Angelwood: R&P Labs Mysteries, #4

ANGELWOOD

CYNTHIA E. HURST

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R&P Labs Mystery 4

Copyright © 2011 Cynthia E. Hurst

All rights reserved

Plane View Books

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The characters and situations in this work are wholly fictional and do not portray any actual persons, businesses or organizations.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 1

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I reckon January should be outlawed, Mitch said, stamping slush off his boots as he came through the front door of the lab. It’s no good to anybody, is it? Totally useless. Just something to get through between Christmas and spring.

He walked across the lobby, leaving a damp trail of footprints behind him, tossed his worn black leather jacket over the coat rack with one hand and reached automatically for the coffeepot with the other. It was the middle of January, a month which was already threatening to go on forever, and although all the employees of R&P Laboratories were suffering from the post-Christmas blues, Mitch’s case was by far the most severe.

He poured two mugs full of strong black coffee, added milk and sugar, and handed one to his boss, who accepted it gratefully.

Sorry, Rob, I don’t mean to be such a pain. But the weather’s really crap, and right now everything else is, too. You know ...

I know what you mean. It’s OK to be miserable sometimes.

Still, there’s always a bright side, I suppose, Mitch said thoughtfully, sipping the coffee. I got so wrecked at Christmas that I didn’t even go out on New Year’s Eve. First time for ages I can remember waking up on New Year’s Day knowing who I was.

Always a plus, Rob agreed. "But don’t you mean ‘knowing where I was’?"

Nope.

Oh.

He wasn’t surprised that Mitch hadn’t felt like celebrating on New Year’s Eve, because his Christmas bender had been of epic proportions. Rob didn’t know – and wasn’t sure he wanted to know – exactly what had happened in the early stages, but eventually Mitch had managed to drive back to the lab, where he had ripped down and smashed the festive decorations and then proceeded to drink himself senseless on a bottle of expensive Scotch, which had been given to his co-worker as a Christmas present. Rob had had the pleasure of removing his comatose employee from the lab and lugging him home to sleep on the sofa.  

He hadn’t been too unsympathetic, however, because the trigger for Mitch’s actions had been his mother’s death on Christmas morning. Mitch had spent most of his life caring for his chronically ill parent, and Rob suspected it would take a very long time before he came to terms with her death.

Under normal circumstances, Mitch would have turned for support to his colleague Virginia, the lab’s senior bacteriologist. She had been quietly serving as his surrogate mother for some time, possibly finding in her young, spiky haired colleague a substitute for the children she had never had. They were genuinely fond of each other, despite the differences in their ages, backgrounds and personalities, and Rob never worried too much about Mitch when Virginia was on the scene.

However, she had requested a few days off for a post-Christmas vacation, an event so unusual that Rob had felt moved to ask, Is everything all right, Virginia?

Yes, of course, she had replied. I just feel the need for a little break. I’m going to visit a friend in California. I’ll be back next Monday.

So in her absence, Mitch was working flat out on the bacteriology testing which formed the backbone of the lab’s workload. That wasn’t altogether a bad thing, Rob thought, as he watched Mitch take his coffee into the bac lab, since it would keep him from wallowing in self-pity, and if the work was too much for him to handle on his own, he could always draft microbiologist Ellis Freeman in to help. That would certainly take Mitch’s mind off his personal problems, since the pair of them could rarely spend more than a few minutes in each other’s company without an argument erupting.

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ROB TOOK the mug of coffee and retreated into his own tiny office, where a small portable heater was battling valiantly against the chill. He found himself agreeing wholeheartedly with Mitch’s assessment of mid-January in Seattle. The sky outside was the color of lead, with low clouds that occasionally dribbled some rain or sleet, and the air felt like a cold, wet blanket. The lab parking lot was covered with a thin layer of slush which refused to melt completely. Clients, having overextended themselves at Christmas, were slow to pay their outstanding bills.

At least, Rob thought, he didn’t have Mitch’s additional problems. For one thing, he hadn’t just lost his only surviving parent, and he wasn’t living in the attic of a dilapidated house whose other three occupants were members of an ambitious but untalented goth band. Aside from the lab’s uncertain financial state, which was on-going, the only problem facing him at the moment was a relatively pleasant one, as he and his fiancée Holly Baird tried to negotiate an agreement on where they would live after their marriage.  

