Gerrie Nelson - Lab Notes

Still agonizing over his thuggish behavior, Vincent didn’t answer her.

She tried a different approach. “What about a telescope for the cupola?”

That got his attention. He looked up. “That’s a possibility,” he said.

Years before, Vincent had developed a fascination with astronomy while learning celestial navigation for sailing. But he never had the time or the place for a telescope. However, when they moved into their Texas home, the six-windowed, cupola with an opening moon roof provided a perfect spot for viewing the heavens. As a matter of fact, three telltale marks in the cupola’s rug indicated Harry Lee had used the room for that very purpose.

Diane thought a telescope would be a great diversion for Vincent. She grabbed for her phone and called the information line, which connected her with a camera and telescope shop near downtown Houston. She punched an address into the GPS and stayed on I-45 headed north.

Vincent spent that evening in the cupola happily setting up his telescope. It was top-of-the-line technology, suitable for lunar and planetary viewing as well as terrestrial observation.

Diane pruned plants in the large screened-in garden on the back deck and played with Huck, their eighty-pound hound. She felt a peaceful aura settling over the house.

No more concerns about espionage and pirates.

David Crowley watched as the maitre’d led the man toward his table. Like himself, he wore a navy blazer and striped tie and carried a briefcase. He could have been mistaken for one of the many business people doing deals over dinner in the dark-paneled dining room. He approached the table, and David reached up and shook his hand. “Haven’t seen you in a coon’s age.” He motioned for the man to sit. “The iced tea should be here any minute. I assumed that’s what you’d want”

The man nodded, then glanced at David’s fingers drumming on the tablecloth. He leaned forward with a smirk. “Slow your motor; no harm has been done… How’s the veterinary business?”

David brought his fingers under control and glanced around furtively. “I guess I don’t have the temperament for this. I feel I’ve been as useful as a trapdoor in a canoe.”

“These things develop slowly. So… what’s up?”

David scanned the nearby tables, then looked back at his dinner partner. “So far there hasn’t been a peep from the Roses about the sale of Peruvase .

“You think they could be players?”

“Possibly. But I need more time.”

“I have some background information here.” The man reached down beside his chair, popped the locks on his briefcase and handed a manila folder across the table. “That should give you some insight into who we’re dealing with.”

David slid the folder into his briefcase.

The waiter brought their iced tea. Then, at the gentlemen’s request, he stood by while they looked over the menu.

Shifting from one foot to the other, the waiter struggled to avoid gawking at the bare ankles and scruffy boat shoes on one of the men and the bulging pistol beneath the jacket of the other.

Diane and Vincent jogged single-file along the bluff’s edge toward the orange dome of sun rising out of Galveston Bay. Running along behind her husband, staring intently at the back of his head, Diane tried to divine what was going on in there.

After the library incident, he seemed content enough on the surface. But behind his perpetual smile, she had detected an irritating smugness.

Then a few evenings ago, the alien returned. Vincent reverted to his Texas mood—grumpy and non-communicative. She hoped today she’d get an inkling of the problem before she left for Ecuador. Gabriel Carrera was sending a private plane for her and Raymond that afternoon.

Diane caught up with Vincent at a rest area where he was stretching his legs on a log crosspiece. She swiped her terrycloth wristband across her forehead and gulped some water. Sitting down on a wooden bench, she dropped her head between her knees and stretched her back muscles.

Vincent plopped down beside her on the seat and said in a chummy tone, “Remember that student of yours from Hong Kong who always hung around the lab? The one with the obvious crush on you.”

Diane pulled up to a sitting position. Dare she hope that her husband was trying to make small talk? “Tung Chen,” she replied.

“That’s the guy. What ever happened to him?”

“He opened a testing lab in Hong Kong. I hear from him every now and then. He teaches a class at a university there also… Why?”

“Would he know any scientists in Taiwan?”

Diane snapped her head around to make eye contact. “What’s this about?”

Vincent bent down and untied a shoelace. “I’ve been doing some checking—looking for the pharmaceutical company that bought Peruvase .”

“For God’s sake, Vincent, you assigned BRI the rights to Peruvase . They sold it. We were paid handsomely—end of story. I thought we’d gotten past all that.”

“ You may have.” He shook invisible stones from his shoe.

Speechless, Diane jumped up and began pacing in front of Vincent, arms crossed.

He continued. “During their investigation, my people—”

“What people?” Diane was incredulous.

“Old colleagues who work in Asia now—will you let me finish?”

Diane bit down on her lip.

“I had mentioned Harry Lee’s name in an email to an old classmate who’s in Singapore. The other night he wrote back saying that a scientist by that name was murdered in Hong Kong last December.”

Diane stopped pacing. “Chances are slim that it’s the same man. ‘Harry Lee’ is Hong Kong’s version of ‘John Smith’.”

Vincent looked up and cocked an eyebrow at her. “You have to consider the timeframe and profession involved here. Weren’t you the professor who always warned your lab students against shrugging off a possible discovery as coincidence?”

“No one at BRI has mentioned his death.”

“Precisely.”

Diane planted her hands on her hips and glared at him. “What are you implying?”

Vincent shook his head, denying any intent.

He stood up, shoved his hands in his pockets and looked out at the bay. “I’m thinking of entering Woodwind in that sailboat race to Vera Cruz. I’d like you to come… If not, I’ll single-hand it.”

Diane couldn’t find her voice at first. Then it squeaked out in a plea. “We have work to do. How could you consider sailing off?”

Vincent stared silently out at the bay.

“I don’t know who you are any more, Vincent,” Diane said, then turned and jogged into the woods.

Her brain in turmoil, she ran along blindly, tripping over roots and tangling with low-hanging branches and beards of Spanish moss.

She was now certain that Vincent had lost it completely. A spy network in Asia? Murder in Hong Kong? A BRI conspiracy of silence? Solo racing offshore?

Actually, the solo racing part could be considered within the realm of normalcy, but not for the unadventurous, buttoned-down Vincent she used to know.

She approached a jogging trail and made a right turn, her internal compass indicating that the primate house should be up ahead on the left. From there she knew that an intersecting path would take her to the main building. As she approached the animal cages, she was startled by a figure emerging from the shadows. Then she realized it was Colton Fey, the boat captain.

She disliked Colton Fey; the way he looked at her made her feel unclean. Adding to that, she wasn’t in the mood for chit-chat. She considered heading off into the woods again to avoid him. But, handicapped by a genetic inability to be rude, she stayed the course and slowed to say hello.