Cynthia inhaled slowly, trying to quell the rising nausea inside. “Yes. I’m okay.”
Faith glared after the disappearing car. “I wish I’d had my phone out to take a picture of the jerk’s license plates. Ought to be put in jail.”
Cynthia agreed, but was still too shaken to speak. It was with trembling hands that she started her car, and a sickening stirring in her gut made her keep coming back to an idea which seemed more like truth every time she thought about it: the driver had been Dr. Munger. And he had been driving like a criminal fleeing the scene of his crime.
At six o’clock that evening, Lucy called. Cynthia didn’t know because she answered the call, only by looking at her caller I.D. It was two hours later, after Melissa had gone to bed, that she decided to listen to the voice mail Lucy had left. No doubt there would be groveling, and begging for Cynthia to continue on with their friendship. Which is why she hadn’t answered the phone in the first place.
So she was surprised, and shocked, when instead, Lucy’s voice said, “Cynthia, if you don’t talk to me now, you’ve got to get online and watch the six o’clock news. It’s the first story. Cynthia, not one, but two kids at Wainwright Elementary were sent to the hospital after eating lunch today.”
***********
“I have something to show you.”
“And I have something to tell you.” Guy’s eyes were grave, and the look in them made Preston’s heart skip a beat. “But you go first.”
Preston handed him the envelope that Karen had given him, which contained correspondence supposedly between him and the CEO of another food manufacturing company. Preston hadn’t been able to figure out if the entire packet was fraudulent, or if it was real and someone had signed his name to the letters in which the person posing as Preston was sharing secret formulas for Delico’s five top-selling products.
“A neighbor gave this to me last night.” Preston paused to give Guy time to scan the first letter. “She said someone paid her to take the envelope and plant it in my apartment. I guess the plan was to give you an anonymous tip, and you would find this in a drawer somewhere and think that I had betrayed the company.”
Guy’s eyes widened as he continued reading. After going through three letters, he set them down and looked at Preston with his brow at the top of his forehead. “If this were real, it could get you fired.”
Preston then proceeded to tell him about the strange e-mail, and why he had ignored it.
Guy shook his head in amazement. “I didn’t know you had any enemies.”
“Me, neither.” Preston shifted in the chair on the other side of Guy’s desk.
Guy let out a laugh, rather humorless, Preston thought. “The thing is, I wouldn’t have believed it for a second. I can’t speak for the national office, but I would have smelled a fish. And gone to bat for you if the CEO had wanted to can you.” He sighed, and looked away.
During the pause that followed, tension seeped into the office like a north wind through an old, back door. Was the regional president thinking that Preston might be in danger? Wondering whether he should involve the authorities?
Preston cleared his throat. “So, what are we going to do about this?”
Guy turned his gaze back to him, his expression apologetic. “Nothing.” He took a deep breath. “You see, Preston, after what happened yesterday, the national office decided they’d better be prepared for a drop in sales. And they decided that they needed to take action to offset that drop.” He paused, rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand.
“Don’t tell me.” Preston could barely speak for the rock that suddenly hit him in the chest. “They’re laying some employees off, beginning with yours truly.”
Guy nodded with a wince. “You and a few assistant secretaries they have deemed to be superfluous.”
“Beginning…?”
“Now.”
It was nine-thirty in the morning. National headquarters wouldn’t even give him the decency of a seven-day grace period? But he wasn’t going to try to argue the point with Guy. He could see his boss was not any happier about it than he was; besides, he had to follow orders if he wanted to keep his job.
Thanks to a father who had taught his teenage children the importance of investing, and the help of a few books on the topic Preston had read in his early twenties, he had no financial worries. He could go without a job for at least several months. And if he had to give up his luxury apartment, he could live with that.
What left him with a dry mouth, roiling stomach, and white-hot blood was the utterly cold, ungrateful treatment of a company to one of its most loyal, hardest-working employees. Worse, this was over a few local incidences that likely had nothing to do with Delico Foods, except for what the rumor mill churned out.
