Where Rivers Part (4 page)

 4 

B
efore her father was the director of the North American Food Safety Institute (NAFSI), before he taught full-time at the University of Texas, and prior to becoming Dr. Bennett Ryan, Juliet bragged to her third-grade class that he was her father.

It was a Friday, if she remembered correctly, and all week the kids had anticipated Career Day, when parents would show up and give presentations and tell about their professions.

Susie Beckler's mom was a nurse, and she brought her stethoscope and let the students listen to each other's heartbeats. Mrs. Myers paired them up, and when it was her turn, Juliet pressed the little silver cup against Sam Carter's chest. She found the thumping rhythm fascinating until he silently passed gas, causing her to gag. She tried to stop by placing her hand over her mouth, and for some strange reason, her retching made Sam laugh. Mrs. Myers sternly made both of them return to their seats.

Janice Kirkland's dad was a weatherman at KENS-5 TV, and Juliet pouted clear through his presentation on how a tornado formed. She squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to participate, when Ellen Shaffer's dad, who owned his own publicity firm, brought a teleprompter and let the students try reading the visual text of a speech he'd written for the mayor, welcoming Shamu and
announcing the opening of Water Circus in San Antonio. She remembered how smug Ellen acted, and how jealous she felt when all the kids applauded at the end as Ellen's dad passed out discounted tickets to Water Circus.

The entire afternoon was nearly a bust until her own dad showed up at his scheduled time, the last presentation of the day. Mrs. Myers finally excused her from sitting in her desk, allowing her to join him up front.

“I'll need a lab assistant,” he explained, and handed her a white lab coat to wear—surprisingly, in just her size and with her full name embroidered above the pocket. Together they prepared to show her classmates a chemistry demonstration.

Her father looked out at the students. “Okay, everyone. How many of you know that the little bubbles in hydrogen peroxide are made of oxygen?” Hands shot up across the room as he pulled a bottle from his bag, opened the lid, and measured an amount into the waiting glass beaker on the corner of Mrs. Myers's desk. “Very good. I knew you were a smart bunch of kids.”

He turned to Juliet. “Okay, carefully add the food coloring.” She followed his instruction and squeezed out four drops of red into the container, just like they'd practiced.

“Now, what's next?” he prompted, encouraging her with a wide smile.

She dug in his bag and pulled a bottle of Joy dish soap from the bottom. Juliet held the little plastic bottle up like a prize.

Her father nodded. “That's right. Go ahead.”

Juliet looked out over the classroom. All eyes were watching, waiting to see what she would do next. She carefully squeezed an amount of liquid soap until the level reached the designated line marker. At the same time, her father opened a small envelope of Fleischmann's yeast. He emptied the sandy-colored grains into a bowl and poured warm water from a thermos, then gently stirred the mixture with a popsicle stick.

Next (and this was her favorite part), he handed the bowl carefully to her. She held it tight, watching for his cue.

“Is everyone watching? You don't want to miss this,” he warned. He gave the nod and Juliet poured the yeast mixture from the bowl into the beaker, never spilling a drop. She grinned and felt all tingly inside waiting for the chemical reaction.

All of a sudden, the mixture foamed up like a fat snake out of the glass container. The red mass kept growing and slithered onto Mrs. Myers's desk and onto the floor.

“Awesome!” seemed to be the collective response from the crowd of classmates all looking at the mess (and her) with amazement. “That is so cool!”

Ignoring the frown on Mrs. Myers's face as she scowled at the floor, Juliet's father bumped her elbow with his own before turning back to the class. “The foam we made is special because each tiny bubble is filled with oxygen,” he explained. “The yeast acted as a catalyst to remove the oxygen from the hydrogen peroxide. Since it did this very fast, it created lots and lots of bubbles.” Her father looked in her direction. “Juliet, did you notice the bottle got warm?”

She nodded with enthusiasm.

“Our experiment created what's called an exothermic reaction. That means it not only created foam, it created heat.” Again, he turned to her. “And what do we call this experiment?”

She beamed. “We just made elephant toothpaste!”

The kids were invited to leave their desks and come take a closer look. As her classmates gathered up front, Juliet's eyes scanned their faces for Stinky Sam. And when no one was looking, she stuck her tongue out at him. She also gave a smug grin in Ellen's direction.

It'd been years since she'd thought back to that afternoon, and why the memory echoed in her head now, she couldn't say.

Juliet leaned back in her office chair.

For some reason, she couldn't seem to maintain focus on the
stack of chem analysis reports because she kept hearing her mother's words from yesterday.

He loves
you, you know.

Yes, she supposed her father loved her. But he'd made his own bed, and if he found it hard or lumpy, it was no one's fault but his own.

Juliet tucked her iPhone into her pocket, donned her white lab coat hanging on the back of her office door, and made her way through the front lobby, her heels clicking against the shiny tiled marble floor.

Tavina was filling in while the receptionist was at lunch. “I'm heading out to the lab, if you need me,” Juliet told her.

“You're taking your iPhone?”

Juliet nodded. As proof, she pulled the electronic device from her pocket and held it high over her head as she walked toward the door leading to the east wing.

