Death of an Irish Diva (19 page)

“So I set up a tour of the lab when I found out that it's in Virginia,” Annie said and then took a bite of a strawberry shortcake cupcake. “Oh, my
Gawd,
this is good.”

DeeAnn looked pleased. “Thanks, Annie. Do you need me to go with? Ya know, in case there's any trouble?”

Sheila spoke up and crossed her arms. “That's just what she needs.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I don't think so.” Annie smiled. “I'm just going alone, disguised as a potential client for one appointment and as myself for another. Even Bryant doesn't know I'm doing this. And I don't want him to, because it may not lead to anything at all. What they are doing is legal. I'm just hoping I can find the link between them and Emily.”

“Emily was very into her heritage in a strange way,” Paige said while cutting out a picture.

“What do you mean?” Annie asked after swallowing a piece of her cupcake.

“Well, I thought it was kind of creepy. She really thought that having a certain bloodline made you better than anybody else,” Paige replied. She smoothed over a border she'd just placed on her page. “She used to talk about that all the time at the historical society meetings.”

“Other people are like that sometimes, too. The Daughters of the American Revolution used to be,” Sheila added.

“I sometimes think a lot of people in the town are like this. And I've been thinking about why this kind of thing bothers me. It's almost a subtle form of racism,” Paige said.

“It is? To be proud of your heritage?” Sheila said, looking up from her computer.

“Well, there's a fine line between being proud and thinking you're better than everybody else because you're Irish or French or . . . white,” Paige said. “That's all I'm saying.”

“But you know what? It fits,” Annie said. She patted her page and then turned it. She loved the fresh, empty scrapbook page almost as much as she loved a blank piece of paper. The possibilities were endless. “This is an adoption agency that has a lab partner. Emily was giving her money to them. They are a sponsor of this Irish music event. There is a link. We've just not found it yet.”

“The ironic thing is that Emily McGlashen most likely had what she would think is tainted blood,” Paige said. “She probably is a descendant of Bill McGlashen, an adopted black boy who started the McGlashen line in California.”

“What? How do you know that?” Vera said.

Paige's face turned red. “I've, ah, just been digging around a bit. That's all.”

“You're hiding something,” Vera said, laying her scissors on the table.

“Why didn't you tell us this before?” DeeAnn asked.

“Well, it's not even that big of a deal,” Annie said. “We probably all have some African American blood in us. C'mon.”

“No, it's not a big deal, for heaven's sake,” Vera said.

“What
is
a big deal is that Emily McGlashen would be turning over in her grave.” She grinned. “She was all about genetic purity.”

Sheila was hunched over her laptop, as usual. She sat up straight. “I knew this ancestry membership would come in handy. Look, there is a William McGlashen in California in the nineteen twenty census. He and his wife are listed as what? What does that say . . . ? Mulatto. What is that?”

“It's an out-of-date term for a mixed-race person,” DeeAnn said.

“Well,” Sheila said, “it doesn't look like they could be any relative of Emily McGlashen, who was just as white as you and me.”

“Emily's hair was colored. Remember? And she wore blue contacts. Besides, genetics are a tricky thing,” Annie said. “Who knows what is in the mix? Many of us right here at this table might be surprised about what kind of blood runs through our veins, even me. We know we came from Eastern Europe. But who knows before then? The whole world is just one big mixing bowl, when you think of it.”

“Which is why,” DeeAnn said, “this agency is so suspicious to me.”

“I feel the same way,” Annie said. “How can they prove that a child is absolutely one hundred percent English or German or whatever?”

“Seems the only way to prove such a thing would be to grow one yourself,” Vera said.

The room filled with an uncomfortable silence.

“I've thought the exact same thing,” Annie finally said. “Could it be?”

“Designer babies are all the rage,” Paige said. “Randy and his partner have been looking into adopting a child. I don't think they are ready for it, but he's never listened to me about anything else, so . . .” She shrugged. “He was telling me how some of these agencies do a lot of genetic screening and testing.”

“Yes, but isn't that just for disease?” Annie asked.

“I think it used to be. Not anymore. And it's not just gender, either. They talk about eye color, intelligence—”

“Intelligence?” DeeAnn interrupted. “You mean you can order a smart baby?”

