Gerrie Nelson - Lab Notes

She didn’t want it displayed anywhere. “I… surprise me.”

Raymond set the rack on the corner of his desk, and Diane placed the gun and dart beside it.

“Sit down. Sit down,” Raymond said, motioning toward the tufted leather sofa across from his desk. “We haven’t chatted in a while.”

Diane settled onto the couch. Raymond sank into his desk chair and reached forward and patted the air pistol. “I don’t know of any way to adequately express my appreciation.”

Diane waved off his thank you for the fifth time that evening.

Raymond persisted: “If there’s ever anything you need—would you like a drink?”

“No thank you. I think I’ve had—”

“How about champagne?” Raymond heaved himself to his feet and stepped to the bar.

Diane shrugged helplessly.

Raymond popped the cork, poured and handed Diane a tall flute. “To the chimps. Bless their fuzzy hearts,” he said.

Diane tipped her glass and wet her tongue.

Raymond took a gulp, then returned to his desk chair. “Now where were we?” He finished off his champagne, then faced his computer screen.

“I’ve been thinking, Diane. You should take some time off to relax and so forth.” He turned back to her, his face wreathed in an eager-to-please smile.

Diane studied his face, scars now a dull pink. He seemed genuinely concerned about her—even paternal.

“Work keeps my mind occupied,” she said.

“I see. Ahh… a plant-collecting trip could accomplish both business and pleasure. Maybe Gabriel can arrange something. How are you two getting on by the way? Is the South America project going well?” Raymond interlaced his fingers and leaned forward.

“I haven’t been able to plan a trip since Quito.” She shot him a significant look.

“Yes, yes, of course. But now I think it would be good for you to get away for awhile.”

His tone was oh so mellow. Diane suddenly sobered up. Across the desk sat a man full of tequila, champagne and appreciation—a truth potion if ever there was one. She shifted direction. “Do you have someone in mind to develop Chimeron ?”

“Well, that’s another point of discussion isn’t it? When you’re comfortable with it and so forth, you can start interviewing biochemists. No pressure understand.”

“And later, will you sell Chimeron and keep the buyer a secret?”

A shadow passed over his eyes. He took a deep breath. “In the past, when all transactions were transparent here at BRI, I lost some damn good scientists who chose to follow their projects to the new owners. So… ahh… I tried to prevent that with contracts.

“Then, when contracts didn’t serve as a deterrent, the question became: ‘How much time and money did I want to spend taking them to court?’ So, I changed my policy. Confidentiality became the watchword.”

“Do you think Vincent would have chased Peruvase to Asia if he knew the drug’s new owner?”

“Ahh, Peruvase . That’s a different can of worms isn’t it?” He loosened his collar, cleared his throat and spoke again in the direction of his monitor. “Sometimes, particularly in Asian countries, there’s a ‘face-saving’ factor, I’m told.

“When companies invest in intellectual properties, they want them to be seen as their baby, conceived in-house and so forth. I use brokers to serve as middlemen in such deals.” Rubbing his chin pensively he muttered under his breath, “Need closer scrutiny there.”

He spoke up again. “Payments are arranged through numbered accounts. I don’t even know who’s doing the buying sometimes.” He glanced at Diane for validation.

She looked at Bellfort in awe; even drunk he was quick on his feet. What’s more, he seemed to believe his embroidery of the truth. She nodded as if fully accepting his explanation.

Raymond’s phone rang. Diane stood up and signaled that she’d see him down below.

Stepping over to the stairs, Raymond checked to make sure Diane had closed the door behind her, then returned to his desk and inserted his ear buds. “What’s up?”

“Vincent Rose may be gone, but someone is still lookin’ for Peruvase and some of the other technologies. My people are getting upset, making threats. She’s got to be the one initiating these searches. Who else could it be? She must know somethin.’ Is she still at the party?”

Raymond glanced down at the top of Diane’s head moving along the port deck. “Yeah.”

“Since I’m here in the neighborhood, I’m going to go check the house. I have a key. Keep her there for at least an hour.”

“I really don’t think that’s necessary—”

“You had your chance. Now it’s my turn. I’ll identify the source and deal with it—one way or another. Maybe I’ll hang around ‘til she gets home. The widow should be pretty horny by now.”

Bellfort propped his elbows on his desk, closed his eyes and massaged his temples. How did things get to this point? Originally, out of necessity, he had become the puppet of a tyrant, then later, the pawn of a madman—two masters working at cross purposes. And for years he had managed to maintain a blind zone between them. But lately…

He dropped his head in acquiescence. “Be careful; she has a large dog that has the run of the house.”

“You’re forgetting that I’m the original dog whisperer.”

Diane stepped along the side deck to avoid the thundering revelry in the main salon. The night air was surprisingly cool, but dripping with humidity.

Walking toward the bow, she saw Maxine and Colton on the opposite side of the boat. Colton was talking on his cell phone.

“It’s a good night for it,” he said. He tucked his phone into his pocket and turned to Maxine: “It’s done.” Then they spotted Diane.

After a surprised greeting (as if it was the first time they were seeing her that evening) and some overlong conversation about damp night air, Maxine and Colton retreated toward the stern of the yacht.

Diane leaned on the bow rail and pondered her meeting with Bellfort. She realized that she’d been itching for a confrontation with him all evening—ever since she read Tung Chen’s email. Now she wished she had pressed the issue about Peruvase and watched Bellfort repeat the lie about it being sold in Taiwan.

She was jolted from her musings by the sound of an outboard motor. She turned and saw a wooden runabout with two people on board enter the harbor. The boat made a slow circle inside the marina. One of the passengers, a woman, spotted Diane and waved. Diane waved in return. The boat darted back out into the bay.

Returning home Diane discovered that, in her absent state of mind, she hadn’t locked the downstairs door when she left. But that didn’t dim her after-party glow. At about the time she was ready to leave the “fiesta,” David had shown up, downed two margaritas then convinced her to try the Mexican hat dance with him. It had been fun, a reminder that life still held its pleasures.

Climbing the steps from the ground level to the first floor, she suddenly realized that Huck hadn’t charged down the stairs to drown her in welcome home kisses. She called to him. But he didn’t show up.

She peeked into the living room and dining room, then headed up the curved staircase toward the second floor. “I bet you’re sacked out in the middle of my bed, you scoundrel.”

Anxiously, she glanced around for signs of her dog. She didn’t think she could bear losing him too.

Huck’s father, Buster Brown, had brought Diane and Vincent together. When she was a graduate student and Vincent was lab chief, Buster had been donated as a research animal. He was just a puppy then.