His Second Chance

Then there was another clip of the beautiful woman who turned out to be the mother of the latest cafeteria case. She was in hysterics, turning away from the cameras, with her hand up to try to keep them from filming her. Then the reporter was back on the screen, wondering aloud whether the child would live through the night, and closing with, “I’m Joseph Menard, for WBHG news, St. Peter.”

  The camera cut back to the news room where the anchors began joking about the dangers of school cafeteria food. Preston would have normally laughed along with them, except the report meant that his job was about to get a lot more difficult.

  He was the regional V.P. for the food processing company that provided most of the meals for the St. Peter school district.

  Chapter Two

  The director of the daycare, a plump sixty-something woman named Barbara Tenniger, was full of compassion and understanding when Cynthia told her that she would have to take an indefinite amount of time off from the job. “I’ve got a couple of girls who can fill in for you,” Barbara told her, “and when Melissa gets back on her feet, your job here will be waiting for you.”

  Cynthia wondered if her daughter would ever recover. It was two days after Melissa’s collapse, and yesterday afternoon she had slipped into a coma.

  At least Cynthia had had the foresight to put aside the small amount of life insurance money she’d received after Justin’s death. It would likely cover the impending medical bills, and might also be necessary to help with the household expenses, as Cynthia had decided to temporarily set aside her web design business, as well. She needed to be with Melissa.

  And she needed time to seek answers to the questions constantly bombarding her mind.

  Holding her daughter’s limp hand, she tried to ignore the daunting plethora of machinery humming and clicking around her that made her feel like she was in the middle of a sci-fi movie. She had dozed for about seven hours out of the last thirty-six, and fatigue was beginning to envelope her in its haze. She was going to have to go home soon.

  “I can’t find out what happened to you,” she whispered to her daughter, “if I stay here.”

  She brushed a wisp of hair out of Melissa’s pale face. At least it wasn’t blue anymore. At least the medical staff had finally gotten her to start breathing.

  But there could be brain damage. The doctor’s warning rang through her mind like an alarm, and she had to shake it away. Melissa was a high achiever with her whole life ahead of her. Cynthia knew she would fall apart if she entertained any thoughts that her daughter might be less than normal when she began her road to recovery.

  She glanced at her watch. Ten o’clock. She had an interview with the school district’s nutrition executive director in an hour, so she had to leave if she was going to go home, change her clothes and make it to the special services building on time.

  “I love you, sweetheart.” She leaned over and kissed Melissa’s gaunt cheek. “I’ll be back later, okay?”

  Lucy Perez, Franklin Elementary’s office manager, met her on her way out. Hours after the fact, Cynthia had wondered at the woman’s presence when Melissa was first admitted to the hospital. She had a teacher friend who had told her more than once that if the office manager is absent from a school office, the whole place starts to fall apart in a couple of hours.

  Yet, here she was again. Did she have some sort of special bond with Melissa that Cynthia didn’t know about? But if that were true, Melissa would have told her about it.

  She eyed Lucy with suspicion, but if the office manager noticed anything hesitant in Cynthia’s manner, she didn’t show it. Instead, she smiled at Cynthia with a compassion that reflected in her deep brown eyes. “How is Melissa doing?”

  Cynthia shrugged. “The same.” She rubbed her temples, suddenly aware of a throbbing behind her eyes. She could take a Tylenol, but she had a feeling that a good night’s sleep would be the more effective remedy. “I’ve got an appointment with the district’s nutritional director, and then I’ll need a nice, long nap.”

  She tried to step around Lucy, but her large form blocked the door. “Mrs. Redman, can we sit down for just a couple of minutes? There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

  Cynthia would have insisted on leaving, except for the urgency in Lucy’s tone. Was it about the meeting with the nutrition director? Lucy had given her his name and phone number; perhaps she had further inside information that would help Cynthia with her cause.

  “Okay, sure.” They each sat down on one of the upholstered chairs near the entrance, and Cynthia looked at Lucy, waiting.

