Lessons in Chemistry(120)

Or maybe Mr. Sloane, unhappy with Harriet’s newfound happiness, had decided to punish her in all new ways. Maybe he threw out her mail.



* * *



—

“Miss Zott,” the Hastings receptionist swooned as Elizabeth entered the lobby. “I’ll let Miss Frask know you’re here.” She plugged a cable into the switchboard. “She’s here!” the woman hissed to someone on the other end. “Would you mind?” She held out a copy of The Voyage of the Beagle. “I just started night school.”

“Love to,” Elizabeth said, signing the cover. “Good for you.”

“It’s because of you, Miss Zott,” the young woman said earnestly. “Also, if it’s not too much to ask, could you also autograph my magazine?”

“No,” Elizabeth said. “Life’s dead to me.”

“Oh, sorry,” the young woman said. “I don’t read Life. I meant your latest one.” She held out a thick, slick publication.

Elizabeth looked down, shocked to see her face staring back at her.

“Why Their Minds Matter” read the cover of Vogue.



* * *



—

As they clipped down the hallway, their heels in sharp contrast to the muffled sounds of generators and cooling fans coming from the other laboratories, Frask informed Elizabeth that they were meeting in Calvin’s old lab.

“Why there?” Elizabeth said.

“The fat cat insisted.”



* * *



—

“It’s a pleasure, Miss Zott,” Wilson said, unfurling his long limbs from the stool. He reached his hand out as Elizabeth took inventory: carefully cut gray hair, sage-colored eyes, pin-striped woolen suit. Six-Thirty, too, gave him a thorough sniff, then turned to Elizabeth. All clear.

“I’ve been wanting to meet you for a very long time,” Wilson was saying. “We appreciate your willingness to come in on such short notice.”

“We?” Elizabeth asked, surprised.

“He means me,” a fiftyish woman said as she emerged from the lab’s supply cabinet with a clipboard. She had the kind of hair that had once been blond but was slowly surrendering to age. Like Wilson, she also wore a suit, but hers was bright blue and, despite the careful tailoring, looked less serious, thanks to a cheap daisy brooch pinned to her lapel. “Avery Parker,” she said nervously, gripping Elizabeth’s hand. “Pleasure.”

Six-Thirty, having finished his investigation of Wilson, went to analyze Parker. He sniffed her leg. “Hello, Six-Thirty,” she said. She bent over and pressed his head against her thigh. He took an exploratory sniff, then drew his head back in surprise. “He probably smells my dog,” she said, drawing him back in. “Bingo’s a huge fan of yours,” she said, looking down at him. “Loved your work on the show.”

What a highly intelligent human being.

“We’ll be needing a full inventory from every lab,” she said, turning to Frask. “And we’ll also need to know what you might need, Miss Zott,” she said with a touch of deference, “for your research. Your research here at Hastings, I mean.”

“To continue your work on abiogenesis,” Wilson interjected. “On your final show you announced your intention to return to your research. What better place than here?”

Elizabeth cocked her head to the side. “I can think of several.”

The last time she’d been in this room, Frask was here, too, although at that time Frask was informing her that Calvin’s things were gone, Six-Thirty had to go, and Madeline was on the way. She took in the depressing chalkboard filled with someone else’s writing, then looked back at Mr. Wilson. He was draped on Calvin’s old stool like a bolt of fabric.

“I really don’t want to waste your time,” Elizabeth said, “but I don’t see myself returning to Hastings. It’s personal.”

“I can understand,” Avery Parker said. “After all that transpired here, who could blame you. Still, I’d like a chance to change your mind.”

Elizabeth looked around the lab, her eyes resting on one of Calvin’s old signs. keep out it warned.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “You’ll be wasting your breath.”

Avery Parker looked to Wilson, who in turn looked to Frask.

“Why don’t we have some coffee,” Frask said, jumping up. “I’ll make a fresh pot. And while we’re waiting, the Parker Foundation can fill you in on some of their plans.” But before she’d gone halfway across the room, the lab door swung open.

“Wilson!” Donatti shouted as if greeting a long-lost friend. “Just heard you were in town.” He rushed forward, his hand extended like an overeager salesman. “Dropped everything and came right over. Technically I’m still on vacation, but—” He stopped abruptly, surprised to see a familiar face. “Miss Frask?” he said. “What are you—” Then he swiveled his head toward a frowny-looking older woman holding a clipboard. And just beyond her stood—what the hell?—Elizabeth Zott.

“Hello, Dr. Donatti,” Avery said, extending her hand just as he dropped his. “It’s nice to finally put a face to the name.”