Chesapeake Tide (31 page)

“First, you've got to get the powers that be to admit we've got a problem.”

“Why would that be an issue? I'll show it to them, just like I did with you.”

“Don't be ridiculous, Libba Jane. Do you really think no one else knows what we've got down here? They're keeping it quiet. Why do you think the EPA lab keeps telling you there's nothing wrong with the water? Cliff Jackson worked here before you took over. Do you think he never ran tests?”

Libby frowned. “What I can't understand is all the secrecy. People should know what they're dealing with.”

“Because it's expensive,” Russ said. “Because people will file lawsuits against the government. Why do you think the military refused to admit that soldiers in Vietnam were endangered due to exposure from Agent Orange? In terms of money, the ramifications are enormous.”

Libby shook her head. “People are using contaminated water. It has to come out.”

Susan ground out her cigarette. “Do me a favor, you two. Please don't involve me. I have a family, and quite frankly, I'm scared.” She pushed herself away from the wall. “It might be better if you ran your tests in the government lab from now on.”

“We don't want to cause any trouble for you, Susan,” said Russ. “Libba will take her samples to the designated lab. But we're going to challenge the results if they come up clean, and if there's a problem, we may need your help.”

Libby slung her bag over her shoulder. “We all have families, Susan. I'm just as scared as you are.”

Susan Saunders nodded. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

Hand in hand, Russ and Libby walked back to his car. “It looks like you did it, Libba Jane,” he said.

She looked at him and bit her lip. “Do you think Cliff knows and covered it up?”

“I've known Cliff Jackson for a long time. He's a decent guy. If he's kept this thing quiet, it's for a reason. You need to check that out first before jumping to any conclusions. It's possible something's already being done and it hasn't gone public.”

“He's not always available to answer my calls.”

“I'll handle Cliff,” Russ said grimly.

“What are you going to do?”

“Scare the pants off him.”

H
ello, Libba Jane.” Cliff Jackson's big linebacker's shoulders filled the doorway. His face was somber, unsmiling.

She lifted her eyes from the computer screen. “Well, well, well, if it isn't the ghost of Marshyhope Creek.”

“I'm sorry I haven't been all that available,” he began.

“No, Cliff. You haven't been available at all. That's it. Period. You've been deliberately avoiding me and I know why.”

“It isn't how it looks.”

“Isn't it? I have the samples and I have your reports and I have mine.” With one foot, she pushed her swivel chair away from the desk and crossed her arms against her chest. “Tell me how it is.”

He sighed and looked around. “May I sit down?”

“You
may
sit down, but you can't. There's only one chair and I'm in it.”

“You aren't gonna make this easy on me, are you, Libba?”

“No.”

“All right.” He propped himself against the wall. “The reason I'm here is to explain why your request to visit the air station has been denied.”

“I already know why it's been denied. Tell me something new.”

“First of all, you need to know this is under control. We discovered the leakage a year ago and immediately took action.”

She frowned. “What are we dealing with?”

“Intermediate-level waste, metal fuel cans that originally contained the uranium fuel for nuclear power stations. It's usually stored at the place of production, but in this case, the landfills were already filled to capacity. The spent fuel, which this is, is stored in water-filled cooling pools. Patuxent was one of them. After twenty years or so, leakage isn't uncommon.”

“My God, Cliff. How could you not tell anyone? People are being poisoned.”

“Hold on, Libba. Several investigations and cleanups are already complete. We've run an engineering and cost analysis and we'll be removing the rest of the waste by the end of next year. All the damage has already been done and it's because of what's gone on before. There's no cover-up involved.”

“Why the secrecy?”

“To avoid panic and, to be honest, to avoid lawsuits.”

“People have a right to know they're drinking contaminated water. People whose lives have been affected have the right to compensation.”

“What do you want me to do, put an ad in the paper?”

“That's exactly what I want you to do. Explain it just the way you did to me. Tell it like it is, that we can expect high levels of cancer and possible birth defects because of what happened here twenty years ago. Tell these people why they can't eat the fish from these waters for a long time to come.”

“It's a year or two, not a long time.”

“It's a very long time in the life of a person whose income comes from the bay. Young people, especially those who will have children some time in the future, should have all the facts.”

“You're making this more than it is. There's no conclusive evidence that anything that's happened in this area was caused by nuclear contamination.”

“You're turning a blind eye, Cliff. Bailey Jones is on trial for the murder of his mother. It was a mercy killing. The woman had inoperable cancer. She was in terrible pain and they couldn't afford medication.”