  “Ten years ago,” Lucy began, “when my husband and I lived outside of Dallas, my eldest son, Juan, died after eating a particular lunch meat made by Sunnyview Foods.”

  Is this supposed to make me feel better? A tide of anger began to swell up inside Cynthia at Lucy’s brazen insensitivity. She was about to excuse herself, but noticed that Lucy’s eyes had grown moist. Her voice was hoarse as she continued, “He was only twelve years old. The autopsy uncovered a food additive in his blood that had been banned by the FDA because it had been determined to be as toxic as strychnine.”

  Cynthia leaned forward, intrigue replacing the anger. Lucy wasn’t just commiserating with her. She was trying to tell her something. “After a huge recall, the FDA investigated the plant. They concluded that the additive had been put in by mistake, and had only appeared in one batch of the luncheon meat.” Lucy took a shaky breath, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with her finger. “Forgive me. You would think after ten years it would be easier.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Cynthia reached over and patted Lucy’s arm, compassion causing her own eyes to well up. “But what does all that have to do with Melissa?” Surely an event that had occurred a thousand miles south ten years ago had no bearing on what had happened to her daughter. Kids had allergic reactions to food all the time.

  For a long moment, Lucy’s eyes bore into hers, searching. Finally, she whispered, “Maybe nothing.” Then she leaned back slightly and tilted her head. “Maybe everything.” She raised her voice somewhat, but still kept it low. “Three other kids in the Dallas schools got sick that same week. None of them died, but they all got sick while eating school cafeteria food.”

  Again, she paused for a long moment, chewing her lip as if contemplating whether to continue. “Mrs. Redman, this happened just after the President declared the war on terror. Some of us began to wonder if the illnesses – Juan’s death – weren’t just strange coincidences.”

  Shocked, Cynthia sat back. “You believe the food poisoning was some act of terror?” Lucy hardly seemed the kind who would see a demon behind every bush.

  Lucy’s voice diminished to a whisper once again. “I didn’t say it. You did.” She handed Cynthia a piece of paper. “My home phone number. Call me if you want to talk about anything having to do with…this.” She waved her hand toward the interior of the hospital, then stood up.

  Cynthia took the piece of paper, staring at the school office manager as she waddled out of the building. Was the woman crazy? She knew people could go to extremes in order to get closure for a death of a child, but terrorism? Really?

  And if it had been terrorism in her son’s case, why would she think the recent cases in the St. Peter schools would be? What were the chances of the incidences from ten years ago and the past month being connected?

  Her mind had already been a whirlwind of questions and confusion during the past two days. Now her brain was an absolute tsunami. Even if there weren’t any connection between Lucy’s son’s death and Melissa’s problem, there might be a similarity. Could someone be purposely tainting the school district’s food in order to harm children?

  The idea seemed far-fetched, but now that it had planted itself in her mind, she couldn’t shake it away. It gave her a whole new perspective on the situation. Should she mention the possibility to the nutrition director?

  Only if I want him to think I’m off my rocker.
But if the school district would not help, she would do her own research and do her best to solve the problem on her own.

  Terrorists. Serial killers. Psychopaths who hated children.

  She clutched Lucy’s phone number. What was she getting herself into?

  **********

  Snow was drifting down in large flakes as Cynthia made her way out to her car. She looked up at the gray sky that seemed to stretch for an eternity, wondering if the small city of St. Peter would see the sun any time soon. She never could stand February. Despite it being the shortest month, each of its typically sunless, arctic days depressed her, made her feel boxed into the dull routine of everydayness. Now she was going to have to shovel the sidewalk later on top of it.

  She drove to the SPISD Special Services building in time for her appointment, but was forced to wait for fifteen minutes. Not interested in the magazines lying on the coffee table, she gazed at one of the planters filled with a silk peace lily surrounded by silk pothos wrapped around its base, then studied the landscape painting behind it. A small house in the foreground was almost swallowed up by the breathtaking view of mountain scenery behind it, and Cynthia found herself wishing she could escape to that place, wherever it was, just her and Melissa, completely recovered, of course…

  “Ms. Redman, Dr. Munger will see you now.” The receptionist’s voice interrupted Cynthia’s daydream.