QA was located at the end of a long maze of cubicles, home to the accounting, logistics, and human resources folks. At the break room, Juliet turned right and continued down a narrow hallway to an entry posted with a large red and white sign that read A
UTHORIZED
P
ERSONNEL
O
NLY
.

Juliet slid her security card through the reader and waited. When the lock beeped, she pushed through the heavy double doors leading to the lab. Just inside, her hands pulled a set of protective gear wrapped in sealed plastic from the shelf. She opened the package and slipped on the blue paper gown, shoe covers, and hair cap, then washed her hands at a large white basin, using soap that smelled of disinfectant. With her elbow, she pressed a red button on the wall next to another door with a tiny oblong window. The door buzzed and released, and Juliet pushed with her shoulder and entered.

She stepped into a large room, kept several degrees colder than the outer offices. Stainless steel counters and lab stools lined the walls, with white cabinets above. In the center of the floor stood
a compounding isolator and a polypropylene table, the surface scattered with glass beakers and funnels.

Malcolm Stanford, her QA supervisor, stood at the rear of the room near the incubator along with two women techs all dressed in sanitary gear. He looked up as Juliet approached. “Good morning, Dr. Ryan.”

“Good morning, Malcolm.” He had a petite build, small black eyes, and often a chilly personality that matched the lab's room temperature. “Malcolm, I noticed the nitrate levels were up on the last batch of reports.”

He slid a stack of lab trays into a cupboard and closed the door. “I noticed that as well. But we're well below the requisite MCL standards.”

Juliet nodded. “Still, I'd like to know why the levels increased.”

“Probably the storms coming in off the gulf. Climate changes can affect the levels.” He picked up a half-filled beaker from the counter.

Juliet set her jaw. While nitrates are naturally present in all sources of water, higher levels could indicate contamination. “All the more reason to run the samples through the spectrophotometer and get a second reading, which I believe is in line with the SOP revisions I issued,” she reminded him, wondering why it was necessary to explain herself. Wasn't she the boss?

The supervisor glanced between the lab techs. “Uh, sure. We'll get right on it.” He placed the beaker in a nearby sink. “I should have the results by morning.”

Before Juliet could thank him, her cell phone buzzed. She excused herself and stepped away to take the call, pulling her iPhone from her pocket.

“Tavina? What's up?”

“Hey, Dr. Ryan. Alexa Carmichael wants to see you in a half hour. Her office.”

“I'll be there. Thanks for letting me know.” She clicked off her
phone and turned back to Malcolm. “Now, let's take a look at the calibration schedules.”

Twenty minutes later, Juliet headed for the lobby. She checked her watch as she passed the break room and the smell of microwaved pizza, wishing she'd eaten breakfast now that it looked like she'd be working through lunch.

In her short time here, Juliet had learned Alexa worked on two modes—high gear and higher gear. The woman often pulled an energy bar from her office drawer, which she ate in place of meals. On her desk were photos of a boy who looked to be around sixteen or seventeen.

“Your son?” Juliet once asked, pointing to a frame on Alexa's credenza.

“Yes,” she'd replied, her face softening. In a rare moment, she shared something about her personal life. “Adam plays soccer. A forward. He's very good.”

Most of what she knew of Alexa Carmichael, Juliet learned from surfing the web. Her husband was a doctor—a plastic surgeon, to be exact, which explained her boss's flawless face. She'd also seen Alexa pull into the parking lot driving an Aston Martin, which likely cost more than Juliet's condo. So the couple didn't want for money.

Juliet passed through the lobby with its shiny tiled floors and tastefully decorated waiting area. To the left of the receptionist counter, a wide corridor led to the executive offices.

She walked past her own office and briskly headed toward the door leading into Alexa's office suite. As her hand reached for the brass handle, a set of masculine fingers covered her own.

“Allow me.”

Juliet's gaze lingered on the bit of hair on the knuckles before glancing up.

Greer Latham's face drew into a slow smile, one that left Juliet feeling a little unsettled. After a tentative nod, she pulled her hand
away and took a step back, admiring his thick sandy-colored hair, cut to precision. He wore a charcoal tailored suit and a crisp white button-down with a striped tie in shades of gray. His eyes never left hers as he eased the door open.

“We're here for a one o'clock,” he told the assistant perched at her desk outside Alexa's door.

Muriel Parke, an older woman with bulldog features, harnessed the respect her position provided and wore it like a winner's garland. No one got to Alexa without first going through Muriel. “She's waiting,” came her reply.

Juliet followed Greer into Alexa's office, a showplace with ceiling-to-floor windows overlooking a courtyard featuring a waterfall and lush greenery. Her furniture was old-world style, with dark woods and intricate molding. The plush carpet was a leaf design in shades of teal and cream.

Alexa immediately waved them over to a round granite-topped conference table in the corner. “Thank you for coming on such short notice,” she said.

Juliet took a seat opposite Greer, next to Dale Frissom, vice president of operations, while Alexa announced she had extremely good news. “We're about to close a deal with Water Circus,” she reported. With her pen, she pointed at Greer. “Your team did an excellent job putting together the proposal and making the pitch.”

A slight smile broke at the corners of Greer's mouth. “Thank you.” He pulled at his right cuff. “The deal was a bit tricky. We worked hard to put this one in the bag.” A smug assurance played across his face.