Page 57 of The Botanist's Assistant
“Because if the dean finds out your termination papers are with Anita Allshouse, he won’t remember seeing us talking together and suspect I was helping you. Then he’ll believe me when I tell him it was the luck of the draw. Even though it wasn’t. Between you and me, the dean’s been acting paranoid ever since the whole Dr. Deaver–poison thing. Oh, and I put you on the guest list for the Susan Olinsky reception next week. You can introduce yourself and tell her what you’redoing. That way, you’ll have an in when you need to find another job.” Susan Olinsky ran a giant biomedical research company in Silicon Valley.
“I’m not sure why you’re doing all this, but I appreciate it,” Margaret says.
“It’s just that I don’t like seeing people thrown away like garbage when they don’t deserve it.”
Margaret doesn’t consider herself garbage, but she nods in agreement. “May I ask you a question?”
“Is it about Dr. Deaver?”
How to navigate the question? Reveal too much to a known gossiper and every thought you have will be cannonballed into the world. Keep quiet and you’ll never learn about the dark undercurrents that run through companies, bureaucracies and even universities.
“In a way,” Margaret answers. “I want to consult with a biochemist about next steps in the lab and, well, you know my feelings about Dr. Blackstone.”
Purdy nods vigorously.
“I’m thinking about Rachel Sterling. What can you tell me about her?”
Purdy frowns. “I know everybody falls all over themselves around her. I know she acts like she’s some big shot. Like nobody’s good enough for her.”
Margaret thinks of Sterling in the breakroom eating a cup of instant ramen. It certainly didn’t seem like something a big shot would do.
“I think she and Dr. Deaver may have discussed his work,” she says.
“Wait, are you saying…?” Purdy leans toward Margaret. “What have you found out? What do you know?”
“Only that she seemed upset about Dr. Deaver’s death.”
“As in, they may have had a relationship?”
“I’m not saying that.”
“What if they did and that’s why Veronica Ann poisoned him? Is that what you’re thinking?”
“I’m thinking no such thing,” Margaret says, even though she is.
“Will you tell me if you find out they were, you know…” Purdy makes an unmistakable gesture with her fingers.
Margaret grimaces. “I will let you know.”
“It’s always the spouse, you know,” Purdy says. “I heard he was going to divorce her. She had motive. Isn’t that what they say on TV?”
“I don’t have a TV.” Margaret glances at her watch. This conversation is too close for comfort. “Sorry, but my break is over. I have to get back to the lab. Data to record, solution to mix. Thanks again for everything you’ve done.” She raises a fist. “Girl power,” she says, which comes out weakly and with an accidental question mark at the end.
Purdy doesn’t return the gesture and Margaret turns to leave.
“You’ll let me know what you find out?” Purdy calls after her. “I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s happening.”
Margaret lets out a long breath at her narrow escape.
29
Fifty Ways to Feed Your Kitty
How many kinds of catfood could there be? Margaret is asking this of herself as she stands in the supermarket aisle labeledPet Supplyand ponders the wall of canned cat food in front of her. Not only is there every kind of meat from beef to kidney to pork but there are also different manners of preparation: Chopped. Chunked. Pureed. With gravy. There’s surf and turf, and pâté. There are tins for senior cats and ones for kittens. Why not teenage cats? Wouldn’t they have special needs too? There’s even a brand for fussy felines. She doesn’t think Tom fits that category, and yet, who knows?
Finally, she selects six cans—three salmon and three chopped all-natural chicken, which are on sale for $1.05 each, and goes on with her shopping. She pushes her cart up and down the aisles at a high speed to make up for the minutes she’s wasted in the cat food aisle, causing one man to demand, “What’s your hurry, lady?” and a woman in a muumuu to press herself against the cereal shelves as if Margaret were a bulldozer intent on crushing her. Margaret isn’t. She hadplenty of room to pass. What she didn’t have was plenty of time. Joe had called early this morning and said he had a surprise for her and asked if he could stop by her house later. She explained that no one simply stopped by her house, that it was a trek, a journey, a pilgrimage, and suggested they meet elsewhere. Joe said he liked adventure and that he wouldn’t stay long so she told him five thirty p.m., which would give her time for her floors to dry, and she texted him directions.
I look forward to it, he texted back.