  She turned her head, giving the receptionist a polite smile as she arose. The receptionist came out from behind her desk and led her over to the mahogany door that bore the name “Barry Munger, Ph.D.”

  Opening it slightly, she gave Cynthia a nod and returned to her desk.

  Cynthia pushed the door open and walked into the office. As she did, the overweight man with dark circles under his eyes slowly stood up from behind a large, cluttered desk. “Hello, Ms. Redman. I am Dr. Munger, executive director of SPISD Food And Child Nutrition Services.”

  The smile he gave her was fleeting and did not reach his eyes. Indeed, his face wore the haggard look of someone who had been fighting an overnight battle and had lost.

  Cynthia wondered if she would look as bad without her makeup.

  She shook his outstretched hand. “Cynthia Redman.” He knew why she was there, and after the harrowing past couple of days and Lucy’s recent insinuations, she was not about to take the effort to remind him.

  It was only after they had both been seated that she noticed another man sitting off to the side. Although Dr. Munger was professionally dressed in a suit, coat, and tie, the other man’s clothes seemed more fashionable. And somehow, more expensive.

  He was sitting rigidly in the upholstered chair, and when Cynthia glanced at him, the smile he shot her, while longer lasting than the one Dr. Munger had offered, was colder.

  She raised a brow and looked back at Dr. Munger. “I would like to speak to you in private, if I may.”

  Dr. Munger frowned as he cut his eyes toward the other man, but he nodded, then got up and left, closing the door behind him.

  Cynthia narrowed her eyes. “Who was that?”

  “A lawyer retained by the school district.” Dr. Munger rubbed the back of his neck with a sigh. “We may need to invite him back in later.”

  Cynthia stiffened. “I don’t see why. I only came to find out if you had any idea about why my daughter – and other children – have required hospitalization after eating school cafeteria food.”

  Dr. Munger’s face softened. “How is she doing? What was her name? Mary?”

  “Melissa.” Cynthia fought the tears that suddenly stung her eyes. “She’s in a coma now.”

  The creases in Dr. Munger’s forehead deepened. “I am so very, very sorry. I have three of my own, you know.” If he had divulged that personal bit in order to make her feel better, it had worked. A little. At least he knew what it was like to worry about sick kids.

  “Do you let them eat school lunches?” The question came out before she could stop it. She hadn’t planned to ask it, nor to sound as sarcastic as she did when the words came out.

  This time, the smile Dr. Munger gave her was sad. “My kids live in Indianapolis with their mother.”

  Cynthia felt her face flame. “Oh.” So much for being professional. She had even worn a sort of business suit – a navy blue wool skirt and matching blazer – to make the best impression she could, to increase her chances of getting the most information she could.

  Now she’d probably blown it.

  “But.” The nutrition director leaned back slightly and steepled his fingers, nodding slightly. “I can’t say you haven’t asked a pertinent question. If the man in charge of St. Peter school food won’t let his own kids eat it, you would do well to wonder about it. The fact is, Ms. Redman, we work hard to make sure our children are getting as nutritious and high quality food as is within our budget. It is government subsidized, and therefore constantly subject to inspection and quality control.”

  Government subsidized. The phrase did nothing to assuage Cynthia’s concerns. She trusted nothing about the government. The phrase “within our budget” was an even greater red flag. If the budget wasn’t very large, the food wouldn’t be – couldn’t be – very good.

  Cynthia wrinkled her brow. “Are you saying you believe what happened to Melissa – and to the two other St. Peter students – is just some kind of fluke?”