Rob turned the heater up a notch and began to concentrate on composing letters that would encourage bill payment without sounding either too belligerent or too desperate. He could hear the sound of muffled swearing from the chem lab on the other side of the lobby and concluded that his brother’s latest efforts at developing an artificial alternative to traditional beeswax polish were not going well. It was a project of several months’ duration and Rob suspected that in the end they would have to accept the fact that there was a good reason why generations of furniture restorers had used the natural product.  

Somewhere in his subconscious he became aware that the front door of the lab had opened again, partly because a sudden gust of cold air was swirling around his ankles. Cursing, he got up and looked out of his office door.

R&P Labs had never been wealthy enough to afford luxuries like a receptionist, and since they had few unexpected visitors, it had never seemed necessary. Usually, whoever was unoccupied at the time fielded the visitor, determined their business and either turned them over to the appropriate staff member for assistance or sent them on their way.

But the man who had just walked into the lobby didn’t seem at first glance that he was going to fall into either category. He was in his late fifties or perhaps early sixties, with hair that had once been blond but was now turning a distinguished shade of silver, and greenish-hazel eyes that looked vaguely familiar. He was tall, with an athletic build, and was dressed for the winter weather in an expensive looking overcoat covering a charcoal gray suit, with a cashmere scarf wound around his neck and leather gloves on his hands.

Rob noted all these details in one quick appraising look and summed up his visitor as someone loaded with both money and self-confidence. The unanswered question, of course, was what he was doing in the lobby of a small, independent research lab that perpetually walked a tightrope between success and insolvency.

The man turned toward Rob and smiled.

You must be one of the Mangan brothers, he said, his eyes resting on Rob’s red hair.

Yes, I’m Rob Mangan, Rob said, puzzled. He waited, but no introduction seemed forthcoming. Mitch peered out of the bac lab and the visitor nodded in his direction.

And you have to be Mitch.

Mitch looked apprehensive. "I don’t have  to be," he said.

Their visitor looked around the lobby. This is much as I’d pictured it, he said approvingly. A little bigger, perhaps.  He pulled his gloves off, folded them neatly and tucked them into the pockets of his overcoat. Rob and Mitch watched as if mesmerized.  The visitor glanced toward the kitchen area, where the coffeemaker was bubbling away as usual. Aren’t you going to offer me a cup of coffee?

Rob pulled himself together. Yes, certainly, he said, moving toward the kitchen. Is there something we can do for you, sir? Besides coffee, I mean?

He mentally kicked himself. The last time he had called anyone sir, he had been about ten years old, and even then it had been a reluctant courtesy. But this man exuded authority and seemed to rate it automatically.

I may have a job for you, Rob, the visitor said easily. White, no sugar, please.

Rob silently poured the coffee and added milk. He stirred it and handed the mug to the man, who accepted it with a nod of thanks. Would you like to come into my office and we can discuss it?

Yes, I think that would be a good idea.

Rob led the way back across the lobby toward his office, hoping the heater would have warmed the room to an acceptable level. As he did, the front door opened again and Ellis came in, wrapped in his heavy sheepskin coat.

God, it’s frigid out there, he said. I hope they’re right when they say it’s going to warm up a little by the weekend. He shut the door behind him, turned and appeared to see the visitor for the first time.

Oh, sorry ... The words trailed off. Ellis stood rooted to the floor, staring, and Rob abruptly realized why the man’s hazel eyes had looked so familiar; he saw ones just like them on a daily basis whenever he spoke to his microbiologist. Ellis squared his shoulders, as if going into battle, cleared his throat and said, Dad? What are you doing here?

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ROB HAD to admit he was as astonished as Ellis that his father was standing in the lobby of R&P Labs. Rob knew that Ellis’s choice of a scientific career had not been popular with his father, who had wanted his only son to follow in his own legal footsteps. It had taken a great deal of persuasion, argument and downright pig-headedness before Ellis had convinced him that he was much happier doing research at a small independent laboratory than dealing with multi-million dollar corporate lawsuits.

It didn’t matter that Ellis had sailed through his university science courses with straight A’s, earning a degree in microbiology with a chemistry minor, and that he was an extremely competent and versatile scientist. According to Ellis, his father still harbored hopes that he might change his mind and decide to go to law school after all.  

So it was with a certain amount of trepidation that he ushered the senior Freeman into his office. He had raised his eyebrows questioningly at Ellis, to see if he wanted to join them, but Ellis had shaken his head and said aloud, I’ll get back to my work, Rob. Shout if you want me.

