory workers had left at five.
Sam and I had doubled up with Adam and Camilla in Adam’s car; Doug and Belinda had driven on their own in Belinda’s Mazda. Rusty had found himself shorthanded, so Cliff had to work.
We walked toward the building, which, in the waning light, looked more black than gray. It blotted out the twilight with its hulking form; it was not a welcoming place.
Camilla tucked her hand in the crook of my arm and murmured, “Welcome to Thornfield after the fire.”
I sniffed my agreement.
“More like Castle Frankenstein,” Sam said.
“But without the Gothic charm. This thing looks like it was designed by a kid with Legos,” I said. “And this is what we have to look forward to in Blue Lake.”
Adam had given it a more object
ive scrutiny. “Luis said this building was old, didn’t he? But it doesn’t look well maintained.”
I followed his gaze and saw that, even in the dim light, the building looked as though it could use some care and maintenance. The minimal landscaping was overgrown, and parts of the gray siding seemed to be bulging away from the frame.
We went through two large main doors into a factory lobby with cement floors. A woman in a lab coat met us there; she wore a name tag that said “Barbara.” In all, the tour group only had about twenty people, including the six of us, which surprised me. What about the angry citizens? Wouldn’t they have drummed up support for this event?
“Thank you for coming to Plasti-Source,” Barbara said. “Please refrain from taking any photographs during our tour. I’ll be happy to answer any questions you may have, so feel free to raise your hand at any time. I’m sure you’ll be fascinated to learn about the patented process we use to create plastic sheeting, containers, and strips.”
Belinda stood behind the group, typing away at her phone. She was more adept than anyone at pulling up significant information with just her cell phone. Leave it to a librarian to use a phone as a mini card catalog. Moments later she stood beside me and said, “Plasti-Source does not have any patents on file with the US Patent Office. Lie number one.”
Barbara glanced at us to see if we had a question, but we merely smiled at her, so she finished her introduction. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll lead you to the factory floor.” Two silver-haired men in suits walked swiftly past, and Barbara pointed at them, her face euphoric. “Oh, what an honor, everyone! This is the president of Plasti-Source, Edward Grange, and the vice president, Philip Enderby! They’ll be available to answer questions after our tour.”
The men paused briefly to send a friendly wave to the group, looking like politicians in a campaign commercial. I realized where I had seen Edward Grange before: he was the man who had been buying camping supplies when I bought Sam’s medicine. Today’s suit transformed him into a corporate look-alike, but I recalled the sadness and vulnerability of the man in the store. Perhaps he had been thinking about this wife.
As they walked toward a side door, I thought Edward Grange caught my eye; perhaps he recalled our meeting as well. I followed the small crowd, wondering what Grange’s environmentalist wife had thought of Plasti-Source overall as a career choice for him.
I looked at Sam, who had narrowed his eyes at the two men. “He looks shady,” he said.
“Who, Grange?”
“No. Enderby. Did you notice the way he didn’t make eye contact when he waved? He looked over our heads.”
I hadn’t noticed that. My gaze moved to Camilla and Adam, whose hands were joined casually as they moved along, looking as if they were genuinely enjoying the tour.
In the factory, Barbara instructed the foreman to turn on some machines, after which she had to yell at us. “You’ll probably be surprised to see how many sophisticated robotics we use here in the factory! We have robots that load and unload injection molding machines, kit our plastic components, and even pack our finished products for shipping.”
We watched dutifully, trudging along the line as metal arms toiled over the various tasks of making plastic. At the end of the giant factory floor, it was a bit less noisy, and some people ventured to ask Barbara questions about production. Who bought the plastic products? Did they remain in the US? How expensive were they? Were they filled with dangerous chemicals?
Barbara had clearly been listening for that last question, because she gave it special attention, speaking soothingly with euphemisms that made even Belinda blink in astonishment. “Our plastic products are made with the utmost care and under careful supervision by no fewer than ten line inspectors. As you can see”—she gestured around the factory floor, which gleamed dimly in the fluorescent light—“we have impeccable standards of cleanliness and keep a safe, sterile atmosphere.”
“Does she want to operate on someone?” Sam asked quietly, his mouth on my ear. His proximity was close enough to be exciting; I sent him a glance that held some sexual suggestion. His lips curled up on one side, and his hand slid around my waist.
“She didn’t answer the question,” Belinda insisted in a tiny whisper.
“Excuse me,” said Camilla’s gentle voice. She had truly dressed for the part of a frail elderly woman. She wore a blouse with a Peter Pan collar, a white sweater, and a long navy blue skirt. “I think you forgot to answer the part about the toxic chemicals. Do you have some safety precaution for the workers who might inhale them? And how do you dispose of any chemical runoff?”
