Chapter 1

"You wouldn't dare. You'd be in as much trouble as I would."

Emaline didn't recognize the whispery voice, but she had no doubt about the anger in it. Instead of going into the women's restroom, she stood just outside the door and unashamedly eavesdropped.

"That makes you an accessory. "

"Not if I say I just found out."

The second voice got louder. "We're friends. Everybody knows that. I'll tell them you were my accomplice."

Emaline almost recognized it. Who...?

"And like they'd believe you? A thief. Someone who's been selling stuff for years? Listen to me. You pay up or take a nice long vacation--in prison."

A long silence, punctuated by soft sniffles. Finally, softly again, "I'll pay. This time. But only this time."

"I'll be the judge of that. Bring the money tomorrow."

A toilet flushed. Emaline jumped back from the door and slipped out of the vestibule. Badly as she wanted to see who'd been in the restroom, she found herself walking rapidly toward her office. I should tell someone. But who? And what? I don't know that it has anything to do with work.

She did her best to put the episode out of her mind, but it stayed there, niggling at her thoughts at odd moments.

* * * *

The reception area of BioLogic Laboratories was large, colorfully furnished with teal and tangerine upholstered teak furniture and a rich coffee-toned Berber rug. Three desks sat in a row at the end opposite the entry, so visitors had to detour around to get to the hall leading into the rest of the building.

The first desk belonged to Mary O'Neil, a buxom woman of indeterminate age, and a crackerjack receptionist. She'd swiveled her chair around and was facing the woman at the second desk. "No, I can't have any ice cream. I am so allergic to milk. Why one little sip could kill me."

Emaline stifled a smile. Mary was, she claimed, allergic to just about everything--except chocolate, cashews, red meat, and expensive mushrooms sautéed in butter. Oh, yes, and most flowers.

She laid the report draft on Mary's desk. "I'll need this tomorrow morning," she said. "The client will be here at ten, and I want a chance to proof it before he gets here."

Mary signed, a breathy, heartfelt sigh. "Of course, Dr. Banister. I'll...I'll do my best."

"I'm sure you will. Thanks, Mary. I appreciate you making the effort."

"Do you think she's really as bad off as she says she is?" Roger Stanton said, as soon as they'd walked ten feet down the hall toward the labs. "It's hard to believe--"

"One of my girlfriends has a son who reacts to peanut butter breath," she said. "I've seen him stop breathing."

"God! What a scary thing that must be for his parents. If Cathy ever--"

"Hope she doesn't. This whole environmental allergy thing is getting downright scary. I don't remember kids having the kinds of allergies you read about these days. Not when I was young."

"Two of the girls in Cathy's Scout troop have to follow special diets. Sometimes I worry about all the crap we're using here in the labs."

Emaline paused at the door of her office. "Considering what small amounts we use and how carefully our chemicals are controlled, we're a tiny part of the problem. It's the stuff that gets dumped into the air and water that worries me."

"Yeah, me too. Say, did Alex ever account for that piperidine discrepancy?"

"I haven't heard. Oops! There's my phone." She waved to Roger before she stepped inside and picked up. "Banister." she said, as her fingers sorted through the stack of message slips on her desk.

"Jordan," a dark-chocolaty voice responded. "What are you doing Saturday night?"

She bit her lip, still not entirely convinced Detective Harry Jordan wasn't trying to trap her into confessing to manslaughter in the first degree. "Washing my hair," she said, "and watching The History Channel."

"I've got two tickets to the opera." He made them sound like an invitation to an orgy.

"Which one?" The words burst from her lips before she could bite them back.

"Daughter of the Regiment" he said. "First balcony, center."

Ever since she'd heard Joan Sutherland sing the starring role in a Metropolitan Opera broadcast, she'd loved that opera. Get thee behind me, Satan.

"Dinner first, at Wildwood," he enticed.

Emaline had never eaten at Wildwood, one of Portland's premier restaurants. "How?" She made her tone teasing, but she wasn't entirely joking. "Do you take bribes?" How did a homicide detective afford a place like Wildwood?

"I did a favor for a friend," he said. "Strictly legit. No bribery involved."

Knowing she'd only embarrass herself further if she apologized, she said, "How can I resist the temptation? Thanks, Harry."

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