Where Rivers Part (17 page)

 26 

B
y that afternoon, the frontage road leading to Larimar Springs swarmed with reporters, television camera crews, and satellite trucks, forcing Juliet to take a calculated shortcut through the neighboring facility belonging to a restaurant supply distributorship.

After maneuvering carefully past a loading dock, she drove alongside several large blue dumpsters and cut into the back parking area where the warehouse workers normally left their pickup trucks, some with jacked-up wheel bases and others showing off mud flaps featuring chrome-silhouetted women.

Tavina's warning played in her head, the one where she cautioned never to wander the plant alone at night. The thought triggered a fresh ache in Juliet's heart. Who warned her assistant that drinking bottled water could make her baby sick?

Juliet wound her car to the front parking area, only to find her spot was taken. A cerulean blue Lexus sedan. Local plates.

She pulled into one of the many empty spots and exited the car with a file folder held up to block any shot some ambitious cameraman with an amped-up lens could capture.

The lobby was empty, as expected on a weekend. Music pumped from the speakers in the ceiling, and voices drifted from the hall leading to the executive suite. Juliet braced herself and headed in the direction of the open conference room door.

As she neared, she could hear Greer's voice. “Look, Alexa, I'm telling you. We need to hire legal counsel ASAP.” He sounded frustrated.

Alexa cleared her throat. “What do you recommend, Ellen?”

A woman's voice responded. “I strongly urge you to wait,” she said. “At least until after the press conference this afternoon. If the first thing this company does is protect themselves legally, it'll look bad.”

Juliet paused at the open door, trying to renew her will to move inside.

Greer paced at the windows shrouded with closed blinds. “Ha—guarantee it'll be a lot worse if we start saying things that will come back to bite us legally.”

Alexa looked up. “Come on in. You're late.”

Juliet nodded. “I know. I'm sorry.” She glanced at the empty seats around the table littered with empty Styrofoam cups and sugar packets. “Where is everybody?”

Greer smirked. “Probably hiding out from the media.”

“Sit.” Alexa motioned to a chair. “We have a lot to go over before the press conference.” She pointed to the woman. “This is Ellen.”

Alexa returned her attention to her laptop, banging on the keyboard with hard, eager strokes.

The woman—Ellen—wore cream-colored slacks with a cashmere sweater of the same shade, accented with thick gold jewelry that appeared to be the real stuff. She wore bright red lipstick and an air of confidence Juliet wished she felt.

Juliet fought a jolt of irrational nerves. She held out her hand. “Hello, Ellen.”

The woman smiled. “You don't recognize me?”

Juliet stared at the dark-haired lady. “No,” she said slowly. “I'm sorry, I—”

“I'm Ellen Shaffer.” She paused, waiting for the information to register, then added, “We went to school together. You and your
father did a science experiment on Career Day. Elephant toothpaste, if I recall correctly.”

Juliet's eyes widened. “Oh—of course. I'm sorry.”

Ellen shook her head. “No, don't be. That was a long time ago.”

Juliet pulled the file folder tightly against her chest. “And—your father brought the teleprompter.” Ellen must work for her father's public relations firm, which should have brought Juliet some level of comfort. Instead, she felt humiliated.

The woman standing before her was a force, driven and focused. Juliet used to be one of those women. She couldn't explain how it had happened, but now, of course, she'd turned back into that girl sitting at the back desk—punished for something that wasn't her fault.

But this time everything was her fault.

Although no one in the room said so.

Ellen clapped her hands together. “Well, let's get started. We have a lot to cover.” Her phone buzzed. She picked up, her face drawing into a scowl while she listened. When she clicked off, she turned to Alexa. “Two more toddlers have been admitted.”

Alexa buried her forehead into the palms of her hands. “They pulled all the product. When does all this stop?”

Juliet swallowed. “Incubation is usually one to four days. Often a diagnosis isn't made until several days after that.”

Ellen made a tsking sound. “Look, I don't want to burst anyone's bubble . . .”

Greer glared in her direction. “Believe me, there is no bubble.”

Looking frustrated, Alexa held up her hands. “Let's focus.”

Like a woman who knew her way around trouble, Ellen Shaffer moved to her place at the table and lifted a newspaper. She opened it and spread the pages on the conference table. “We have to get in front of this, and quick. I know the news director at KENS-5, and he's agreed to hold any major story until after the press conference, provided I give him first access to any developments. But I'm
afraid this
San Antonio Express-News
article isn't very flattering. And no doubt the entire story will go national.”

Juliet leaned over the table and read where Ellen pointed.

She was identified. By name. And the account quoted her remarks made at the North American Food Safety Symposium in Chicago.

Consumer health and safety are at the very core of what we do every day, and because of the collective efforts of dedicated food scientists and quality assurance directors in companies across America, outbreaks are now rare, with fewer reported each year than ever before.

Kids across the metroplex were falling ill. Some were dying. The article made it clear—everyone in San Antonio blamed Juliet.

This came as a shock, that she was in the center of a scandal. While she'd once been known as brilliant and talented, her rising star's light had dimmed and was plummeting, soon to hit the ground and implode.

