Where Rivers Part (30 page)

 48 

T
he remaining drive into Gruene went fairly smooth. Despite the longer route and unplanned stop, Juliet and her father arrived nearly an hour early. Her dad parked in a lot off the main highway running through New Braunfels, a trendy area of Gruene, populated with historic buildings renovated into gift shops and restaurants.

“We have some time to kill. You up for a scoop of Blue Bell at the old General Store?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I don't think I could eat anything right now.” Now that the friction with her dad was somewhat resolved, her mind seemed bent on the risk they'd taken in coming to meet with Oliver Ford.

“Worrying about this meeting isn't going to change a thing. Let's go at least check the place out,” he urged. “Maybe buy some of that honey butter your mom used to love.”

He was right. Feeling anxious about Oliver Ford, and whether or not he'd be open to helping her, was not productive.

Even so, she found it difficult not to fixate on how likely he was to not want to help. Oliver had been reluctant to meet when she'd called, as she suspected he would be.

“Look, like I told you, I've moved on,” he'd said. “After what
that company did to Robin, I don't even want to think about those people.”

She assured him they were not on opposing sides. What they'd done to his wife, they were attempting to do to her. But with added criminal implications.

“Please, just let me come talk to you,” she pleaded.

Thankfully, he'd given in and they agreed to meet for lunch at the Grist Mill, a restaurant situated on a bluff overlooking the Guadalupe River.

While her dad locked the car, she glanced up and down the street leading into the quaint district popular with tourists. Across from the parking lot, a man took a photo of his wife and young children posing in front of a sign that said W
ELCOME
TO
G
RUENE
.

Juliet pulled her bag onto her shoulder, amused by the puppy dog look on her father's face. “Okay, I'm game. Let's go,” she told him. Besides, what else were they going to do until it was time to head to the restaurant?

A brick sidewalk lined with lantanas, salvias, and pretty yellow columbines growing along a low split-rail fence led them to the General Store. Several motorcycles were parked out front, a strange juxtaposition to the historic façade with its turn-of-the-century feel.

“Whoo-ee. Will you look at those Harleys?” Her dad slowly circled the bikes, admiring the custom chrome work.

Juliet moved to a wooden bench to the right of the front entrance, watching as he inspected the saddlebags.

He whistled. “You don't see a lot of these twisted spokes. Gives the bike a great look.”

She tried to smile, wondering why he didn't seem at all worried by what she faced.

He noticed her frowning. “What's the matter?”

She brushed the top of her slacks. “What if we drove all the way here only to find out the guy has nothing?”

He crouched to get a better look at the wheel base. “If the former director raised suspicions with those folks and nothing was done in response, you can be sure she kept backup to prove her allegations.” He stood and turned to her, his eyes twinkling. “You know, I think it's time I break down and buy me a hog. Maybe take a road trip.”

“But what if she didn't? Or what if her husband tossed out anything she might have had? That's entirely possible, you know.”

He grinned and joined her. “What if we go inside and get your mind off all this?” He offered his hand.

She stood and followed him inside.

The place was just as she remembered. Wooden floors and shelves cluttered with souvenirs and trinkets, vintage metal signs, specialty foods, and—well, junk, really. As a little girl, she'd visited with her parents and pretended she was Laura from
Little House on the Prairie
, finding it easy to imagine mean old Nellie Oleson sitting on one of the bright red bar stools at the long soda fountain.

“Hey, remember these?” Her father held up a package of whoopie pies. He tucked the package under his arm and grabbed two more. To that, he added several packages of Black Jack gum and pecan pralines, and a large jar of jalapeño salsa.

“Are you thinking you're going to go hungry?” she teased, handing him a basket.

He wandered off down the aisle while she buried her attention in a book rack, picking up
A Field Guide to the
Hill Country
and thumbing the pages.

She'd been there about ten minutes when three guys in leathers with blue bandanas on their heads wandered past. “You want some water?” one of them asked.

Overhead, a ceiling fan slowly turned, stirring up the air.

“Nah, I don't drink that garbage. Ain't you been watching the news 'bout that lady and the bottled water with those microbugs in it? That's what killed all those kids over in San Antone.”

“Yeah?”

The first one nodded. “They oughta hang that gal up by her toenails for withholding that information, if you ask me.”

Suddenly, her father was at her side holding a brown sack. Without a word, he took her elbow and maneuvered her toward the front door.

Outside, she was visibly shaken, and he knew it. He dropped his hand from her arm. “C'mon, I think it's time we go have that meeting.”

The Grist Mill was a short walk. The hostess leaned on the wooden podium at the entrance to the old cotton gin, now converted into one of the most popular restaurants in southern Texas. “Do you want to be seated now? Or wait for your other party?”

“Now would be fine,” her father told the pretty blonde.

Juliet waited for some unspoken exchange, a stolen look of mutual appreciation that would pass between them. Failing to see anything bothersome, she took a deep breath and followed the hostess to an outdoor table on a wooden deck nestled under the shade of towering oak trees and overlooking the river.

The air was filled with the smell of mesquite wood smoke and grilling meat, and the sound of people's voices. A Kenny Chesney tune softly played overhead, piped through outdoor speakers.

