Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 62262 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 311(@200wpm)___ 249(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62262 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 311(@200wpm)___ 249(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
A frown line appeared between his brows. “It’s been five years since I interned with SPAM. I left the field of genetics entirely, and I’m not interested in coming back.”
Andy stepped forward. “That’s not why we’re here. We’ve been on the run ever since we discovered one of Doctor Mercanti’s journals in the SPAM archives, because some criminals think we can tell them what’s in it. We had to leave our entire lives back in San Francisco, and we don’t know when we’ll get to return.”
Arden’s frown deepened. “That’s terrible, but what does it have to do with me?”
“We need some information about the journal,” I explained. “I don’t know if you heard, but Dr. Mercanti died about three years ago. So, you’re the only person we could think of who might be able to help us.”
“I did hear about that. It was awful.” It took a few moments to make up his mind, but Arden finally said, “Come inside.”
The interior turned out to be dark, gothic, and more than a little creepy. I’d gone to Disneyland once as a kid, and in a lot of ways, it reminded me of the Haunted Mansion—with the addition of an alarming amount of taxidermy.
The showy foyer and every inch of the long hallway Arden led us down was filled with portraits of sullen-looking people, along with countless stuffed creatures. These ranged from startled-looking deer and elk to snarling bears and cougars, along with a wide variety of game birds, frozen in mid-flight. It felt like the people in the paintings were on display in the same way that the dead animals were.
“Aw, man.” Andy indicated a small, black duck. “They got Daffy.”
The kitchen was a lot lighter and brighter than the rest of the house. It was painted a nice shade of pale blue, and the windows along the back wall provided a sweeping view of a vegetable garden, a wide lawn, and the thick forest beyond it.
Arden gestured at a long, narrow farmhouse table. “Have a seat. I’ll make us some tea.”
“This is some house,” I said, as Andy and I sat down side-by-side and I took his hand.
Arden put a kettle on the stove, and as he filled a ceramic pitcher with water and dropped the wildflowers into it, he told us, “It’s weird and creepy, especially the taxidermy. But when he left the place to me, my grandfather’s will stipulated that I couldn’t change anything on the ground floor. It was kind of like being put in charge of a zoo full of dead animals.”
Andy whispered, “Gross.”
“I know. Even though I grew up with it, the stuffed menagerie makes my skin crawl.” Arden set up a tray with a teapot, cups, and a plate of cookies. He poured hot water into the pot when the kettle started to whistle, and then he brought the tray to the table and took a seat across from us. “Okay, start at the beginning.”
His expression was unreadable as we filled him in on how we’d found the journal and everything that had happened since then. When I finished, Arden asked, “If I confirm the journal contains a scientific breakthrough, what are you going to do with that information?”
I shrugged. “Nothing. I just need to know what we’re dealing with here. Is the formula as dangerous as I think it is, or was Mercanti wrong? If it’s useless, that’s not exactly worth dying over.”
Arden fidgeted with his teacup as he said, “I can tell you Dr. Mercanti wasn’t close to a breakthrough when I left five years ago.”
“But someone seems to believe he got there. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be chasing us.”
He chewed his lower lip for a few moments. Then he got up and found some chalk and a small chalkboard, the kind someone might use to write a menu. He wrote out a formula, then turned the board to face us and asked, “Is this what you saw?”
“Almost. Two of the variables were in different places.”
He hesitated for a long moment. It seemed neither of us wanted to reveal too much to the other, but curiosity finally won out and he pointed to the board. “Was it these two? Were they reversed?”
He was exactly right, which shocked me. I wanted to keep that to myself, but the surprise must have registered on my face. He quickly wiped the board with the cuff of his baby blue hoodie as he told us, “Never, ever share that with anyone. Take it to your grave.”
Arden took the board to the sink, and while he scrubbed away any last remnants of chalk with soap and water, I asked him, “How did you know?”
“I’ve been mulling over that formula for the last five years. Dr. Mercanti had gotten about ninety percent of the way there when I left, which is what I wrote on the chalkboard. I was fairly certain I knew where the errors were, but…”