Guy’s brow creased with a mixture of sorrow and concern. “If you need any references, you know I’ll give you the best.”
Preston nodded, his mouth and body equally numb. His father had told him once that a good man finds a well-paying career and sticks to it until retirement. Now he had let his dad down on two accounts: he had lost his job of twelve years, and he had let him die.
After another long, awkward pause, Guy extended his hand. “I’ll miss you, man. And between the two of us, you can take the whole damn day clearing out your desk. What they did to you is beyond unjust.”
Preston shook his hand, appreciating the sentiment, but knowing he would be out of the building within the hour. He wasn’t going to stay where he was no longer welcome.
After turning in his badge and filling out the necessary paperwork, Preston trudged out the main entrance of the office building. But he wasn’t going home. Not just yet. He had some unfinished business at the plant.
He sat down with Kelly in person to tell him what had happened. For once, the smile left the kind black man’s face. But he was quick to promise to keep an eye out for any suspicious activity, and to keep Preston in his prayers.
His second and last objective for the visit to the plant was more difficult. He stopped in front of the reception desk, waiting for Lucy to get off the phone. When she did, she immediately turned to him with a look of desperation.
“Oh, Mr. Brenner,” she gushed, “I’ve been wanting to tell you thank you this whole week.”
He frowned.
“For not letting me go after – well, after what happened at Cynthia’s last week.”
Preston felt his eyebrows meet in the middle of his forehead. “I told you before, I’m not the one who hired you. And even if I were, I would never let you go as a personal vendetta.” He forced his features to relax as he sighed. “Besides, as of today I no longer work for Delico Foods.”
Lucy looked to her right and to her left, then leaned forward. “So you quit?” Her stage whisper was full of triumph.
Preston shook his head. “Unfortunately, no. Yesterday’s school lunch incident was the last straw. They fired me.” He would say nothing about the company’s potential financial difficulties. He believed that was just a smokescreen to get rid of an employee they perceived had failed in the case of the poisoned school lunches.
Lucy raised her brow. “They did not.” Then anger flashed into her eyes. “It makes me want to quit my job this second.”
“Please don’t.” He lowered his voice as a couple of people walked past the desk. “You and Kelly can be my eyes and ears for a little while, if you know what I mean.”
Lucy nodded.
“But listen. That’s not why I stopped to talk to you. I – well, would you believe me if I told you that if I hadn’t been fired, I was about to resign?”
“Yes. I believe you.”
“Would Cynthia?”
Lucy looked away, huffed out a breath. “Cynthia and I are not exactly on speaking terms right now.”
“But you’re her friend. Would she?”
Lucy spoke slowly. “I think she would. But that’s not the point. She wouldn’t…take you back just because you no longer work f
or the food processing industry. You would have to really change.” She tilted her head, her brow raised in question.
Preston understood. “But I have changed. I mean, I am changing. I’m a baby at this healthy eating stuff, but I’m finally starting to get it.”
Lucy’s eyes brightened. “Then you need to call her.”
He shook his head. “No.” He fished in his pocket as he spoke. “It would be too easy for her not to talk to me.” He withdrew the small envelope he’d been looking for. “Look, Lucy, please just do me this one favor, and I’ll never ask you another.” He handed her the envelope. “Go to Cynthia’s house. She may be angry with you, but I bet she won’t slam the door in your face like she would with me. Tell her I came to talk to you, and give her this. Please.”
Lucy looked down at the envelope and took it. She looked back up at him, meeting his gaze in a long, silent moment. Finally, she said, “All right. I’ll do it. Tonight.”
**********
As Preston left the building, presumably for the last time, Lucy remembered that Mario had made a date with her tonight. She closed her eyes and groaned softly. But he had told her they would leave at about 6:45, to have dinner at seven. If Lucy hurried, she could run to Cynthia’s right after work and still be home in plenty of time to get ready for dinner.