“Lizzie Jones had other problems, Libba. We don't know what factors contributed to her illness.”

“What about Drusilla Washington? Can you be so coldblooded when it comes to Verna Lee's grandmother?”

He looked puzzled. “What about Drusilla?”

“You mean Verna Lee never told you?”

He shook his head.

“She strangled to death a hideously deformed newborn, the child of sharecroppers. Again, another mercy killing. My father represented her. The charges were dropped.”

“Why didn't Verna Lee tell me?”

“Maybe she knows more than you give her credit for,” Libby snapped.

“Since when have you become an expert on Verna Lee?”

“You might say we have a lot in common.”

Cliff shook his head. “You've changed, Libba Jane.”

“Why did you hire me, Cliff? Surely you knew I would figure this out.”

“I didn't think you'd figure it out so quickly,” he admitted. “You'd been away from the industry for a long time. You were inexperienced. I assumed it would take a while for you to come to any conclusions, and when it all came out as planned, there would be someone the community trusted already in place. Actually, your coming home was incredibly fortuitous.”

“You set me up.”

“Give me a break, Libba Jane,” he protested. “I simply didn't give you all the information. I wasn't sure of your reaction.”

“Tell me what's really going on here,” she demanded. “You're an environmentalist. How can you sweep this under the rug? What are you thinking?”

He hesitated. She could see the sweat beading his brow.

“I'm up for a promotion, Libba Jane,” he said at last. “Surely you know how hard it's been for me to get where I am. Whistle-blowing could ruin my career.”

She didn't trust herself to speak for a long, charged minute. Finally she stood. “I have the name of a reporter, an environmentalist, who would love to tell this story. I've just been reading her latest article. If you don't want to use her, find someone else, but do it quickly, or I will.” She hesitated. “I'm not the only one who knows about this. I told Russ and Verna Lee.”

His face darkened. “Are you suggesting that you might be in danger because I'm a thug?”

“No. Of course not. You're just an evasive liar who's pulled the wool over the eyes of an entire population of people. Pardon me if I got the two confused.”

Libby tied the laces of her tennis shoes and stretched out her legs, first one and then the other. A run before dinner would calm her nerves and her temper. Despite Russ's assurances that most companies had money built in to weather emergencies, she was still rattled over her findings and worried about the future of the marine industry around the bay and the watermen who depended on regular fishing for their livelihood.

She had run less than a mile when she heard the car behind her. Making her way to the side of the road she kept running, expecting the driver to pass. When he didn't, she looked back over her shoulder.

Shelby Sloane's red head and bare shoulders peeked over the dashboard of a late-model SUV. Fletcher couldn't be doing too badly if Shelby drove a car like that. Libby stopped and waited for Shelby to pull up beside her.

“I need to talk to you, Libba Jane,” she said.

“So, talk.”

“Please get into the car, honey. We can't have a conversation with me shoutin' out my window.”

Sighing, Libby stopped and leaned against the car door. “What do you want, Shelby?”

“I need you not to be mad at me anymore. Fletcher's mad at me and the girls only speak to me when they have to and now you're mad at me, too, over something that happened twenty years ago.”

“It didn't happen for me twenty years ago.”

“It did, too, Libba. You found out about me and Russ the same summer you ran off with Eric. That was seventeen years ago and if you ask me seventeen years is long enough to get over a grudge. You're madder now than you were then. Why is that?”

The dam of hurt inside Libby's head exploded. She turned on Shelby. “Because you haven't changed,” she said furiously, “not in all this time. Because then I was shellshocked, now I'm not and everything's come back. Because you were my best friend. That's supposed to mean something. And because
you
never told me. I left everything I loved because of what the two of you did.”

Shelby stopped the car, turned off the engine and set the brake. Then she turned to Libby, green eyes wide and wise. “No, you didn't, Libba Jane. You left because you didn't want to stay here. You were made for better things than living here in Marshyhope Creek, the wife of a waterman. So was Russ. If you hadn't left, neither of you would have gone on to what you were supposed to do and that's a fact. Stop lookin' at me that way. You know it's true.”

“I can't trust you.”

“Of course you can. I never messed around with your boyfriend. Everything we did was before the two of you were together. We were kids. Why can't you see that?”

Libby shook her head. “I don't know. It still makes me mad.”

Shelby threw up her hands. “Lordy, you've got it bad, Libba Jane. Why not just marry the man and put us all out of our misery?”

“I don't know if I can trust him, either.”