Barbara smiled thinly. “When I spoke of our clean environment, I meant that we apply the same careful standards to our containment of chemicals. We’ve had no workers reporting any ill effects from working on the factory floor, and we have a very particular containment and disposal process which is overseen each year by several environmental regulators.”
“Does that include the EPA?” Adam asked.
“It does; we have an EPA investigator scheduled to visit next week, and that person will also be looking at our new construction in Blue Lake.”
Sam said, “Why was the building halted at the Blue Lake site?”
Barbara offered him a toothy smile. “These things often happen in the construction world, as you all know. We expect to resume work early next week. If you’ll all follow me, we’ll take the elevator up to our office suite, where Mr. Grange, Mr. Enderby, and some of our other executives will speak with you in the meeting room. Did all the guests sign in? If not, please do that now.” She held out a clipboard that we had all signed. “There will be light refreshments offered upstairs.”
It struck me suddenly that no one else in the group had asked questions. They had merely followed along, occasionally smiling when Barbara made some mild joke. Belinda edged close to me. “I can’t find any mention of this open house on the Plasti-Source website,” she whispered, looking at her phone. “That’s so odd.”
I glanced at her, surprised, but our small group was already following Barbara, and Doug pulled Belinda away from me to murmur something in her ear. I moved along dutifully; Sam’s eyes found mine, and I imitated Barbara’s fake smile, which made him laugh. The guests had to take turns on the elevator, so when Sam and I stepped out into a carpeted lobby, we waited until the entire group was assembled, and then we began to follow Barbara down a long hallway with offices on either side. I imagined the hallway in darkness, and Luis running for his life past the shadowy offices. Which of these tinted windows had been pierced by a bullet? Who had been pursuing Luis, and why?
I stole a glance at Sam, who was clearly thinking along similar lines. Barbara was chatting away with that special tour guide’s gift for gab, noting the design of the building and the floor plan, which allowed for a view of the factory floor at both ends of the hall.
We reached an intersection with another large hallway; this one seemed to hold restrooms, a janitor’s closet, and more offices. Sam turned left, seemingly in search of a restroom. Since he and I were last in line, only I saw that he kept walking and studied the names on office doors. I caught Doug’s eye; he was closer to the front of the group, near Adam and Camilla. He, too, had been scanning offices and names on doors. Belinda was near the middle of the crowd, occasionally tapping her phone. I feared that Barbara would pounce on her and take it away, or demand that it be turned off. Doug nodded at me, which I took as encouragement, and I followed Sam down the gray hallway, not illuminated as the main one was.
Sam had reached the end of the hall. He peered at the final office and gave me a thumbs-up. I jogged toward him, my feet silent on the industrial carpeting, and arrived to find that the name on the door was Philip Enderby. Sam tried the doorknob, which turned easily under his hand. “Doug said to assume that if doors are open they’re encouraging us to wander around,” Sam said.
I looked
back; there was no one in sight.
I turned and followed Sam into the room. Sam found a light switch and flipped it on.
* * *
* * *
PHIL ENDERBY’S OFFICE was larger than one would expect from the outside—spacious enough to house a giant credenza against one wall, holding two abstract sculptures and several stylish file holders, along with a wide crimson bowl filled with what looked like candy.
A gray desk dominated the room and sat squarely in front of a window that looked down on the various robots in the factory below. Sam went to the window and looked down, but my eyes were drawn to the desk, which held an assortment of files and a newspaper. It was a Chicago Tribune; I recognized the logo and the large blue lettering, but I also recognized something else, even upside down . . .
In a bolt of adrenaline, I hurled myself forward and looked at the paper. “Sam.”
“You would think that a place this giant would have more security on the main floor,” he mused, still looking down. Someone in the factory was switching off lights, one by one.
“Sam.”
He turned, surprised, and looked where my finger pointed.
“Uh-oh,” he said.
The date of the paper indicated that it was from January, when a reporter named Jake Elliott had written a long feature about Sam, which had then been picked up by several papers. The story included several pictures of Sam, some of which included Camilla and me, and one that highlighted Doug Heller. On the front page was a picture of Sam, with me behind him, my arms wrapped protectively around his neck. The caption read, “Sam West with his new love interest, Lena London.”
“Why is this here?” I asked. “Why is Phil Enderby reading an article about us?”
Sam shook his head; his eyes moved to the office door and widened slightly before I saw the shadow fall across the desk.
A voice behind me said, “And my question is, ‘Why are Sam West and Lena London so interested in Phil Enderby? Why do they even know his name?’”
Death with a Dark Red Rose Page 21