At least that was what her smoldering gut told her.

 27 

G
reer remained more than testy throughout Ellen's prep sessions. Especially when she dropped a bombshell and recommended that Juliet stand with Alexa to field technical questions during the press conference.

“Well . . . isn't that opening the company up to a lot of negative press?” he questioned, his forehead wrinkled. He looked to Alexa, clearly hoping she'd agree and change her mind.

When Alexa backed up Ellen's decision, Greer rolled his neck, making a popping sound. “Suit yourselves,” he huffed, and turned to the window. He pulled on his cuffs, then carefully lifted one of the slats on the blinds and looked out. “Just as a reminder, the wolves will be looking to bite a chunk off somebody's backside. Do you really think she's up for the meal they're going to want to make of her? This ain't no picnic, you know.”

Juliet gritted her teeth, put out that Greer spoke of her in the third person like she wasn't even in the room. “I'll try not to wear my red riding hood when I step in front of the microphones,” she snapped back, not meaning to sound so shrill.

Unaffected by her sharp words, Greer dropped the slat and backed away from the window. “Cyril just pulled into the parking lot.”

Alexa closed her eyes while squeezing the bridge of her nose between her middle finger and thumb. “We're going to have to tell him.”

Ellen clicked off her tablet and looked up. “Tell him what?”

Greer and Alexa exchanged nervous glances. Alexa pushed back from the table and stood, then cleared her throat. “Our primary lender called me this morning, threatening to pull the loan. Apparently, these events trigger a default under one of the clauses. Technically, we're in breach.”

Ellen looked like someone had just placed a gun to her head. She took a deep breath. “Anything else you haven't disclosed? I can't help you if I don't know what's coming.”

Juliet felt the heat of Alexa's and Greer's stares, in the way they looked at her, disappointed they'd placed their trust in someone so untrustworthy. No doubt they believed, like everyone else in the room, that she'd driven Larimar Springs into a rock and was solely responsible for the company now sinking.

Frankly, how could she blame them? Their tense animosity was completely understandable. She felt like the villain in all this, and with every development, each new revelation, it was becoming harder to live in her own skin.

This made stepping into the public arena even more difficult. Even so, she was determined to show Greer, and everyone else, that she was a professional and up for the challenge.

The press conference took place in the Larimar Springs lobby, with reporters representing the local market, as well as Dallas, Houston, and Austin news outlets. Juliet noted one camera even held the CNN logo. The overcrowded room added to the pressure, but Ellen Shaffer knew the best way to stay in control was to host the event on their own turf. In keeping with her promise, she arranged for a private interview with the KENS-5 station people after.

By the time everything was finished, Juliet almost wished Greer had won his earlier argument. She definitely ended the media sessions with a large measure of her reputation chewed up.

Despite Ellen's best efforts and Cyril Montavan's encouraging support, when the questions turned accusatory in nature, Juliet had a hard time focusing on the talking points. “You stray from this outline,” Ellen had warned both Alexa and Juliet, “and anyone with a financial stake in this company will wish they were wearing Depends.”

Alexa, on the other hand, stood in front of the reporters with confidence. Near the end, when faced with a particularly rude remark, she formed a resolute smile.

“We have implemented an aggressive response plan, which places the highest priority on the health and safety of our customers and the public. Larimar Springs is fully cooperating with health officials. We've completely opened our company records for review and are assisting as needed with the recall. Lastly, our hearts and minds are with those affected, and we pray for quick recovery.”

Juliet prepared to step away from the microphones, feeling relief that the press conference was finally over, when a local talk show host stepped forward with a particular barb that harpooned her heart.

“What do you want to tell the families of these children?”

Alexa squared her shoulders and leaned into the microphones. “Larimar Springs will do what is right.” She looked over the crowd of reporters. “The right thing to do is to own up to our responsibility and pay for these poor people who had to put their children in the hospital.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Juliet caught a glimpse of Greer's paled face. Their attorneys were going to have a fit over that comment.

By the time the press conference ended, the clock on the lobby wall read nearly four o'clock. Alexa's warning that they'd face another full day tomorrow followed Juliet out the door, but right now she didn't care. She was free to head to the hospital to see Tavina and check on her little boy.

In the parking lot she opened the door to her Jeep and climbed
in, fighting off exhaustion. The last eight hours had seemed to stretch forever, the tension suffocating at times.

She'd like nothing more than to go straight home and fold into a weary puddle, but she forced herself to keep going, knowing Tavina's world was far worse.

Juliet entered the hospital lobby, took the elevator to the pediatric critical care unit, and walked into the waiting room just as the news broadcast changed over to the weather on the television mounted against the wall. She felt the few people in the room staring at her with recognition as she passed through.

At the help desk, she leaned close to the volunteer and lowered her voice, not wanting to draw any additional attention. “I'm here to see Tavina Mosely.”

The white-haired woman wore a broad smile and a corsage made of crepe paper flowers. She picked up the phone receiver, held it midair. “And you are?”

“Dr. Ryan—uh, Juliet.”

