Heaven Sent Rain (7 page)

She buzzed Hal. He was surely waiting close by, because the Ford was at the door a minute later. Dinah waited for her charges to get in the back and sank into the passenger seat.

So now what? Take Jonah home and then talk to Hal about the next steps. Brave the hordes? Call the police? Sneak in to work incognito? A Groucho moustache and horn-rimmed glasses, perhaps. This was getting old really quick.

Tomorrow, regardless, she was going to work no matter what. What did real celebrities do in situations like this? Besides hire bodyguards? One thing she knew for sure: She was not going to remain in hiding, trapped by fear. Not in this lifetime.

H
ere we go.” Hal braked gently and turned into a side street. He pulled the big Ford up to a stop sign.

Dinah leaned forward over the dash and looked down the cross street, the street running past her condo. She flopped back into the seat. “The hyenas are still there.”

“You have to give them credit for persistence.”

She sat erect again. “Hal, this is ridiculous. They’re a bunch of news reporters, not crocodiles. Surely we can just march through them and ignore them. What more can they do?” Was this a real threat or something about mountains and molehills?

“Dinah, they’re pros. Masters of ambush. They have all sorts of tricks you don’t know about. They trick you into saying something, then trim away all your words except the ones they can turn into a twenty-second sound bite. The world of journalism has changed.”

“Still…”

“And we haven’t even heard from the big guns yet. I expect a volley any day.”

“Meaning?”

“There are a lot of possibilities. Buyout offers, injunctions, all manner of legalities.”

She looked out the window. Beyond the corner sat a white TV station van with a dish on its roof. “Are we vulnerable?”

“Technically, no. You were good about dotting all your i’s and crossing all your t’s. But they have all the money they need, even government backing. You know we talked about this so often and, yes, we’ve been excruciatingly legal, but someone will dig up something. Or possibly make up something, twist something just a bit. Don’t be surprised if you read about your childhood in one of the rags.”

“But why?” It burst out of her. “All we’ve done is produce a product that can benefit millions of people.”

“Who will no longer be forced to buy as much of the drug companies’ highly profitable diabetic drugs and paraphernalia. Come on, Dinah. We’ve talked about this over and over.”

She heaved a sigh. “I know, but I refuse to live in fear and worry and what-if.”

“There is only one real protection in all this.”

“And that is…?”

“Almighty God.” He grinned at her. “Thought that would stop you.”

Dinah felt like sputtering and ranting about a God that is not real and never takes care of His people and all the other arguments she had perfected through the years. A picture of Gramma reading Bible stories to her did not flit through fast enough, followed by an image of her and Michael when she was swinging him on the tire hung from a huge oak limb. She clamped her teeth against the scream that threatened to blow them all up.

She abandoned the God thing. “I know I’ve been hiding my head in the sand, but all I wanted was to get Scoparia out there and go back to my lab bench. We may be on to something, the mechanisms involved, and I want to pursue it further. It’s not rocket science; it’s bioscience, and I’m beginning to see all kinds of lucky little what-ifs. Is that so terrible?”

“Luck. Or a series of continuous miracles. God has blessed you mightily.” Her snort made him smile. “Sorry, my friend, truth is truth, and we did not do all of this on our own. No matter how great a team we all are.”

Gramma had said that one time, too, in her warm voice, or many times that morphed into one. “You can’t outrun God, Chicken Little. His shoulders are plenty broad enough to carry your anger and He will always love you no matter what. Not like those in your life who have let you down so terribly.”

Those in her life whom she had loved and lost.

I’m not trying to outrun Him. You can’t outrun something that isn’t there. All in people’s heads.
She jerked her mind from such painful introspection and thought again of Jonah, and of taking Mutt in to see his mother. The little dog didn’t adore just Jonah; it was obvious she had a heart big enough for the whole family.

The concept of the whole family led to another thought. Who and where was Jonah’s father? Shouldn’t he know how terribly ill his wife was? But if there had been a divorce—there were so many scenarios and no answers to any of her questions. So why didn’t she ask?

She repeated it aloud. “Re: Jonah. When we left him and Mutt out at his place, I was so tempted to just take you upstairs to see his mother. We know so little, but I can’t figure out how he manages to sidestep me every time I start to ask questions. It’s as if a door slams and he leaves. At least now that I know where they live…”

“You could go visit with her while Jonah is in school.”

“I was about to say that.”