Paige nodded. “I suppose.”

“Well, now, that's where I went wrong. I bred with my own husband, the old-fashioned way. No wonder my kids are so weird,” she said and laughed.

“But seriously,” Vera said, “you wouldn't change them, would you? You never know what you're going to get, of course, but ultimately, even though kids are a brew of your genetics, they end up being their own people. I think it's great. Sloppy, yes, but magic.”

DeeAnn shook her head. “Spoken like a new mother. Talk to me in twenty years,” she said and smiled.

But Annie was beginning to catch a further glimpse of what made Emily McGlashen tick. She was adopted by a secular Jewish family living in a commune. She rebelled when she found out she was adopted. Which twisted into this obsession she appeared to have with genetic purity. She was such a believer in it that she gave a lot of her money to this agency. But what was she hoping to accomplish? And could this have led to her death?

Vera was up and down all night, with fitful dreams that she couldn't really even remember. In her sleep, she would tell herself,
Remember it. This is important.
But the moment she woke up, all memory vanished.

Sort of like the hypnosis.

Was she really, truly losing her mind?

She pulled her comforter closer to her.
Five a.m. Great.
Lizzie would be up soon. The quiet house would be filled with the noises of her daughter.

She thought about last night's discussion, and images of her own daughter played in her mind. You couldn't get a more perfect blending of two people. She and Bill had made this girl, and she was so much like them both. It was more than the shape of her nose or the color of her hair and eyes. It was the way she laughed, the way she knit her eyebrows when she was trying to understand, and how she tilted her head when she was listening.

Could she love an adopted child as much as she could her flesh and blood? Of that, Vera was certain. Loving a child was the easiest thing she had ever done. It wouldn't matter if he or she was blood.

Vera's family had settled in the area generations ago; it had never occurred to her that this was an important thing. It just was who they were. So when Emily McGlashen came to town, making claims, Vera was amused. Who cared? What relevance did it have to everyday life? None that she could see.

“Mama! Mama!”

There was Lizzie. Vera smiled. Yes, she was tired, bone weary. But she loved Sundays with her daughter.

Later that day, her mother interrupted her playing with Lizzie. They were playing with blocks and fashioning a magnificent pretend village.

“Vera, Detective Bryant is here to see you,” Beatrice said as she walked into the room.

“To see me? Really?”

Beatrice nodded. “I'll stay with Lizzie. Better that she stay here.”

Vera's heart sank. Was he going to arrest her? Why didn't she remember the details of what she witnessed that night? Why did she not want to even try again? It might be the only thing that would save her.

As she walked down the stairs, her legs were shaking slightly. Oddest feeling. Bryant and Jon were sitting on the sofa together, chitchatting. The scene didn't appear to be tense at all. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe he hadn't come to arrest her.

But when he looked up at her, Bryant's face was stern. “Hello, Vera. Please sit down.”

“No. I won't sit down. If you're going to take me to jail, let's just get it over with. I didn't kill her, I swear.” It spewed from her. “I couldn't kill anybody, whether I was sleepwalking or not—”

“Vera,” Jon interrupted, “the detective is not here to arrest you.”

“Then what?” she said, sinking into the chair.

“We have news,” Bryant responded. “And it's not pleasant.”

“Okay,” she finally said. “What is it?”

“We know who has been trying to set you up. She claims she didn't kill Emily, though.”

“Of course!” Jon said, folding his arms.

“
She?
Who?”

“First of all, you should know that this person is young and, I think, very confused about some things,” the detective said. “And you should know that there is a personal connection.”

“With whom? Me?”

“Yes. And Bill,” he said.

Vera leafed through her brain. Why, almost everybody she knew also knew Bill. He had told her nothing.

“Oh, for God's sake, just tell me who it is!” she finally said.

“It's Kelsey, Bill's girlfriend,” the detective said.

The room stilled.

Had she heard him correctly? The young woman her ex was shacked up with had tried to set her up for murder? Well. That was just too good to be true. She grinned, then allowed a bubble of nerves to spring deep from within her guts and escape as laughter, unattractive, snorting, crying, freeing laughter.

“Vera?” Jon finally said. “Are you okay?”

She calmed down but looked at the detective, who was also trying to stop himself from laughing, probably.