He walked down the short hall toward the bio lab. Rob, whose ears were attuned to every noise in the building, did not hear the door shut, so he knew Ellis was listening. He did, however, hear another set of footsteps go down the hall and then Mitch saying, sotto voce, So that’s your old man, is it? and Ellis’s answering hiss, Shut up, Mitch.  

Freeman gave no indication that he had heard the exchange, although Rob was sure he had. He put his coffee on the corner of Rob’s desk, took his overcoat off, folded it neatly over the back of the only guest chair and sat, crossing his legs and leaning back, at ease.

Ellis speaks very highly of you, Rob, Freeman said.

We’re lucky to have him here, Rob replied. He’s an excellent scientist, and a valued member of our team.

Freeman nodded. He doesn’t settle for second best. It was a simple statement of fact, not a boast, and Rob took it as such.

So what can we do for you, Mr Freeman?

Avery. If I am going to be your client, we may as well be on a first-name basis.

Very well, Rob said, smiling. What can we do for you, Avery?

I am hoping you may be able to solve a mystery for me. I would have gone to the police, but in the first place, I am reasonably sure no crime has been committed – at least not yet – and secondly, I think a scientist may have a better chance of solving it than a police officer.

Well, you’ve certainly got my attention. What’s the mystery?

Avery reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and took out an envelope. From it he removed a small, folded piece of lined paper.

I’ll explain the background first, if I may. I assume Ellis has told you that I’m an attorney?

Yes, he has.

The majority of my clients are businesses, not individuals, and traditionally, they like to give me and my firm a token of their appreciation at Christmas.

Rob nodded. The only token of appreciation R&P Labs had received at the Christmas just past had been a brick thrown through their front window by a disgruntled ex-football player whose criminal activities they had exposed.

There’s nothing illegal or even unethical about it, Avery added, as if he expected Rob to think there was.  

No, of course not.

One of my clients is a winery, Angel Winery. So not surprisingly, they sent me a case of wine at Christmas. One of their ‘sample’ cases, twelve bottles in all, with an assortment of whites and reds.

Very nice, Rob said enviously.

I didn’t want all the bottles for myself, so I took them out of the box and split them up to give to various staff members. And down in the bottom of the box, under one of the bottles, I found this.

He handed Rob the piece of paper. Rob unfolded it and looked at it. There were three words written on it in pencil, scribbled as if the writer had been in a hurry. The impression was enhanced by the fact that the paper looked as if it had been ripped from a larger sheet and folded hastily and unevenly. Rob read: Serios problem – help.

He looked up. Avery met his gaze placidly.

Before you ask me, I have no idea who wrote it or what they are referring to. I suppose it might not even have anything to do with the wine or the winery, although in that case, I can’t see how it came to be in the box.

Do you know who packed the case of wine?

No, I don’t. They probably send out a dozen or more each year, and I imagine they are all the same, packed by someone in their production area. I was reluctant to start poking around too much or asking questions, because if there is a real problem of some sort, a serious one, I didn’t want to put the person who wrote the note in any danger.   

They’re your clients, you said. Are you aware of any problems at the winery?

No, I’m not. It’s quite a new winery, only a few years old, but they’re already winning awards for their wine. Financially, they’re in reasonable shape, as far as I know, and legally, there aren’t any problems I’m aware of. Certainly no litigation or anything I would describe as ‘serious’. Most of the work we do for them involves contracts and so on, very straightforward.

Rob thought for a while. You said originally that you thought a scientist might be able to help. What did you think we could do?

Avery settled himself more comfortably. As I understand it, Rob, wine has to be tested at various stages during the production process. I thought someone from your lab might be able to visit the winery in some guise, ostensibly to do or monitor the testing, but also to have a casual look around and see if any obvious problems seem to exist. He smiled. I know that’s a tall order and nothing may come to light, anyway. Or the note may be someone’s idea of a joke.

Or it might not have anything at all to do with the winery.

Quite possibly. I would pay you for your time, of course.

Rob fought down temptation. Hmm. If the wine has to be tested on a regular basis, the winery must have its own lab and a testing procedure already in place.

I suppose so. Do you think that would present a problem?

Only in that I don’t think they’d welcome us turning up to monitor their performance. We’d have to come up with a more plausible explanation for being there.