Once seated, she reached for her water glass. “Do you think he'll actually show up?”

Her father didn't have to answer. Several yards away, the hostess pointed a guy who looked to be in his thirties to their table. He came toward them, looking even more nervous than she felt inside.

He wore ratty cowboy boots and faded jeans, a belt with a large silver buckle, and a plaid shirt. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, and he was wearing a baseball cap. As he approached the table, he slipped the hat from his head and twisted the bill in his hands.

“Uh, you the Ryans?” he asked.

Her father stood and extended his hand. “You must be Oliver. I'm Dr. Bennett Ryan and this is my daughter, Dr. Juliet Ryan.”

His eyes turned amused. “Bet that causes some confusion.” He took the seat closest to the railing overlooking the water as a waitress stepped to the table and passed out menus.

Juliet fingered her utensils. “Thank you for meeting with us, Oliver.”

“Yeah. No problem.”

They sat in uncomfortable quiet a few moments. She tried making small talk. “I saw photos of your little girl on Facebook. What a doll.”

Immediately, she kicked herself. He'd know she'd been checking up on him. Like a stalker. Never mind she wanted to know everything she could about her predecessor and her husband, who possibly held the key to clearing her name.

Fortunately, her question pulled a smile. “Her name is Amy. She's a beauty, even at this age. The epitome of her mother. Especially her happy temperament. Oh, except that first day you called when you heard her crying in the background. She wasn't terribly happy that afternoon.”

He blinked, and everything about him draped with sadness. His face, the way he held his shoulders—but mostly his eyes. His eyes revealed the deep loss he'd experienced.

It was then she knew the cost of meeting with her and reliving the details of those months. She sincerely wished for some other way beyond asking him to dig into his wounded heart to help her.

Her father saw it too. He glanced in her direction. “Daughters are indeed special.”

The waitress returned to the table with a pen and tablet.

“Did you change your mind and decide you were hungry?” her father asked.

She shook her head. “Just a small salad, please.” She lifted her menu to the waitress. “With ranch on the side.”

Her father ordered the GristBurger, a half-pound patty covered in a special queso sauce. And onion rings.

Oliver handed off his menu. “Same for me.”

Her dad casually leaned his arms on the table. “You live here long?”

“About two years. Robin and I moved out here just before—well, before everything.”

They learned he owned his own residential construction firm. Business had been good with the booming growth in the area. “There's been nearly a 50 percent increase in new homes over the last ten years,” he said. “The schools are good, and you can't beat the locals. Neighborly folks. Last year, we made Sperling's List of Best Places to Live.”

Juliet listened to their chatter, nodding at all the appropriate times. Under different circumstances, she might actually enjoy herself. But no matter how she tried to ignore the noise inside her head, she couldn't quit thinking about how the guy sitting across the table might be her last hope to prove Alexa and Greer had lied.

She wasn't the sort to dwell on the unfair side of life, believing that with enough grit and hard work, you could counter any negativity and come out stronger for it. But lately, everything had spun out of control. And even though she faced nothing like Oliver's painful journey, the situation was making her feel crazy.

She glanced down at the river below the deck. By summer, it would be packed with people floating the current on tubes and in rafts. In the same token, by summer her entire career and even her freedom could be sunk. Oliver Ford would be the one to determine how far and how fast.

Their food came. Her father reached for the ketchup and squirted a large mound next to his open bun. He offered the bottle to Oliver. “So, when did your wife know she wanted to go into food safety as a profession?”

Oliver became pensive and picked up an onion ring. “I don't think it was ever really a decision on her part. Her degree was in policy and management, focusing on organizational development, which proved fairly useless in the marketplace. She became a corporate consultant. That's how she met Alexa Carmichael. Alexa was impressed with a motivational workshop Robin gave at some women-in-business thing and offered her a job.”

Juliet cringed at hearing how little regard had been given to selecting a candidate with the proper qualifications to oversee a food safety program. Nudging a piece of lettuce around on her plate, she posed another question. “When did Robin first feel things going south?”

Oliver swallowed and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Well, probably the first I heard her complain was when she wanted to hire Malcolm Stanford. Clearly, the guy was qualified, but his salary requirements were at the top of the range, and Alexa urged her to pass for another. Robin held her ground, which in hindsight was likely the beginning of her undoing.” He looked at her dad. “Not a good idea to cross Alexa Carmichael.”

Yes, she now knew that sentiment to be true.

“Robin knew fairly early she needed someone running the lab who had the necessary scientific background she lacked. Alexa's argument was that the number of outbreaks in the water industry was next to nil and that the entire effort was fairly perfunctory. If you want to know the truth, I think she just wanted to be able to print some fancy language on their marketing materials about how careful the company was to meet the standards—blah, blah, blah.”

Juliet looked over at her father. Their eyes met. She knew what he must be thinking. For the first time, she was beginning to understand his soapbox stance against corporate attitudes when it came to this important issue. She'd been naïve enough to believe Alexa when she said product safety was her number one priority.
She hated to consider there might be more executives out there sending these same mixed messages.