Package Deal (25 page)

“Quite a few, but most people who work there live in Cape Canaveral, so they don’t have to commute. Tom and I think Daytona is so much nicer. We’ve discussed moving somewhere in between, but he thinks it’s worth the drive.”

Kelly hesitated. “When I came out here the first time, I met a man on the plane who works there.”

“Oh? What’s his name? What’s he do?”

“Steve McCarthy,” she told her. “He’s a cryogenic physicist. He works with fuel management, I think.”

Tina’s eyes lit up. She was a true gossip queen. “Want me to look into him for you?”

Kelly regretted saying anything. “No. I haven’t seen him since.” She shouldn’t have brought his name into the conversation. If she wasn’t willing to share the details with her best friend, Jill, she wasn’t going to tell Tina Aikins about Steve, not after seeing the gossip’s glint in her eyes, and not until the Kelly/Steve story had an ending—whatever that might be.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“
I
’m here to see Howard Stovall,” Kelly told the receptionist, her gaze dropping to the I.D. badge clipped to the woman’s collar. Summer Springs Lighting & Power, Esther Prindall.

The receptionist offered an artificial smile. “Your name, please.”

“Kelly Pearson of the Daytona
News Journal
.” Kelly matched the receptionist’s stiffness. She was always amazed by the authority some receptionists tried to convey.

Letting her gaze wander over the lobby, Kelly held her ground while the receptionist dialed Stovall’s office.

“There is a Ms. Pearson to see you, Mr. Stovall.” She hung up. “He’ll be right up, Ms. Pearson. Have a seat, please.”

Kelly settled into a chair and browsed through the magazines on the adjacent table. She and Lacy had spent the weekend with Steve, watching videos and gorging on popcorn. After tucking Lacy in bed, they’d continued the lovemaking marathon they’d begun the previous Saturday. Just thinking about it now sent shivers of delight skipping along Kelly’s spine.

Sunday morning, she’d asked Steve to stay for lunch, but he’d declined, claiming a previous commitment with Gary Benson. Kelly accepted his decline, but it bothered her the rest of the day. Old wounds. She tried hard not to think about it, but even now she wondered what Gary Benson had that she didn’t.

“Ms. Pearson?”

Kelly was jolted from her thoughts by a masculine voice.

Howard Stovall filled the doorway, his wide shoulders filling the jam.

Kelly crossed the room. “I’m so pleased you could see me today, Mr. Stovall.”

He gave her hand a brisk shake, then held the door open for her, motioning her into the adjacent hallway.

Kelly could tell a lot by a man’s handshake, and she knew right away, by the brevity of Stovall’s greeting, he was a man to get down to business.

“I’ve been looking forward to our meeting,” she said.

Stovall moved along at a brisk gait without comment, Kelly trailing behind, struggling to keep up with his pace. If she’d known she was interviewing an ex-track star, she might have worn lower heels.

“I don’t have much time for this sort of distraction, so I hope we can keep this brief.” He spoke over his shoulder, never slackening his pace. “I have a two o’clock meeting, and I don’t like to skip lunch.”

“Neither do
I
. Not a problem.” She didn’t let her disappointment affect her voice. She’d assumed the Summer Springs facility considered the manatees’ presence serious, as did most of the utility companies throughout Florida. It seemed this was not the case.

“Unfortunately, sir, the future of the manatee warrants more than mere distraction. Are you aware numerous power plants across the state have already improved the animal’s chances for survival by having their canals and the adjacent rivers declared sanctuaries for the manatee?”

“Of course I’m aware. This is Florida, and that’s their business. I’ve got a plant to operate. I don’t care how others operate theirs. This isn’t a zoo, and I didn’t invite the creatures in.”

Kelly rolled her eyes. This would be a challenge. “How long have the manatees been frequenting your canals?”

“They appeared about ten years ago but have grown in numbers. I’ve been swamped by naturalists, animal behaviorists, and reporters ever since.” He stopped outside one of the offices lining the long corridor. “I wish the darn animals would find somewhere else to swim. Sit down, Ms. Pearson.”

Certain they’d covered a distance of three blocks, Kelly followed him into his office, taking a chair beside the window, which afforded her a view of one of the utility’s cooling ponds. Stovall rounded his desk and sat down, leaned forward on his elbows and looked Kelly square in the eyes.

Kelly pulled a notebook from her briefcase and scribbled a few notations.

“Let’s get down to business, Ms. Pearson. What is it you want to know?”

Used to prying people for information, Kelly wasn’t in the least thwarted by Stovall’s no-nonsense approach. “Who first spotted the manatees? You? A worker?”

He considered the question. “One of our maintenance crew, I believe. You’d probably get more information from their department.”

No doubt, Kelly thought. He hadn’t heard a word she’d said about sanctuaries. She had a powerful hunch the man wasn’t native to the area, because her research suggested Floridians loved their manatees. Gesturing toward the plate glass window behind him and the cooling pond and discharge canal beyond, she said, “Mr. Stovall, are you fully aware of what you have swimming around out there?”

“Certainly! Big, homely things. Sea Cows. Sluggish, ugly beasts.”

Kelly groaned.

“What?” he asked, his tone defensive. “I’m not being politically correct?”

