Dangerous Conditions

She gave him a blank stare.

“You tried this. We all were against it, but you told Logan everything and he forgot it as soon as you told him. How many times?”

“Six,” she lied.

“More like ten.”

“He’s doing better,” she insisted. “No lapses in short-term memory.”

“Great. So what if your daughter calls for help and Logan thinks it’s the television again?”

The memory made her stomach clench. Shortly after he returned to his father’s home, Paige had been visiting with Lori, then ten months old. Paige had stepped out to retrieve a package from the mailbox, leaving Lori happily perched on Logan’s lap. When she returned, she heard her daughter wailing from outside and ran into the house to find Lori on the floor, a gash on her chin. Logan stood before the lounge chair pointing the remote at the television as he vainly tried to turn off the volume. He thought their baby’s howls of pain were on the television.

“It was too soon,” she said.

“It always will be,” Connor replied. “You should listen to us this time.”

Before they reached the old white farmhouse, they passed the funeral home where Dr. Sullivan’s body likely now lay in the basement on an aluminum table. He should be finishing up at the lab and heading home for supper. She shook her head in despair. The authorities would have to do an autopsy. That thought gave her the shivers. She checked the connection on her safety belt again.

“What did you tell Logan about today?”

“Tell him? Nothing.”

“That’s good. Just upset him.”

While she appreciated his concern for his little brother, Connor was the one who seemed upset. His face was red and he kept dragging his fingers through the hair on the top of his head. Connor looked much like Logan with just a little thickening at his waist and hair that was lighter and noticeably thinner. His skin was ruddy, and tiny burst blood vessels in his cheeks pointed to a drinking problem. Too many meals alone at the pub and too many evenings alone in his big, empty house, he had once told her. If that was supposed to make her feel guilty, it didn’t. No one told him to buy that B and B.

“How did you hear about Dr. Sullivan?” Connor asked.

“Lou told us.”

“Lou Reber?”

She nodded.

“I heard from Freda. We were going over the agenda for the board meeting when Ursula called.”

Freda Kubr was Ursula Sullivan’s sister, a village councilor and the administrative assistant to Principal Unger.

“And Lou told you how he died?” he asked.

“Hit-and-run.”

“Did you see Dr. Sullivan today?” he asked.

“Not today.”

This began to feel like an interrogation, as if Connor was constable, and it made her uneasy. Why was he so interested in these details?

“I’m sure the state police will want to speak to you. They told me they’ll be interviewing all his coworkers.”

“Why? Wasn’t it an accident?” she asked. She had her suspicions, but she wanted to see his reaction.

“That hasn’t been determined yet.”

How did he know that?

He swiped a hand over his mouth and then returned his hand to the wheel. She’d never seen him this jumpy.

“Did he say anything to you or was he behaving strangely?”

“Not as strangely as you’re behaving.” She twisted in her seat to face him. “What is this about, Connor?”

“We’ve never had a case of manslaughter in Hornbeck before. It is going to be in the papers. Most people who live in this county don’t even know we exist, and the village likes it that way. I know Rathburn-Bramley does. It’s why they picked us for the plant.”

It was true, Paige knew, that even people living in the same county didn’t know that this little turn in the highway was a village. Both the railroads and the major highways had left them behind years ago. This was an advantage to a company who produced controlled substances. Hiding in among the farms and hills made perfect sense.

Connor banged his hand on the steering wheel. “They’ll mention where he works.”

“No secret where he works. Is there?”

“Your company prefers a very low profile. Can’t see it from the road, so the tourists and visitors certainly don’t know it’s here. Draw the wrong people, it gets out what you all are cookin’ down there.” He glanced at her. “You know exactly what they produce.”

“I should. I test every product on every run.”

“Well, then you also know that opiates are a target. They don’t want to be on the map.”

Her company also produced fentanyl and a variety of intravenous drugs and gases used by anesthesiologists. Most had a high black-market value and were favorites of some addicts. Ironically, they also produced innocuous medical supplies like aerosol disinfectant spray and gel hand sanitizer.

“Well, they can’t just pretend he wasn’t killed,” said Paige, addressing Connor’s concerns with sarcasm.

“Your employer is requesting he be listed as unemployed. His widow has agreed.”

“That’s sick.” And a shock. She could understand the company’s desire for a low profile, but this seemed to take it too far.

“They offered her money. A lot of it, above and beyond what she’d get with the company’s life insurance.”

“But they think this was an accident? Right?”

“Maybe. But his ID tags are missing.”

Her eyes widened. Had he been killed for his access key?

“But they can’t get to the manufacturing area with that and they can’t get past security. They check our photo against the tag.”

“What about after hours?”

“Tag is time sensitive. Six a.m. to six p.m. Plus, you need a special card to access the finished goods area. After hours you need an escort. One of the security team. They’ll deactivate his access. I’m sure they already have done so.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. She shouldn’t be revealing security measures, even to Logan’s brother.