So you’ll do it, then? Excellent.

Rob thought back and couldn’t remember actually agreeing at any point to take on Avery’s investigation. Well, I’m not sure.

It’s your decision, of course, but I imagine Ellis would be happy to make an initial visit.

Rob decided he might as well give in to the inevitable. We may not find any leads as to the writer of the note or what the problem is, you know.

I’m aware of that. All I ask is that you give it your best shot.

All right. We’ll take a look and see what, if anything, we can find out.

Good. Avery stood up and retrieved his overcoat. And as an incentive, I brought along one of the bottles from the Christmas case. It’s in my car. Consider it a sweetener.  

You didn’t need to, but that’s very kind of you.

Rob opened the office door and thought he heard footsteps rapidly retreating into the bio lab. Across the lobby, Phil came to the door of the chem lab and looked out. Rob beckoned to him and said, Phil, this is Avery Freeman, Ellis’s father. We’re going to take on a little investigation for him. Avery, my brother Phil.

Phil was visibly startled but recovered well.  Hello, Avery, he said, shaking hands, pleased to meet you. What sort of investigation?

I’ll explain later, Rob said. But it concerns a winery.

Sounds promising, Phil said cheerfully.

They continued outside and Avery led the way to a sleek silver Mercedes parked in the next block. He opened the trunk and took out a bottle of wine. I hope you like Merlot.

Love it, Rob said, accepting the bottle. It’s one of my favorites. Thank you again.

Avery handed him a business card. Let me know what the outcome of your investigation is. Even if you don’t find anything.

Of course.

Rob watched the Mercedes pull away from the curb and purr down the street, and became aware that he was shivering. He went back inside the lab and took the bottle of wine into his office. As he expected, Ellis was already there.

I assume that’s a bribe, he said. What did he charm you into doing?

It’s not exactly a bribe, Rob said, inspecting the bottle. The label featured an angel, wings spread, hovering over a stylized vineyard, and the words ‘Angel Winery’ printed in a curly font. You might even consider it research material. Hasn’t he said anything to you about this?

Obviously not. What’s the problem?

Rob dropped the business card into a drawer, waved Ellis into the chair and briefly outlined what Avery had told him. He thinks you might be a good candidate to visit the winery. How you’ll explain what you’re doing there, I’m not sure.

Can I see the note?

Rob handed it to him. Ellis studied it for a minute and then said, If you were sending out an SOS about a serious problem at your workplace, why would you put a scribbled note into a random case of wine? What I mean is: Did this person know who the wine was going to? Or did they put half a dozen notes in different cases?

That’s a thought, isn’t it? I wonder if he or she knew where that particular case was going.

It’s typical of Dad to assume it was aimed at him, Ellis said, pushing his floppy blond hair back. But that would mean it’s a legal problem. And if it is, surely there would have been faster, easier ways of calling attention to it, like a phone call or an e-mail.

Depends what the problem is, Rob said. That note looks like it was written in a hurry, on the spur of the moment, and secretively. And by someone who is perhaps not very well educated – since they misspelled ‘serious’ – and they might not have access to e-mail or even a phone. At any rate, I suppose it won’t hurt for you to go take a look around this Angel Winery. You probably will have more luck just pretending to be an ordinary visitor than a scientist. You can ask more naïve questions that way.

He knew it went against the grain for Ellis to pretend to be less intelligent than he was, but he was glad to see him take the point.

Yes, all right, Ellis said. He stood up and walked to the door, where he turned. At least we know this is one client whose check won’t bounce.

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HOLLY WAS already at his house when Rob arrived home from the lab that evening, and the smell from the kitchen told him she was making lasagne, one of his favorite dishes. She came to meet him, a dishtowel tucked into the waistband of her jeans and her long dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. She stood on tiptoes to kiss him, and he tasted tomato sauce.

Delicious, he said, licking his lips.

Me or the sauce?

Both, he said, grinning. But you, especially. I knew there was an upside to your project ending; it gives you a chance to cook fantastic meals like this.

Flatterer. You’ll get your chance at the weekend. She looked at the bottle he was carrying. Is that to go with dinner?

If you like. You’ll never guess where it came from.

Where?

It was a gift from Ellis’s father.

Holly’s honey-colored eyes opened wide. Why would Avery Freeman give you a bottle of wine?

"Ellis thinks it’s a bribe. His father wants us to do a little scientific