“You can call them whatever you like.” She was close to giving up but reminded herself she was a journalist here to get a story, not to convince Stovall of the value of the manatee.

Her printed article and increased social and legislative pressure would take care of the manatees. Besides, to be fair, a month ago
she
hadn’t known a manatee from a man-o-war. She would save her convictions for the story, but she already knew Stovall wasn’t going to appreciate the details when he read them in his morning paper.

“You and I both know manatee protection is important to the people of Florida, and depending on what you tell me and—”

“And how you choose to spin it,” he added, interrupting her.

She ignored the comment. “The surrounding population might be disappointed to find out their local power plant views the lovable, harmless beasts as little more than homely, sluggish creatures clogging the utility’s discharge canals.” Kelly suppressed a laugh. Summer Springs’s telephones would ring off the wall after her story hit the sidewalks.

He sighed in defeat. “All right. What do you want to know?”

Giving Stovall the benefit of the doubt, she briefed him on the Manatees’ history, attempting to enlighten him, without offending his delicate ego, on the animal’s prolific past and the dim future the species could expect if people like him didn’t do their part. She knew he’d heard it all before—it was nothing new—but he listened, no doubt praying for a favorable write-up.

“So you see, the manatee is seeking the warmth of your warm water out-falls for reasons of comfort and breeding, and because there are no speed boats zipping back and forth, tearing their backsides wide open with propeller blades, the most grave danger to them in lakes and rivers which are not protected habitats.”

“It’s very logical,” he said. “I have no doubt they’re quite happy in the canals. That’s my problem.”

“Could someone show me the ponds they frequent? I’d like to take some photographs and talk to some of the employees familiar with the manatees’ activities.”

Stovall glanced at his watch, his reluctance obvious. “It’s beginning to look pretty grim out there.” He eyed the thunderheads rolling in from the south.

She knew he hoped to end the interview, but she needed more meat for her story. So far, all she’d accomplished was to discover the utility company’s disinterest in the endangered animals. So, why had he agreed to an interview? Did he really expect to get off so easily?

“You have my promise, Mr. Stovall. You’ll be early for your meeting.”

“Well, we’d better hurry. Those clouds may open up on us any minute now.” He searched in his desk drawer and fished out a key ring. “We’re in for a big one. This storm has been brewing off the coast for days, just waiting to dump a ton of rain on us today.”

“Really?” Kelly’s regard switched to the black clouds gathering outside the windows. “It was overcast on the drive over, but I was listening to cassettes and missed the weather report.” Being from San Francisco where the bay area was often overcast and foggy, the cloud layer hadn’t drawn much of Kelly’s attention.

“Well, if I were you, young lady, I’d get myself home as soon as we finish up here.”

Kelly agreed.

He continued, “I hope it’s not too late. The roads around here flood during heavy storms, and reports coming up from Ft. Myers sound bad. Trees down, telephones out. We don’t often get severe storms this early in the year, but the Lord’s pulling the strings, not the weathermen.”

Flooding? Kelly experienced a moment of panic. The storm outside had gathered intensity, and the sky darkened as they spoke. Her driving wasn’t great at night, thanks to an astigmatic condition but toss in a little rain and highways became ponds, centerlines disappeared, and the reflections of oncoming headlights distorted everything in front of her. It would be safer driving with a kaleidoscope stuck to each eye. She’d better end this interview and get on the road back to Daytona. Lacy’s school closed at seven-thirty, rain or shine.

The trip to the pond was interesting and, despite the brewing storm, the manatees were abundant for viewing, rolling up to the surface to study the small group of human observers. They exhibited no fear, only simple curiosity. After researching them in books and newspaper clippings, and looking at dozens of photographs, nothing could compare to the excitement of seeing a live manatee. Their cumbersome shape explained their lack of speed in the water and the dangerous threat of mutilation by flying speedboats. Stovall had called them sluggish, but Kelly found them graceful. Spiraling and submerging, they performed a water ballet for the small group observing them. She wondered how anyone could not love the gentle beasts and become their champions. Perhaps her article would change even Howard Stovall’s attitude toward the gracious animals, but she doubted it.

Over the last twenty years, advocates had been educating the public on the animals’ plight, and Kelly knew there would always be people who cared and people who didn’t. When the interview with Stovall and his employees was finished, Kelly left the utility feeling armed with enough information to do her part—however little—toward the manatees’ preservation.

As she headed for the Interstate, the sky—now black and ominous—opened up. A hard, stinging rain pelted the roof of the car, filling the car’s interior with a violent metallic pinging that rattled her brain. Within seconds the intensity doubled. Sheets of water cascaded over the windows, blurring the road ahead. Visibility dropped to zero. The windshield wipers slapped out a frantic beat, trying to keep up with the torrential rain.

“What lousy timing,” she cursed, snapping off the radio. She couldn’t hear anything over the rain pounding the rooftop. She leaned forward, struggling to see past the wall of rain, and flicked her lights from low to high beam, hoping to improve visibility. It was useless. The car suddenly hydroplaned, yielding its grip on the road, now slick and dangerous from the torrential downpour. A rush of adrenaline flooded Kelly’s bloodstream. She tugged at the wheel, correcting the steering, and slowed to a crawl before continuing on. The afternoon sky was black as night.