He pointed and continued driving. “Someone is waiting by your back door, too.”

Dinah sighed. “I think we need to just set up a time for a media interview. Or maybe a press conference. Get up, read a statement, and leave.”

“We’ve talked about this.” There was a warning note in his voice.

“I know.”

He pulled over to the curb. “I could ask Horace to create some kind of distraction at the rear entrance so we can get in.”

“I’d rather just go to the office if I’ll have to deal with them either way.”

Her mind started bumping and bouncing from idea to idea, as it so often did once she made an initial decision. “We’ll do a media interview at one p.m.”

He scowled at her as he took a right at the intersection. “That’s an hour and a half away.”

“Right.” She pulled out her cell, hit the speed dial, then punched two for April and put it on speaker. “April, we’re doing a media interview at one. Send out an announcement, please.”

April sputtered something. Her assistant was very good at sputtering; probably some sort of passive resistance when she disagreed and didn’t want to say so. But then she said so: “Dinah, you can’t! We have too little time, and they’re going to say whatever they want to say; this will just feed into their biases.”

“I refuse to live like this.”

“Run it past Hal first.”

“He is right here, actually, and hasn’t said a word.”

“Of course he hasn’t. What good would it do?”

“None. I think deep down you agree, or you would be spouting advice at me.” She glanced toward Hal. He looked grim. “We’ll be there in about five minutes. Call a meeting so we can prepare a statement, please.”

A give-up lurked in her voice. “I have one ready. I figured you would fold soon.”

No, she would never get ahead of April. “Good, we’ll go over it, then. We’ll want everyone, so we’ll all be in the loop.”

“Will do.” Was that a sigh of resignation?

Dinah thumbed the button and dropped her cell back into her bag. “You think she will have a better idea?”

Hal shrugged and turned into the parking garage, ignoring a reporter’s shout. “You’re not giving us time to set this up properly.”

“What setup? A mic is all we need. I will read it, say thank you, and…”

“No questions?”

“I wasn’t going to do a Q-and-A. What do you think?”

“I think we might be opening a can of night crawlers. Perhaps we say there will be a private interview at—”

“And they can pick one person? That might keep them busy for a while.” She smacked her head against the car-seat back. “All I want to do is keep working. Get production under way and let people begin to reap the benefits.” A sigh. “So much for free enterprise in the land of the free and the home of the brave.”

April met them at the elevator door. “We’re all ready in the small conference room,” she said, leading the way down the hall at a firm march. This was no time for extraneous conversation, but she asked. “Is the little boy okay?”

“Yes, and his dog, too.”

“Oh, good. I’ve been praying for him.”

“Thank you, I’m sure.” This God thing was getting a bit insidious.
Why can’t they just live and let live? I don’t go preaching my beliefs to them.
But she put a smile on her face when April opened the door and ushered her in.

Discussion dribbled to a halt.

“Okay, let’s get right to this.” Dinah took her place at the head of the table. “I understand you all have a copy of the proposed spiel.” Glancing around the table, she caught all their nods. All of them: April; Hal; Hans Aldrich, the PhD in biochemisty, department of research; Sandy Dennison, their other PhD in biochemistry, who headed up their production department; and Marcella Kitman, MBA, department of marketing/publicity. All of them had been with her since within the first six months of opening the doors to Food for Life, and Randy and Alyssa joined the company not long after that. Their tight-knit little group, whom Dinah felt proud to acknowledge, truly cared about each other. And they cared about the work even more.

“Are there any questions?” Dinah looked up from studying the one sheet and glanced about. No one seemed unduly upset or scowly.

Hans raised a forefinger. “Two questions. One: Where is this going to be held?”

Dinah had no idea, but April was saying, “In the street out in front of the building. That way we’ll have the Eastbrook Police Department right at hand; traffic control, but if anything cuts loose, they’re there. I was going to use the big conference room so we could control the situation better, but then they’d be inside and we’d have to get them to leave. That wouldn’t be easy.”

Hans nodded grimly. “Question two: Do you really think you can pull this off without getting trapped by overanxious reporters?”

“I’ll jerk her offstage with my shepherd’s crook.” Hal stared at them over templed fingertips. “I think that all of you should be her flanking guard.”

“Now that’s a fancy term for bodyguards,” Marcella, at five foot eleven, made them laugh. But they all had learned to stay away from the edge of her tongue when she went into full Irish temper. One had only to witness it once to learn that lesson.

