Mossfire: R&P Labs Mysteries, #1

By Cynthia E. Hurst

Rob Mangan has problems. His small independent research lab is on the brink of bankruptcy and his wife's gone off with the fish tank cleaner. So when Rob and his brother Phil are offered a small fortune to develop surgical dressings using sphagnum moss, they jump at the opportunity.

But things that seem too good to be true,  usually are. In Mossfire, the first R&P Labs mystery, the five scientists-turned-detectives -- Rob, Phil, Ellis, Virginia and Mitch -- match wits with a mint-sucking millionaire as their supposedly innocent project leads to an unexplained death, a fire and a search for a weapon of moss destruction.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Plane View Books
• Release date: Feb 13, 2012
• ISBN: 9781502220783

Cynthia E. Hurst

Cynthia E. Hurst is the author of two mystery series set in present-day Seattle, the R&P Labs Mysteries and the Zukie Merlino Mysteries, and the Silver and Simm and Milestone agency series, which both take place in Victorian England. Like her characters, Cynthia grew up in Seattle, then earned a degree in journalism and worked on several newspapers and magazines in the US and UK. The R&P books are based on her time spent in the small research lab where her parents both worked, and many of the R&P staff's projects are ones actually undertaken by the lab. The Zukie books were inspired by her Italian relatives. She now lives in Oxfordshire, the setting for the two Victorian series. She is also the author of the Time Traveller trilogy, which visits various bits of English history, and which stemmed from an unfortunate incident.

Book preview

MOSSFIRE

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CYNTHIA E. HURST

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R&P Labs Mystery 1

Copyright © 2011 Cynthia E. Hurst

All Rights Reserved

Plane View Books

Registration No. TXu 1-782-459  U.S. Copyright Office

The characters and situations in this work are wholly fictional and do not portray any actual persons, businesses or organizations.

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Prologue

In his dream, it was always the same. He was walking along a forest trail, winding between fir trees, the fallen needles crunching softly underfoot. Sunlight filtered through the evergreens, scattering patterns over the trail. Occasionally tree roots erupted through the soft surface, where cedar wood had crumbled into a thick rust colored carpet. The trail wandered between clumps of ferns, huckleberry and salal bushes and occasionally threatened to disappear altogether into the underbrush.

He felt he had to keep following this particular trail, even though he was unsure why, or where he was heading. At first it was easy going, a pleasant stroll. But after a while the trail narrowed, and the underbrush slapped against his knees. The trail began to dip downhill, heading into a ravine. And then the sunlight began to flicker, blocked by thick flags of moss dripping from the branches overhead. It was darker now, and the air was cooler and damper. The moss seemed to be draining the oxygen from the air and he paused, noting with detached interest that it was more difficult to breathe.

Still he struggled onward, one foot in front of the other, trying to avoid tripping over the roots. The moss drooped down, waving gently in the breeze like a giant gray-green cobweb. A piece of it touched his face and he drew back. There was something unpleasant about it and he brushed his hands over his face, trying to clear it away. Only a bit of vegetation, he told himself. Get a grip, man. But the moss wouldn’t let go. The long fronds wrapped themselves around his face, soft and choking. He pulled frantically, gasping for air.

ROB SAT up in bed, breathing hard, both hands clawing at the sheet which had ridden up over his head. He pushed it away and opened his eyes, half expecting to find himself on the forest floor, surrounded by trees and being choked by moss fronds. But the sight that met his eyes was reassuringly familiar, even boring. Sun streamed through the curtains and lit up the bedroom’s cream colored walls. The print of Van Gogh’s sunflowers glowed on the wall opposite the bed. It was strange that he hadn’t taken it down after Julie left, considering that he had never particularly liked it, but at least it provided proof of where he was.

He let his eyes wander further. His clothes and shoes lay on the floor where he had dropped them the previous night. The paperback he had been reading was lying face down on his bedside table, along with a glass of water and his alarm clock, which informed him it was nearly eight o’clock.

He glanced at the other side of the double bed, not entirely sure whether to expect to find someone sleeping there. But the bed was empty.

Oh, hell, he muttered, and swung his legs out from under the blanket.

He shuffled into the bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror. A man in his mid-thirties stared back, a man with worried brown eyes under an untidy thatch of dark copper colored hair, nose a little too long, mouth a little too narrow. Rob made a face at his reflection, then shaved, showered, and forced his reluctant limbs into clothing. In the kitchen, he made coffee and fed bread into the toaster.

As the caffeine jolted him fully awake, he toyed with the idea of staying home today instead of going to the lab or the auction house. It would be so easy not to answer the phone, ignore the e-mails, maybe even buy a plane ticket to some far-flung place. Somewhere like ... Antarctica. Not much grew in Antarctica, not even moss.

