Carbon Dating by Jerusha Jones

Author:Jerusha Jones [Jones, Jerusha]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Cozy, Fiction, mystery, suspense, Women Sleuths
Amazon: B01N4A0H5D
Publisher: Jerusha Jones
Published: 2016-12-03T00:00:00+00:00

oOo

I was still hungry. Ravenous, actually—breakfast having been notably absent that morning. But, first things first, and that was a press conference.

I’d spent the past hour in a small conference room brainstorming with Chloe about what she wanted said on behalf of the institute. Tanith had a few insights to offer as well, and together we hammered out a brief statement.

Chloe’s main concern had been, “Do we have to stand behind you, all solemn and silent while you make the statement? I’ve seen that on TV, the row of people behind the speaker that are just there for something else to look at.”

I’d reassured her that she and the other staff had no need to be anywhere near the cameras, and she’d slumped back in her chair, visibly relieved. The strain of the past few days was obvious in her bloodless face and taut shoulders. Even her ponytail hung dispiritedly down her back.

I’d patted her hand. “It’ll be over soon. How about those diaries? Anything good in them?”

Chloe had zapped to life again. “I’m going to find out.” And she’d eagerly ducked into her tiny office to immerse herself in that much more meaningful task.

The news of Dr. Zales’ death had spread quickly in spite of Heath’s allusion to the proper sequence for notification. I’d heard whispers in the halls, and there were a few sniffles among the staff, but it almost seemed as though they’d expected the worst. Certainly no one appeared surprised.

I also gathered that this wasn’t the first time Zales had been hospitalized for mismanaging his disease. It seemed his obstinacy had extended into the medical realm as well—he’d refused to be fitted with an insulin pump that was connected wirelessly to the internet so his doctors could monitor his blood glucose and insulin levels in real time, insisting instead upon maintaining his privacy and autonomy by performing all his own treatment manually. In a way, I sympathized with his sentiments. I knew just how invasive even the most well-intentioned monitoring scenarios could become, considering I’d participated in some of those in my old job for a subcontractor of the National Security Agency.

I’d also been fending off increasingly urgent requests from a pack of reporters. And I’d reached the limit of profitable stalling. I’d been trying to give Vaughn as much time as possible to contact the volunteers, and I’d successfully missed the window to make the noon-hour news updates, but not by much. So most people, except the junkies who were absolutely glued to their screens or radios, wouldn’t hear of Zales’ death until that evening.

“Okay, you’re doing it?” Vaughn said into the phone. He sounded distracted. I’d called to give him advanced notice.

“Yep. At one-thirty.”

He sighed. “I have three more volunteers to interview. One flew out of town this morning to visit her grandchildren. The other two are together on a winery tour in the Columbia Gorge.”

“But there’s a bright side,” I replied. “One, they’ll be in a good mood when you find them. Two, they likely won’t be watching television or sitting on social media in the meantime.

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