The chuckles lightened the gloom around the table. Dinah knew that they all knew how much she hated things like this. And so much was at stake. This whole mess had already gotten out of control.

Sandy tapped her page. “I suggest we omit that paragraph about the good of the people. If we keep this on a strictly business level—”

“And not let the emotions get involved.” Hans finished Sandy’s comment and added, “Forget the warm feely stuff and stick to the facts.”

“Wait a moment,” Marcella chimed in. “Warm feely sells ideas; facts don’t. As much as the public thinks they’re rational, they aren’t. Emotion rules. Same goes for reporters, although I hesitate to call them human. We shouldn’t leave it out if we want to make a case that appeals to the people.”

April added, “I doubt it matters at this stage. We’re just trying to get the hyenas to go away. They aren’t going to hear half of what you say anyway; they’ll be trying too hard to get a question in.”

Dinah frowned. “We are announcing up front that there will be no questions.”

Marcella shook her head. “That doesn’t deter them. The big problem is, you might get so frustrated you slip and let loose with some tidbit of information we don’t want to provide yet. Worse, a misstatement. Once you say the wrong thing, even if you immediately correct it, you can bet your sweet mama it’ll get quoted and misquoted. So we stick to the script. Nothing more.” She pushed her paper toward the middle of the table. “I move we accept this, we spearhead her out there, she delivers, and we do an immediate about-face and disappear. April will have a repast set out in here, where we will then disconnect the phones and eat, drink, and be merry.”

“For tomorrow we shall die?” Leave it to Hans.

“I surely hope not.” Why could Marcella not have said something more positive? More definite? Dinah almost winced.

“I second. Especially the eat, drink, and be merry part,” said Sandy.

“Opposed?” Dinah looked around for a negative sign, expecting none and getting none. “Carried.”

April pressed her lips together a moment, studying the table. Then she asked, “Do we want the Extraburger package to go, pizza, or subs? Or something else?”

Hans grinned. “Braumeister’s deli tray. Three of them. To be delivered by Mr. Braumeister so we don’t have to show our faces.”

“Braumeister’s it is. The usual case of soda?”

Among the chorus of uh-huhs, no one said nay, so April stood up and walked out.

Hal left, the others went back to whatever they were doing, and Dinah returned to her office. Was she doing the right thing? Absolutely the wrong thing? Was Hans right and she was no match for overzealous reporters? Hal seemed to think that, too. Why would they think that? She had a normal supply of smarts—an excessive supply in some areas, like chemistry. Surely she could do this.

She couldn’t sit still. She walked to her bookshelf, walked to the window to see just as many media jackals as usual out there, walked away. She wore a track in her office rug much like the one at home.

Time didn’t just slow down, it stalled. The hour was a week long. She read through the paper a couple of times so she wouldn’t stumble.

At five minutes to one, they marched down the stairs and paused behind the double doors opening into the lobby. Dinah glanced out the little side window toward the street doors. As she had feared, a nightmare’s worth of reporters and camerapeople were clogging the lobby, pressed against the security desk, standing around over in the Extraburger, milling in the main doorway, and overflowing out into the street.

“I called the police department,” April announced. “They’re going to clear the area, they said, as soon as we’re done. I apologized and told them we had no intention of causing a problem, but some of the reporters might get pushy. The receptionist said, ‘Show me one who isn’t pushy.’ So watch yourselves.”

Oh, how Dinah dreaded this! Even though it was, essentially, her idea.

Hal straightened his tie, took a deep breath, and led the procession out into the lobby, parting the doors like the waters of the Red Sea. They flowed forward relatively unimpeded, thanks to the City of Eastbrook officers, wearing determination as a mask. A lectern with a bank of microphones had been set up. Where had that come from? April, Hans, and Marcella pressed in behind her.

Hal stepped up to the lectern. The roomful of chatter quieted. He waited. Then, “With great pride, Food for Life has launched a new product, a product unlike anything now on the market. Obviously”—he waved his arm in an arc—“it is already generating a media frenzy. And yet, few people understand what it really is and how it can change, and
not
change, lives. It is my pleasure to introduce Dr. Dinah Taylor, president and CEO of Food for Life, who can give you the information you want and need. I must ask you to refrain from questions at this time. I repeat: no questions.” He stepped aside. “Dr. Taylor.”