Especially not moss.

But tempting as these things were, Rob knew he would never do them. He was too honest, too responsible and too loyal – a trio of admirable but inconvenient traits. And it was these traits which, he had to admit, had led him into this situation in the first place.

Chapter 1

It had been another sunny day at the beginning, almost four months earlier. That one had been in January, and the blue sky masked a deceptively cold morning. Rob sat in the cubbyhole rather grandly designated as his office, huddled in a down jacket and clutching a mug of coffee as much for warmth as for the caffeine. Frowning, he looked through the end-of-year report the accountant had dropped on his desk.

Not a pretty picture, I’m, afraid, Bryan said cheerfully. In fact, I’d describe it as grim. Losing the airline account has cut your profits to the bone. You might apply for a business loan to tide you over but I wouldn’t recommend it. Personally, I’d advise losing at least one staff member and hustling your ass out there to replace that contract. Otherwise, you’re looking at folding in, say six months, tops.

Rob scowled into his coffee cup, swirling it and watching the patterns the liquid created. He knew Bryan was right, as always, even though the accountant seemed to actively enjoy being an agent of gloom. He had been happily predicting the small laboratory’s demise for at least two years; this time, Rob knew he meant it. But the thought of having to lay off one of his loyal staff members or closing the laboratory altogether was not one he wanted to consider, not after working long hours for six years to build it up. When he had tentatively mentioned these depressing options to his staff a few months earlier, he had been surprised and touched by their loyalty and support. They seemed prepared to make sacrifices yet again, pull together and overlook the fact that the laboratory had been teetering on the brink of bankruptcy almost since its inception.

OK, Bryan, leave it with me, he said wearily.

When Bryan had gone, he studied the report again, knowing that he would find the figures were correct. He could take a pay cut for himself, but he already done that, more than once. The most recent one had formed the basis of one of the last conversations he’d had with Julie.

Other people get a pay raise every year. You take a pay cut every year. We can’t keep on like this. When’s it going to stop? Her voice had risen to a wail and he felt annoyed as well as guilty. He reminded himself that she had worked at a series of dead-end jobs to put him through graduate school and probably felt she deserved a better return on her investment.

When we start to show more of a profit, he’d said. All businesses have teething problems at first. We’ll just have to tighten our belts a little more.

Keep it up and we won’t have any belts to tighten, she had snapped back. And then, a few days later, You can keep struggling on with this pipe dream if you want to, Rob, but I’ve had enough.

Somewhat to his surprise, Julie had carried through on her threat. He supposed she had been planning her escape for some time; it was unlikely she had lined up a job, an apartment and a new man within a week. He’d come home from the lab one day to find all her personal possessions and half the furniture gone and a semi-hysterical note on the kitchen table.

Letters from her lawyer demanding a divorce had followed closely behind and he found he didn’t have the energy or inclination to fight it. He couldn’t honestly say he regretted the end of the marriage very much, but unfortunately in her flight, Julie had also taken what he valued most from the relationship, their daughter. He desperately missed her and forced himself to wait patiently through each week for the weekend when she was allowed to stay with him. He winked now at the photo of Sophie on his desk and turned back to the accounts.

The airline contract, involving bacteriological testing of passengers’ meals to make sure they met industry standards, had been lucrative, and for a nearly a year he dared think his dream might actually succeed. Julie had accepted that they might never be wealthy, but at least the bills were paid more or less on time. But then the ax had fallen when the airline had decided not to renew, and a large hole had appeared in the lab’s account sheets. Rob regretted it in more ways than one, since the airline had always sent far more food than was needed for the actual samples, and after Julie and Sophie left, he’d been living off the leftovers.

He ran through the options in his mind. He’d been talking to several potential clients, giving presentations, smiling at bad jokes, gritting his teeth at yet another, We’ll think about it and get back to you, OK? There was a possibility of a contract with a local supermarket chain which would keep the lab afloat financially and fill his refrigerator. There was the owner of an upmarket fashion boutique wanting a luxury fur cleaner and a racehorse trainer looking for a treatment to keep his horses’ coats glossy. There were some other less promising possibilities. Rob decided to go for the supermarket as the best choice and was looking up the number for the health and safety manager when his telephone rang. After a moment’s hesitation, in case it was another demand for an overdue bill payment, he picked it up.

Good morning, R&P Labs, he said.

Am I speaking to Dr Mangan? The voice was male, calm, measured, with a slight foreign accent, barely noticeable.

Yes, one of them, Rob said cautiously.

Dr Robert Mangan, the voice specified.

Yes, that’s me.

You don’t know me. My name is Palm.

And how can I help you, Mr Palm?

Dr Palm. A pause. I have been looking at your website. I understand your laboratory is willing to undertake research of an ... experimental nature.