When the woman at the desk provided the go-ahead, Juliet made her way down the long corridor, a pallor of unease resting over her heart. She neared the bustling nurses' station, smelled the tang of antiseptic and fear hovering in the air.

The pediatric critical care unit was serious business. Especially when those hard metal gurneys held little ones fighting to survive.

Little MD Mosely was in one of those beds.

Tavina's face wore signs of a mother who had spent the last forty-eight hours clinging to the bedside of a little boy with tubes everywhere—a catheter down below his groin to catch fluids, a chest tube to drain the fluid from around his lungs, and a breathing tube delivering oxygen to his truffle-colored torso. An IV transported crucial drugs into his system, lowering his dangerously high blood pressure, and flashing lights on machines surrounding his bed recorded every breath and heartbeat.

“The blood became so profuse, it soaked through his diapers,”
Tavina lamented, her voice low and ragged. “Over the past four hours, my baby turned lethargic and his belly swelled up like a cantaloupe.”

Juliet covered her assistant's hands with her own, feeling helpless. She wasn't a medical doctor, but she knew these signs. Tavina's son was worsening.

The frightened mother's lip quivered. “I just don't understand. How . . . why did my baby get so sick?” She pulled one hand from Juliet's and wiped her forearm across her damp, despondent face. “Do you?” she asked Juliet.

Standing at the sliding glass panels leading to the hallway, Tavina's mother shook her head and patted her chest, her face painted with worried sorrow. “We haven't told her,” she admitted out loud.

A sudden involuntary intake of air filled Juliet's lungs. A chill crawled down her back. “She . . . ?”

“No.” Tavina's mother looked at the floor. “Larimar Springs has been so good to my girl. I didn't know what to say.” The older woman ran her hand through her graying hair. Her eyes held no disapprobation. “Maybe you could explain.”

Tavina scowled. “What are you talking about, Mom?”

Juliet took a deep breath. She squeezed Tavina's hand, unsure which of them extracted more comfort from the gesture.

In the end, there was little Juliet could do but disclose the facts as gently as possible, trying to sound calm and hopeful. She reiterated what the doctor had said about MD's diagnosis and told her about the health investigatory team's findings, taking care to avoid Tavina's eyes as she spoke.

When she finished, Tavina's head tilted wildly as she tried to assimilate what she'd been told. “No—none of what you're saying makes sense.” Her expression turned limp, and she looked Juliet in the eyes. “We're careful. I don't have a fancy science degree, but I see the testing and all our department does.” She buried her face in her hands and rubbed her tired eyes. “Something's not right.”

Sympathy surged through Juliet. She hugged her assistant, holding on to her shoulders for several seconds. Tavina had a right to choke with emotion. No matter what, Juliet would extend unwavering support.

Back in the parking lot, Juliet's ragged emotions surfaced. She cupped her hand over her mouth, letting the impact of what was going on upstairs in that hospital carry her into a dark place.

Tavina's resounding endorsement warmed Juliet's heart but did little to lift her self-reproach.

How could she deny the stark reality that children were dying because of product passed through her laboratory? The microbial counts were sufficient to classify the liquid inside those bottles as poison.

She'd poisoned babies.

Tavina's baby.

Through eyes flooding with tears, Juliet stumbled to her car. Her hand blindly felt for the car door handle.

That was when she discovered the envelope taped to her window. In carefully blocked black letters, the front read,
Dr. Ryan—Read
This.

Juliet wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and pulled the envelope from the window. With shaking fingers, she slipped her forefinger under the seal.

She quickly unfolded the piece of paper—a copy of an analysis report dated almost five months prior to when Juliet started employment with Larimar Springs. A Mylar sticker with a black arrow had been positioned on the line reading
Total
Coliform Units—MCL
.

Instinctively, Juliet's hand went inside her purse. She fingered her cell phone, thinking she should call somebody.

But who?
She unlocked the car door.
And what
would I say?

Suddenly, her phone rang, making Juliet jump. Her eyes darted around the parking lot. Whoever had placed that envelope for her to find might be watching.

Wary, she quickly climbed in her Jeep and locked the door, then answered her phone. “Yes, hello?”

“Dr. Ryan, this is Dr. Breslin. The investigation has produced a new development that has us scratching our heads.”

Juliet's bedraggled nerves went on high alert. The last thing she needed was more bad news. “Yes? What is it?”

He cleared his throat. “The team is a bit puzzled by a pallet of product confiscated from your warehouse. The pallet label is dated back in November of last year. That alone wouldn't concern us, but there's a huge gap in time between this pallet and the others in the warehouse.”

Juliet's fingers tightened on the test report dated in that same time frame. “I—I'm not sure I understand,” she said, her mouth suddenly cotton-dry.

“Given what we've been able to piece together and what Larimar executives have reported, your company has been turning over product quickly for weeks in order to meet the demands of the Water Circus account.” He paused as if piecing together his thoughts. “So—why the old product?”

Using care not to reveal her own alarm, Juliet admitted she didn't have the answer. Warehouse and distribution fell under operations, and that was Dale Frissom's area.