  Dr. Munger leaned forward, folding his hands on the desk, his smile disappearing again. “Ms. Redman, I have spent the past two days dealing with reporters who haven’t had any exciting political intrigue or celebrity infractions for the past two months, and so are desperate for an interesting story. Perhaps you haven’t been following the news, but I have already given my official opinion about this situation, which is that the food distributors and manufacturers responsible for the school meals will be undergoing strict inspections during the next month or so. However, to answer your question, we do not believe that these recent incidents are more than, as you call them, flukes.”

  That the food was going to be inspected should have given Cynthia some comfort. But if Lucy was right, and just bits and pieces of the food were being tainted, then an inspection wouldn’t matter. Whoever was doing the tainting would quit for that period of time, then start right up again.

  Cynthia took a deep breath, knowing that what she was about to say might make her appear more than a little loony. “What if someone is poisoning the food on purpose?”

  Dr. Munger stared at her for a long moment, unmoving, while his red face paled a shade or two. Had she hit a nerve? When his gaze wavered, for just a split second, shifting toward his desk, she knew that she had. He hadn’t had the same suspicions, had he?

  His eyes met hers once again, completely clear of the uncertainty Cynthia had seen in them a moment ago, then he picked up the phone on his desk. “I believe it is time to call Mr. Johnson back in.” He made a call to the receptionist, and before Cynthia had a chance to protest the other man had returned to the room. This time, he sat in a chair next to Dr. Munger.

  “Ms. Redman, our school district’s attorney, Jeb Johnson.”

  Cynthia sat back, indignation and fear heating her middle. Was she in some kind of trouble for confronting Dr. Munger? Had she said the wrong thing? But surely a parent had a right to talk to school officials when a problem arose with a child who was a student in the district.

  Mr. Johnson gave her a suave, condescending smile. “The school district is willing to provide just and reasonable compensation for what has happened to your daughter, in return for you agreeing not to sue it or any individuals you may believe to be held responsible for your daughter’s…issue.”

  So that was it. Say the word “poison”, and everybody thinks you’re on the brink of flinging around lawsuits. Say it to the right people, with the right resources, and they may try to talk you out of it.

  Her jaw dropped as she looked from one man to the other. “You – you’re trying to bribe me to keep me quiet.”
A blank numbness gripped her mind from the shock of the realization.

  The attorney’s smile wavered. Just a little. “Oh, good heavens, no.” He leaned forward. “It’s standard legal procedure. Settling out of court before anything goes to court. Happens all the time.”

  Cynthia flicked her gaze back to Munger, whose face, if possible, was redder than it had been a few minutes ago. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, and his eyes narrowed. Clearly he disliked being accused of being party to a bribe.

  Well, then, he should understand perfectly how she felt.

  Hearing Johnson’s words, seeing Munger’s reaction, dissipated the shock in the next instant. Her very veins were on fire. She glared first at Johnson, then at Munger. “I don’t need your money,” she hissed. “I don’t need to be placated.” She stood up, tossing her purse over her shoulder, grasping her coat with trembling hands, satisfied to see both men cringing under her continuing glare.

  For several long seconds, she struggled with words. A hundred things jumped into her mind at once. But she wasn’t about to waste her time and energy vomiting her angry opinions all over this pathetic pair. Every ounce of energy she had, every spare second, she needed either to spend with Melissa, or to seek answers on her behalf.

  Clearly, the answers were nowhere to be found in this office.

  This thought gave shape to the final reply that she seethed through clenched teeth as she stomped out of the office door. “If you don’t have the answers, I’m sure you can figure out how to say so without insulting my moral character.”

  Chapter Three

  A woman was leaving the building as Preston was going in. Out of habit, he held the door open for her, but if she knew what he was doing she made no acknowledgment of it. Didn’t even look at him.

  Even so, and despite her bending her head down to avoid the snow blowing into her face, he got a good look at her. Recognized her.

  He hiked an eyebrow as he stared after her bundled figure. He didn’t wonder that the woman seemed to have no idea of his presence; with a child in the hospital, she had a lot more important things on her mind. Part of him wanted to jog after her and ask how her daughter was doing, but how would that turn out?