“Well, here's one truth, sugar. I wouldn't have Russ Hennessey on a silver platter, not with that ex-wife of his. She's never gonna let go. You should know that if you're serious about him. He blew it when he settled down with her. That was your fault, too, you know.”

Libby sighed. “All right, Shelby. You've made your point. I need to finish my run and go home.”

Shelby's forehead wrinkled. “Are you ever gonna forgive me, Libba Jane? Are we still friends?”

Libby sighed. “Yes, Shelby. We're still friends.”

“Well, thank God. I didn't have to grovel nearly as much as I thought I would.”

“Don't press your luck.”

“See ya, honey.”

Libby watched her drive away. Shelby was who she was, a generous, impulsive woman with the mind of a fifteen-year-old and a heart as big and warm as a sunspot. There was no point in holding her accountable for what couldn't be changed. Love was measured by a different standard for different people. She thought of her father and Nola Ruth. Some things had to be put aside. Libby began to run.

Chloe looked around the dinner table. “Where's Bailey?”

“He decided to eat in his room tonight,” her grandfather answered.

“Why?”

Cole Delacourte waited a moment before answering. “It's hard for him, Chloe. He's grieving for his mama. Sometimes he needs to be alone.”

Chloe considered the possibility of Bailey preferring his own company to that of her family's and decided her grandfather was probably right. Still, Bailey's decision must have been sudden because Serena hadn't removed his place setting.

Her grandmother wasn't eating. She seemed preoccupied, and more than once, Chloe caught her looking at the entrance to the dining room. “Is everything all right, Gran?” she asked.

Nola Ruth turned her head so that the unaffected side of her face was toward her family. She spoke slowly, deliberately. “I thought we would have a guest for dinner, but apparently I was mistaken.”

Libby picked up her water glass. “Who did you ask, Mama?”

Nola Ruth swallowed and nodded to her husband at the other end of the table. “Verna Lee Fontaine.”

Libby's eyes widened.

“I didn't know you were friends,” said Chloe.

“We aren't friends, Chloe. It's a great deal more than that,” said her grandmother.

Chloe looked at one grandparent and then the other. Her mother was strangely silent. “I don't understand.”

Nola Ruth shook her head. “Cole, I don't think—”

“It's a long story, Chloe,” said her grandfather. “Maybe, when your grandmother is up to it, she can tell you about it.”

The doorbell, muted by the thick drapes and solid walls of the dining room, sounded in the distance. Libby, in the middle of buttering her roll, froze. Minutes passed.

Serena entered the room. “Miss Libba has a visitor,” she said quietly.

Libby frowned and looked at her mother. Nola Ruth was particular about her meals. She did not like them interrupted. “Who is it, Serena?”

The black woman hesitated.

“It's all right, Serena.” Libby folded her napkin and left it beside her plate. “I'll be right there.” She looked around at her family. “Keep eating, please. It probably has something to do with the job. I'll take care of whoever it is and send him away.”

Nola Ruth's lips tightened in disapproval. “Tell him we eat at six-thirty, Libba Jane.”

Libby nodded. She really needed to find a place to live for Chloe and herself. “Yes, Mama.”

“It's your ex-husband,” Serena whispered after she closed the door to the dining room. “He's in the parlor. I told him you were at dinner. He said he'd wait. I'm sorry, Miss Libba.”

Libby's stomach dropped.
Eric.
What could he possibly want that couldn't be taken care of by telephone? “Thanks, Serena,” she managed. “It's all right.”

She waited a full minute, composing her features and mentally preparing her mind for what she knew would be an unpleasant encounter. Then she opened the door.

He stood looking out the window, his back to her. “Hello, Eric,” she said calmly.

He turned, his face rigid with anger. “What in the hell is going on with my daughter?”

Her eyebrows rose. “You flew three thousand miles to ask a question? We have telephones.”

His face reddened. “Just answer it.”

“A woman has died,” Libby said without embellishment. “Chloe may be called as a witness. We're not sure yet.”

Eric swore feelingly.

“Spare me, Eric. What do you really want?”

“I want my daughter to come home with me.”

Libby folded her arms. “I don't believe you.”

He walked past her and stopped at the door. “I won't make a scene and insist on seeing Chloe now, but my lawyer will contact you. The venue will be California. Meanwhile you can reach me at the Roanoke Lodge in Salisbury.”

“She can't go anywhere yet, Eric. Surely you can see that. It isn't what I want. You can't imagine that I would be willing to traumatize Chloe in any way.”

She was conscious of his eyes moving over her face, assessing her words, gauging her integrity. “Please. Come and have dinner with us. Talk to my father. He's representing the boy involved.”