She wasn’t sure what Mario was up to. He knew she didn’t like eating out, didn’t trust food that she – or someone who believed about food as she did – didn’t prepare with her own hands.
Mario had been acting nicer lately. Not that he could ever be characterized as cruel, but over the past couple of days he had been paying more attention to her, giving her more affection, much like the old days when they were dating and first married. He had to be up to something.
On the way home, she tuned into the local Christian radio station. She almost always did, because the encouraging, uplifting lyrics helped mellow her mood as she struggled through rush-hour traffic.
Close to five-thirty, they ran their hourly news update, including a clip about the children who had fallen victim to cafeteria food yesterday. They had both been released from the hospital in good condition.
Despite the good report, hearing about it made Lucy feel that much more strengthened in two convictions: one, that she had to keep her job in order to snoop around Delico, and two, she needed to get back in Cynthia’s good graces. Two were better than one.
She had just pulled up to the curb in front of Cynthia’s house when her cell phone rang. It was Erin.
“Lucy, have you heard the news? What happened yesterday, I mean, in the Wainwright cafeteria.”
She swallowed hard. “You mean about the kids. Yes.”
“Remember that I and another teacher took our kids over to that same school yesterday? Well, I saw something. It may be just a weird coincidence, but when I heard the news I got the heeby-jeebies seriously big-time. I thought I might just be paranoid, so I sat on it all day. But the more I think about it, the bigger this bad feeling gets. I can’t ignore it anymore.”
Lucy suddenly realized this may be something Cynthia would want to hear. “Hold on. I’m at Cynthia Redman’s house. Yes, the Cynthia who borrowed your classroom. Do you think…That’s what I thought. So let me get her to the door, and I’ll put you on speaker.”
Lucy got to the door, rang the bell, and took a deep breath. Remember to give her Preston’s letter. Remember to give her Preston’s letter. Now that her objective for the visit had taken a twist, she wanted to make sure she didn’t forget her original reason for coming.
The door opened a crack, revealing Cynthia’s eyes and nose. “Oh, hi, Lucy,” Cynthia said in a flat tone.
Lucy rushed her speech, afraid of being turned away before she had a chance to complete her mission. “Cynthia! Erin’s on the phone, you know, Erin Halley, the teacher who lent you her classroom for your first parent meeting? Anyway, she has something real interesting to say about – well, you got my message yesterday, right?”
Cynthia opened the door a little wider, nodding. “Two more kids in the hospital. After eating school lunch.” She frowned. “Erin was there yesterday. Is it – did she…?”
Cynthia vanished for a second as the door swung wide open. “Come in.” Her tone was clipped, professional, but her eyes reflected a mix of surprise and curiosity.
Lucy came in and put the phone on speaker mode. “Okay, Erin,” she said as Cynthia closed the door behind her. “Fire away.”
“Hi, Cynthia. I thought I saw you yesterday demonstrating in front of Wainwright school.”
Cynthia looked at the phone Lucy held in her hand, as though expecting the teacher’s image to appear. “I saw you, too.”
“Well, something really weird happened,” Erin continued. “We needed ice for our performance, and I volunteered to go get it. As I got to the cafeteria, I heard someone calling into there over the P.A. system. I didn’t hear exactly what was said, because the cafeteria doors were closed, but I guess the workers were called to the office because as I went in, three ladies dressed in cafeteria scrubs passed me going out. I was in a hurry, so I didn’t ask, I just went on ahead with my errand.
“I went to the freezer to get ice, but I had a hard time finding the pail they told me I could borrow. It took me a couple of minutes to find it. The ice was in the back of the kitchen, and when I walked to the machine I thought I saw movement behind me out of the corner of my eye. I thought one of the ladies had come back, so I turned to greet her so I wouldn’t startle her, but it wasn’t a lady. It was a man.
“He seemed out of place, especially since he was dressed in a business suit and was hovering over the food that had already been set out in the cafeteria line, so I decided to watch him. Then he pulled a baggie of something out of his pocket, lifted the lid of one of the trays, and looked like he was about to pour it in.”