If you mean, will we take on a project where the outcome is not readily predictable, yes, of course we will, Dr Palm, Rob said. He restrained himself from rubbing his hands together, and not just because of the cold. He couldn’t have said why, but Palm sounded like a man with a healthy bank account, or a bee in his bonnet, or both.

Yes. That’s precisely what I have in mind. There was another long pause, but Rob decided it would be better not to interrupt it. I would like you to undertake a project for me. Starting immediately, if you can. I believe you have a fairly small staff?

I have five full-time staff members, but I can call in other people if I need to, Rob said. Or contract work out if it’s more than we have facilities for.

Oh, no. Palm sounded shocked. The fewer who know about it the better, I would say. Perhaps I should have said that it’s highly confidential, at least at this point.

But legal, I hope, Rob said, trying to keep his tone light.

Yes, I believe so.

Rob tapped his pencil on the desk and wished that Palm would get to the point, whatever it might be. The pauses were unnerving, which was probably what Palm intended. After a while he said, Did you want to set up a meeting, Dr Palm, so we can discuss your project?

No, I don’t think that will be necessary, Palm said calmly. I am sure you will find it acceptable. I will send you the information you need. I believe your e-mail address is included on the website?

Yes, but can you at least tell me what the project concerns? I mean, we’ll take on almost anything, but I need to know if we can handle it with our staff and our facilities.

I will send you the necessary information, Palm repeated. Along with a retainer, of course. If you are successful, the ... rewards ... will be substantial.

That’s fine, but I can’t guarantee success, Rob said, especially since I have no idea what you want us to do.

No, of course not. I wouldn’t expect you to. I will be in touch shortly, Dr Mangan. The phone clicked and Rob found himself listening to the dial tone. He replaced the receiver slowly.

The door opened and Phil looked in. Who was that?

Come in and shut the door, Rob said.

Only if you turn the heater on, Phil said, edging inside. It’s like a deep freeze in here. I know it costs money to heat the room, but you can’t think coherently with hypothermia.

Rob switched on the portable electric heater, and Phil sank into the only other chair in the little room. Rob looked curiously at his younger brother, reflecting that it was much like looking in a slightly distorted mirror. Phil was a little taller, a little blonder, and Rob had to admit, a little better looking than he was. For one thing, Phil didn’t have the perpetually worried expression that always seemed to haunt Rob.

But then, Rob mused, as the junior partner, his brother hadn’t had the stress of trying to keep the lab running on a shoestring or the experience of coming home one night to find that his wife had gone off with Mister Fish, the man who cleaned their aquarium. Phil supplemented his meager lab income with consultancy work and went home every evening to a supportive wife, two well-behaved children and a devoted dog. Despite all this, he was looking at his older brother as if he was the repository of all knowledge and could solve any problem. This had possibly been an acceptable theory when they were children, but Rob thought Phil should know better by now.

What’s up? Phil asked, holding his hands out to the heater.

I’ve just had a really weird phone call, Rob said, and told Phil what Palm had said.

And he didn’t give you any idea what it’s about?

Not a peep. It could be anything from nuclear fission to developing a fish tank cleaner.

Forget fish tanks, Phil advised. You’re better off without her. And the fish.

So what do you think we should do? You notice I never actually agreed to take on his project, whatever it is.

I think, Phil said, we should keep an eye on our e-mail and see what turns up. It will make a change from watching the bank balance go down. Have you had a look on the internet to see if there’s anything about him?

No, not yet, Rob admitted. He typed ‘Palm’  into the search engine and watched as a choice of websites ranging from tropical trees to fortune telling flashed up on his screen.

You might want to narrow that down a little, Phil said, getting up and peering over his shoulder. What’s his first name?

He didn’t say. But it’s Dr Palm; that might help. He tried again, but nothing that looked remotely promising appeared.

You have to give him credit, Phil said. It’s tough to keep your head below the cyber-parapet these days. Maybe he’s one of these mystery millionaires who doesn’t like publicity. Maybe bailing out small struggling labs is his hobby.

I think that would be too much to hope for, Rob said. But if he wants to hire us and the project’s legit, that’s fine with me. 

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THAT WAS Tuesday. Late on Friday afternoon, Rob was making out an invoice and wishing for the hundredth time he could afford to hire a secretary, when the door of his office burst open and Sophie flew across the room.

Hello, sweetheart, he said, pulling her onto his lap. He hugged her, marvelling yet again at the miracle of genetics. The hair which was strawberry blond on Phil and coppery on himself had mellowed into a glowing auburn on Sophie, and brown eyes much like his own looked up at him. 

I bet you’ve grown an inch since last week, he said, as she scrambled off his lap.

