Page 1 of Delivered to My Fury

Chapter One

Opal

My last assistant had to be let go.

HR allowed me to give her and the others glowing letters of recommendation, but with the current research climate, they weren’t likely to find anything similar. That grant had been a sure thing, or so my supervisor and I thought. With our lab’s reputation, we got just about all the grants we applied for—until now. Over the past month, one proposal after another was turned down. Not because we weren’t worthy or our work wasn’t helpful. They didn’t quite say that. But the money faucet was turned off cold. To the point that money already promised would not be forthcoming.

I sat on my stool and considered what to do with the rest of the afternoon. I knew some other researchers who were managing their own funding, but outside of things like test tubes, cotton swabs, and alcohol, most of what I needed was just too expensive for my salary to cover. There were a few things I could do, but with the project likely to shut down soon, why stretch the day out?

I stood up, looked over the ruins of the last five years of my life, and unbuttoned my lab coat. On the way to the car, I texted Ceci, my bestie, and asked her to meet me at the local pub for some beer and bar snacks.

She showed up, of course, but the wary look in her eyes showed she knew I had lured her there for more than pleasant conversation. “What’s going on?” She set her bag on the table and sat down. “What are we eating?”

“I got the lumberjack plate.”

Her jaw dropped. “This has to be bad.” The plate held wings, mozzarella sticks, and about six other things, all deep fried. We only got that when the world was collapsing around one of us. “Tell me all about it. Did you order drinks?”

Our server, Joanne, arrived then with our tall glasses, the sudsy head threatening to slide down the sides. “Your food will be right along.” She eyed us. “You ladies have a death wish? That fried stuff is pretty toxic.”

“It’s an emergency,” Ceci told her. “Some people eat ice cream; we go for the hard stuff.” My friend didn’t even know what I was upset about, but her loyalty spilled over like beer foam.

“I hear you.” Joanne nodded soberly. “I’m a sex-on-the-beach girl, myself.” She left us to ourselves then, leaving a wave of sympathy behind her. She didn’t know the problem either, but sometimes women had to stick together.

“Okay, so talk.” Ceci lifted her glass and blew the suds to one side before taking a sip. “Ahh. That is good.”

I tried it as well and found it light but with a pleasant body. The golden color also appealed. “Yeah, it is. Almost makes me feel better.”

“Judging by the fact you’re not in your lab this early in the afternoon, I’m going to say it’s a work-related issue.” Ceci turned her glass around and around, watching the bubbles instead of me. She was one of those people who knew how to give someone the space to speak without feeling like they were under a microscope.

“Funding is all dried up.” I swallowed around the lump threatening to close off my throat. “Everything is stopped.”

Ceci was also a scientist and would know what that meant. Unlike me, however, she worked for a cosmetic company, helping to develop new mascaras and blushers and other such products. Her job, no matter the political or financial climate, would go on. “Have you been let go?” she asked. “Because you know we have a space ready for you tomorrow.”

We had gone to university together and gotten our PhD’s the same year, but while I went into the public sector, doing mostly government-sponsored research related to health, my friend accepted the lucrative contract to work with beauty. I didn’t judge her for it. It was honest work, but I’d grown up in a town with some serious ailments connected to chemicals dumped into the river. I had nothing against mascara, but I always swore it was either health or maybe something in food and beverages for me.

“Nah, I think I might take up moonshining.” Joking…sort of.

“Opal, isn’t that done by old bearded men like we’ve seen on that TV show? In big pots in the woods or something?” Lord love her, for a scientist, her research on the topic was not very good. Of course, she’d probably never wanted to be a moonshiner.

“I don’t think there are any rules about women not being allowed to do it. I just need to move into the woods.”

Our food came then, and Joanne caught the end of the conversation. “My boyfriend makes shine but not in the woods. He does it in the garage.” Her voice dropped. “It’s not something we tell many people, but you’ve been coming here a long time and I have overheard enough to know you aren’t revenuers.”

“Could he use an intern?” Maybe it was time for a career change.

She giggled. “I am in charge of flavor profiles, and he does most of the rest. No job openings. Why? Are you out of work? No wonder you ordered the fried death plate.”

Put that way, it sounded less appealing. Fortunately, it smelled delicious. “No, but I might be before long. You are not going to sell much if you call your food death.”

Joanne shrugged. “Gotta be honest. It never seems to stop anyone from ordering it.” A man at another table called her over, and she left with a promise to bring more beer in a few minutes.

“You ladies alone?” The voice came from behind me, and I closed my eyes for a moment, praying for strength.

“No…we are here together.” I hoped he’d stop then, but of course he didn’t.

“Two women? Lucky I have a big bed. Lots of room. Of course, if you’d rather just the two of you, I like to watch.”

My elbow shot back so hard and fast, I hadn’t realized I was going to do it until the loud “Oof!” followed thecrack.

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