Lucy and Cynthia exchanged wide-eyed glances. Lucy didn’t consider herself a mind reader, but she could have told Cynthia exactly what she was thinking at that moment.
“I had something like a stab of terror slice me in the gut, and I knew I couldn’t let him do whatever he was doing. I said, ‘Excuse me.’ He jumped a foot off the floor, turned his head, and when he saw me he was gone in a flash. He moved fast for a fat man.”
Cynthia’s eyebrows went clear to the top of her head. “Hold it, Erin. He was fat?”
“Yes. And a little balding. You think you know him?”
“Maybe.” Her voice sounded faint. “Go on.”
“Well, I dropped the ice and ran as fast as I could up to the office to tell them it looked like somebody was about to put something in the food. One of the custodians was standing there, and he was off like a rocket, shouting that he would catch the - well, he said a bad word.
“The three cafeteria ladies lit off after him. All I could do was sink into a chair and pant. I thought the guy had gone for good, but I guess based on what happened there, he snuck back after I left.” Her voice began to break. “I should have just stayed there. Stupid, stupid!”
Lucy shook her head. “Erin, it ain’t your fault. You hear me? Not your fault.”
“If they had had half a brain,” Cynthia put in, her cheeks blazing and eyes flashing, “the cafeteria workers would have thrown out all the food and started over, just to be on the safe side. I’m with Lucy, Erin. It’s totally not your fault. In fact, it might have been worse if you hadn’t been there. You probably made him lose some time, so he couldn’t do everything he’d planned.”
Cynthia glanced at Lucy with a rueful smile. “Now it’s time for my side of the story.”
Cynthia related the near-accident she’d had that day, a little while after Erin and the other second-grade class had gone into the building. When she theorized who the driver of the car was, Lucy couldn’t help letting out a cry.
At that moment, Melissa appeared, brow furrowed and her glance skipping from her mother to Lucy to the phone, and back to Lucy. “Mrs. Perez, are you okay??
??
Lucy glanced at the girl, then cut her eyes to Cynthia. “Should we tell her?”
“Tell me what?”
Cynthia turned to her daughter. “We think we know how the school food made you sick.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Cynthia felt like she did the one time she ever went on a roller coaster ride. When she stepped off, the world was spinning, her head felt like it was full of lead, and her heart was beating a thousand miles per hour. The revelation about yesterday’s events at the school had been enough to make her head spin, but now, in addition, she had a letter in her hand. A letter from Preston.
Lucy had given it to her after their conversation with Erin had ended. Vowing to call Cynthia the next day about what to do with their secret knowledge, she thrust the envelope into her hand, declaring that it was the reason she had come in the first place and announcing that if she didn’t get home right away, Mario would have her head for dinner.
Almost breathlessly, she had insisted that Cynthia had to give Preston a second chance. He wouldn’t have bothered talking to Lucy if he wasn’t sincere, and he had looked so sorry, and Cynthia needed to at least read the letter. She wouldn’t leave until Cynthia promised to read it.
So now, Cynthia sank into the sofa cushions, taking in several deep breaths in an attempt to calm her tempestuous mind. Her first impulse was to throw out the letter. But for one, she had made a promise, and she wanted to maintain her integrity. For another, the regrets about how she’d treated Preston last week still hounded her. She wondered if this not might be God’s way of telling her that she needed to give him a second chance.
Assuming that was what he was asking. Which he might not be. For all she really knew he was going to try to convince her of the superiority of Delico Foods to her new way of eating.
But she’d never know until she read the letter. With a sigh, and trembling fingers, she ripped it open and removed the single piece of paper, handwritten in small print.
Dear Cynthia,
I’m sorry I lied to you. I wish I could express how sorry. May I explain why I did so? I lied because by the end of our second encounter, I knew that you were somebody special, and I wanted to get to know you better, to find out if you could be my somebody special. I also knew, based on our brief conversations, that if I had told you right away who I was, you would have turned me down flat.”