Don’t be silly, Daddy, Sophie said. people don’t grow that fast. Oh, by the way, Mom says to tell you hi.

That’s nice of her. 

Sophie giggled. I know you don’t really mean that, she said.

How’s school? Rob asked, quickly changing the subject. Sophie had always been far too observant where her parents were concerned. She had been the one who had first pointed out to Rob that the fish tank cleaner kept coming around even when the aquarium had just been cleaned.

OK. Sophie shrugged. We’re studying volcanoes in science.

Volcanoes are cool, Rob said. We could actually make one this weekend. We could make a cardboard cone and put baking soda inside it. Then if you add vinegar, the volcano looks like it’s erupting. If we used red food coloring, it would look like lava.

Ooh, yes, let’s, Sophie said. Science had always been her favorite subject and Rob sometimes thought fondly that if the lab survived she might run it someday, as neither of Phil’s young children showed much interest.

OK, we’ll start it tomorrow morning. Now, can you amuse yourself for a little while? I just need to finish this up.

Sure. I brought some things to do.

Remember, don’t pester anyone who’s busy, don’t use the pipettes as drinking straws or peashooters and don’t touch anything in the labs.

Honestly, Daddy, you’d think I’d never been in a lab before, Sophie said. Can I play outside? It’s not too cold.

Yes, if you stay near the front door or in the parking lot. Don’t wander off.

Sophie went out and Rob returned to the invoice, resisting the temptation to pad it. He had finished and was typing a cover letter to go with it when he heard her say tentatively, Daddy, I’m sorry, but I really need to interrupt you.

He looked up. Sophie stood in the doorway, her cheeks and nose pink from the cold and a worried expression on her face. What’s up? His glance shifted to what she was carrying. What’s that?

The words tumbled out. I know you told me never to talk to strangers, Daddy, but I really couldn’t help it. This man got out of a car and asked me if I knew Dr Robert Mangan and I said he was my dad and he gave me this bag and said to take it straight in to you and not to look inside. Do you think it’s ...

Rob was across the room in two steps and took the bag from Sophie. It was an ordinary brown paper bag, the sort used in supermarkets, but with no logo or identifying mark of any kind. It was fairly heavy and he could feel the contents shifting inside. He cautiously unfolded the top, holding it at arm’s length. When no clouds of white powder or hissing snakes or any of the other things he had fantasized appeared, he opened it and peered inside.

Holy shit, he said under his breath, and then looked guiltily at Sophie.

What’s in it? she asked.

Rob didn’t answer. He just held the bag open so she could see inside.

Wow, Sophie said.

Wow, indeed, Rob thought to himself. He dipped his hand inside and came up with a plastic bag. In the bag, neatly bound with paper bands, were half a dozen stacks of hundred dollar bills. And under that bag were several more bags of bills. Rob set the bag down carefully on the floor and took a deep breath.

Sophie, he said, do you think you could go find Uncle Phil and ask him to come in here?

Chapter 2

Well, this is something I never expected to see, the Mangan brothers and money in close proximity, Bryan said. He closed the door behind him and stared at the scene in Rob’s office. Where the hell did all this come from?

Rob smiled grimly. He had to admit it presented a surrealistic sight, himself, Phil and Sophie and the piles of currency, which covered the top of his desk. They had counted the money, counted it again, and then with a feeling of unreality he had called Bryan and invited him to come over to the laboratory to see something of interest.

While they waited for Bryan to arrive, Rob and Phil had questioned Sophie about the man who had given her the bag, but she hadn’t been able to supply many details. She had been absorbed in her game until he had spoken to her. It had been cold and he had worn a coat and a scarf wound around his neck and half covering his face. She thought he might have been wearing glasses. He had driven up, parked the car at the curb and walked over to hand her the bag. He hadn’t said anything except to ask if she knew Robert Mangan and then to tell her to take the bag to him. No, there wasn’t anything unusual about him or his voice.

Pressed to remember the type of car he had arrived in or even the color, Sophie had burst into frustrated tears and Rob had put his arms around her. It was asking too much to expect a seven-year-old to remember details even adults couldn’t always recall.

Are you mad at me, Daddy? Sophie whispered in his ear.

Of course not, sweetheart. You’ve been an excellent witness.

If I remember anything else, I’ll tell you.

All right, but don’t worry about it.

And I won’t tell anyone else. Not even Mom.

Rob hadn’t thought about that. If Julie discovered he had received a quarter of a million dollars in a brown paper bag, she could be counted on to ask some awkward questions.

No, that probably wouldn’t be a good idea, he agreed.

Now Bryan was staring at the stacks of bills. Last time I saw you, you didn’t have two pennies to rub together. What did you do, rob a bank in your lunch hour? No, don’t tell me. I bet you found this under a bush somewhere.