over, trying to make small talk. Poor guy was harmless enough and kept to himself. He didn’t talk to the other staff much, except for Sheryl. She worried about him sometimes.
Sean remembered that there had been a painful event—for Jay, at least—back in junior year. Sheryl seemed to be the only person to ask if he was OK. Nothing that went as far as bullying—at least, nothing physical. But he was pretty embarrassed, nonetheless.
Sean kept scanning through the rest of the saved emails. Finally, one stood out. Not spam. Not personal. It had been opened two months ago. Not deleted. He clicked it.
Dear Ms. Paimen,
Thank you for your inquiry into the clinical trials for LoZiet, a stress-reducing medication now in clinical trials. To complete your application, please call the number below between 9 a.m. and 5 p.m., Monday through Friday. Please have the following information available:
Date of Birth
Brief Medical History
Drug and Alcohol Use
Tobacco Use
Estimated Level of Stress
Current Methods of Reducing Stress
Availability (Nights, weekends, etc.)
Please note that only fully qualified candidates will be able to participate. Thanks again for your interest in BioGyn Pharmaceuticals.
He wrote the number down. This was something. A medical test gone wrong? He didn’t know much about clinical trials, but he suspected there were plenty of forms they made you sign, including one indemnifying them of any responsibility. Well, this wasn’t going to stay quiet, that’s for sure.
He printed out the email and started to dial Alan. Then he thought better of it.
He’d do this himself. Somebody was going to pay.
Chapter Seven
Sunday, 11 a.m.
The first thing Bethany noticed when she woke up was that she was alone. She had expected that. Poor guy had been going out with that girl since school, and she suddenly dropped dead. That had to suck. But last night— despite the drunkenness and all those feelings she knew he had to be holding back—was a dream come true.
She’d been crushing on him since she first saw him back in high school. Perfect face, perfect body. She tried to get him to notice her, but he only had eyes for Sheryl. That was the thing. Sheryl was just too nice to hate. But she was gone now, and Bethany was here. She got up and looked around, hoping for a note telling her how wonderful the night had been. Maybe a promise to call later. She found nothing, but she wasn’t disappointed, because the competition was gone. Was she bad for thinking like this? Maybe. She wouldn’t push it. She didn’t want him thinking she was like that.
She’d had her share of guys since school. Damn, ten years ago? More? She didn’t like counting. She’d passed the halfway mark to fifty, the quarter-century mark, all alone. Nobody had helped her celebrate. She didn’t talk to her parents much, despite the fact that they still lived in Rockport.
Bethany knew that everybody would be talking about Sheryl. She was a teacher at Rockport-Fulton High, about to get engaged to the town detective, and BAM! Suddenly she was dead. The gossip would be juicy. Much juicier than when they had found that bloated body on the beach a couple years ago. These were good people. There was nothing like bad things happening to good people that fired up small-town gossip.
Shit. What if she DID have competition? She wouldn’t let that happen. After all, she was there first after Sheryl died, right? She was there to comfort him. He’d remember that. She had to check. She scrambled for her yearbook, all three of them. They were in boxes at the bottom of the closet in her spare bedroom. Why’d she have such a big place? Sure, she made enough tips, but she wasn’t saving anything. In fact,
Morten Storm, Paul Cruickshank, Tim Lister