“I'm sorry,” she said finally, after taking a deep breath. “It's just too much.”

“Yes,” Bryant said.

“How did you—”

“We found her sneaking around your place a few nights ago, so we brought her in for questioning and DNA testing, which went very quickly this time. Usually, it takes forever. But we have a small new lab in our office now,” he told her.

“Sneaking around?” Vera said.

Bryant nodded. “And she's confessed to all of it. Except the murder.”

“Of course she killed Emily,” Jon said. “Why else would should be doing this to Vera?”

“Jealousy,” Bryant said. “She saw an opportunity to get you out of the way.”

“But I am not in her way. She can have Bill.” Vera waved him off.

“Ah yes,” Jon said. “She can have Bill, but not all of him. You have the most important part of him, Elizabeth.”

Shock tore through her. “Elizabeth?” She remembered that strange night when she woke up next to her daughter crying in the crib.

“We don't know if that is the case,” Bryant said, “but let's just say that Kelsey is a troubled young woman.”

Vera snorted. “No kidding. I mean, why else would she be with Bill?”

“Spoken like a true ex-wife,” Bryant said and smirked.

When Annie learned the DNA lab for Alicorn was in Chesapeake, near Virginia Beach, she took the boys out of school for a few days and she and Mike made a midweek getaway. It wasn't exactly the kind of romantic trip she had had in mind when she and Mike first talked about it, but maybe that would come later. And maybe this change of scenery would do them all good.

The green hills and valley gave way to flatter and grayer terrain the closer she and her family drove toward the eastern shore of Virginia. Only a few hours away, but the area felt so different, looked so different.

The boys each had a book and were quiet for most of the trip. Traveling was getting to be easier with them. Mike turned up the radio when one of his favorite Beatles songs came on. “Yesterday” blared through the minivan. Annie smiled at her husband.

It was going to be okay. Wasn't it?

This trip proved that she could work her career around her family. They were cool with it. Excited. They had museum and fishing plans. She was thrilled.

Later, though, as she drove off for her first appointment and left her boys with their fishing gear at the dock, her guts pulled at her. She would miss it. If her boys caught a fish, if anything funny or sad or sweet happened, she would miss it.

She swallowed her bottled water hard and blinked back a tear.

The tour was uneventful. The building was establishment gray. The office workers seemed friendly and polite, and the views of the labs were pristine. Workers in friendly white coats, goggles, and gloves.

“We run these tests to give our clients peace of mind,” the tour guide said. “We want to make certain that all our children are healthy and exactly what our clients want.”

“What if you find a disorder or something in the tests?” A man Annie hadn't noticed before stepped forward. But he looked vaguely familiar.

The tour guy cleared his throat. “Our policy is always honesty. We tell the potential family and leave the decision up to them, of course,” he said.

“How can you be certain of a child's heritage through these tests?” Annie asked, noting the odd look the other questioner gave her.

“Because there are certain genetic markers, for example, that we see in population strains,” he replied.

“Still,” Annie continued, “there are very few genetically pure populations these days. That is what I am interested in. I want a child of my heritage only. It's important to me that my children have Jewish blood.”

“Well,” the man said, reddening, “we can discuss your personal situation at a later time. Suffice it to say that we are at the leading edge in science and genetics technology. We do our best. In the meantime, we are just about out of time. Any other questions?”

There was a group of six individuals. Two couples. One was Asian. The other white. Then there was Annie and this familiar-looking man, who was African American. He made eye contact with her again and smiled.

In the parking lot she heard someone call her name and turned to see that same man.

“Annie? Annie Chamovitz?”

“I'm sorry. You look familiar, but . . .”

“It's Herb Ross,” he said. He lowered his voice. “On assignment.”

“Oh,” she said. “I see. The beard and the glasses . . . effective.”

“You want to get a cup of coffee?”

Oh boy, did she ever. What was an investigative reporter doing here? She glanced at her watch. She'd have to call Mike.

“Okay, sure,” she said. “I just have to call Mike. Excuse me.”

Mike didn't pick up his cell phone, so she left a message. Had he left it in the hotel room?

Herb and Annie found the nearest coffee shop and planted themselves there with mugs of steaming coffee and a plate of muffins.

“Listen, I hope you don't mind my asking, but I thought you had kids. What are you really doing here?” he asked. “Are you on a story?”

“You're right. I do have kids,” she said. It had been years since they had worked in a newsroom together. He had left and worked at another paper. Funny that he knew anything about her having kids, but word did get around. “And I really don't know if I'm on a story or not. But at this point, I'd have to say no.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” he said, laughing.

She explained to him why she was there. He whistled low, eyebrows lifting.

“I gotta tell you, Annie, what your hunch is telling you is correct. Emily McGlashen was a board member of the Alicorn Foundation.”

“Foundation? I've seen nothing about a foundation.”

“No. You wouldn't. It's a behind-the-scenes foundation. Nothing illegal. They just don't mention it. They've been collecting funds for research for years.”

Annie took a long drink of her coffee. Emily McGlashen was full of surprises. Even dead. “What exactly are they researching?”

“You see, this is where it gets dicey. It's not illegal in the U.S., but it is in some of the other countries Alicorn does business in.”

“What?”

“Embryonic research.”

“What do you mean? They are creating embryos and what?”

“They are attempting to create perfect babies. Health. Intelligence. Gender. Ethnicity.”

Annie's stomach lurched. It was true that reporters didn't want to retch in front of police, but it was also true they didn't want to do it in front of another reporter. She took a deep breath.

“Excuse me,” she said and made her way to the ladies' room.

 

 

Her next appointment was the following day, with John Reid, the president of Ali Labs. The office building was adjacent to the labs and was warm and inviting, decorated with wood and brass. The receptionist greeted Annie with a professional and friendly demeanor.

When Annie walked into John Reid's office, she was a little surprised by his youth. He couldn't be more than forty-five. So blond that he was almost albino, but not quite. His blue eyes were framed by darker eyelashes. One sweeping look told her that he was moneyed, educated, and considered himself powerful.

“Good morning, Ms. Chamovitz.” He stood and shook her hand.

“Good morning,” she said and then sat down in the overstuffed leather chair.
Nice.

“I've taken the liberty of doing a little research.” He smiled at her. “I hope you don't mind. But I see that you've done some interesting reporting.”

“Yes, thank you,” Annie said, a little taken aback. “And I've done some research on you.”

He laughed. “Not me, surely. Perhaps Ali Labs?”

“More like it, yes.” She grinned.

“What can I help you with?”

“Well, I'm interested in a previous board member, Emily McGlashen.”

“Terrible what's happened to her,” he said.

“Indeed,” Annie said. He seemed genuinely distressed. She sat back in her chair. “Can you tell me about her involvement here?”

“Well, she was a board member of our partner company's foundation. That much I know,” he said. “But I don't know much else about her.”

“Are you certain? Because it seems that she was passionate about Alicorn. I can't imagine you hadn't met and known each other.”

“Oh, we met,” he said and grimaced. “We didn't exactly get along. I felt that she was unethical in some of her leanings.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the whole business with accepting money from this strange group . . . Oh, what was the name of it ? New Mountain Order. That's it. I couldn't get behind it,” he said. “Unfortunately, many of the board members don't care where the money comes from as long as the research is funded.”

Annie's heart leapt. Did he just say the NMO helped to fund Alicorn?

“The NMO was a supporter of Alicorn?”

“No, not the adoption agency. Ali. The lab. We are partners and are funded separately. And the research is where the money is these days.”

Annie nodded.

“I told Emily that I wanted nothing to do with those freaks,” he said with vehemence.

“But she secured the funding, anyway?” Annie asked.

“Highly inappropriate.” He nodded. “But the NMO, as far as I know, proved me wrong. They gave us the money and went away. I really thought they could have other interests.”

“What would that be?”

“You know about them,” he said. He had done some research on her.

“They are bigots. Pure and simple. I thought they were interested in starting a freaky Aryan race in our labs. But so far, nothing. They've been the perfect supporters, giving us money and leaving us alone,” he said and shrugged. “You just never know about people, do you?”

No, you didn't, Annie thought. It was just as she had thought originally. The NMO was a huge red herring in this case. The organization was scattered and disorganized since its leaders were gone. She agreed with Bryant in theory that this case led right to the NMO's door. But all the hard evidence? None of it pointed to them.