“Sheriff Skylar is a man who means well. Possession, distribution, and sale of salvia is illegal in more than a dozen states. Including Nebraska. There was a young woman whose body was found in the river several months ago. Some say she was tripping on salvia. Thought she could fly and jumped from the Highway 83 bridge. That bridge is a hundred and fifty feet above the water.
“There were friends with her at the time. No arrests were made. There was no mention of drug use. It was said to be an accident. Sometimes it can be devastating for grieving parents to learn bad things about their dead child. I thought it was important that this didn’t accidentally get lost or misplaced because of good intentions.”
Lucy set the plastic bag on the side table between them, relinquishing it, handing it over to Maggie.
“I’ll understand if you no longer want me to participate in this investigation.”
Maggie left the bag on the table, sipped her tea, and considered what Lucy had done. In most cases it could be viewed as obstructing a federal investigation. Perhaps even tampering with evidence and certainly not following the chain of command. What was it that her old boss and mentor, Kyle Cunningham, would say? “Rules were made for the head to judge when the heart got in the way.”
Finally Maggie looked over at the woman and said, “I think you and I are going to get along just fine.”
FRIDAY, OCTOBER 9
FRIDAY, OCTOBER 9
CHAPTER 17
WASHINGTON, D.C.
Mary Ellen Wychulis waited outside her new boss’s office. The undersecretary of Food Safety and Inspection Services hated tardy employees but obviously didn’t mind keeping them waiting. Mary Ellen crossed her legs and let her foot tap out her annoyance.
She was missing her son’s first official playdate. Her husband had e-mailed three photos—mostly blurs of babies surrounded by too many toys—but they were enough to make her ache. She had only been back at work three weeks and already she wished she had taken some extra time.
It didn’t help matters that she returned to a new boss; her old one, promoted up the ranks, had been kind enough to make sure her job was secure before he left. These days that was no small feat. And so she was grateful even if her new boss was obsessive-compulsive, an outsider who Mary Ellen believed was an obvious political pick.
Mary Ellen felt like she had spent the last three weeks teaching her the nuts and bolts of the job. But she held her tongue even when she realized her husband was, most likely, right. Had she not been pregnant, her previous boss would have recommended Mary Ellen for his old position. She didn’t like to admit that such bias still ran rampant in the federal government, especially at the upper levels. Had she been a man with the same qualifications, age, marital status, and even a new baby, she would, no doubt, be the new undersecretary.
The door to the office opened so suddenly that Mary Ellen startled. A man in a military uniform marched out then turned back.
“Keep me posted,” he said.
Mary Ellen could see that her boss, Irene Baldwin, had followed him to the door. The officer looked familiar but Mary Ellen couldn’t put a name to the face, although she realized he resembled too many military elite—thick-chested with steel-gray hair, a rubber-stamped scowl, and lifeless eyes.
She watched the man march all the way down the hall before it hit her. General Lorimer was the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Off the top of her head she couldn’t think of a single project her boss was supposed to be working on with the Department of Defense. She wondered what brought him here.
“Wychulis. Good, you’re on time. Enter,” Irene Baldwin said with a wave of her hand then darted back in her office before her last guest had even reached the elevator.
Baldwin had changed the office so remarkably from its previous occupant that each time Mary Ellen walked in she had to remind herself she worked for the government, not a Fortune 500 company. But it was also a reminder that Baldwin not only had worked for a Fortune 500 company but had run one.
Where framed black-and-white photos of agricultural history had hung on the walls, there were now canvases in vibrant-colored oils with abstract images that on closer inspection could depict stalks of grain or bird’s-eye views of a forest. The new wall decorations looked like they belonged in a contemporary art museum instead of the office of an undersecretary in the Department of Agriculture.
“Sit,” Baldwin told Mary Ellen.
Her one-or two-word commands reminded Mary Ellen of dog obedience school.
Baldwin continued to stand behind her desk and pull file folders from a neat stack piled on the polished corner. The only other things on the desk were three pens and a legal pad.
“I have questions,” she said, sorting through the contents of a file folder.
Mary Ellen sat on the edge of her chair. Of course, she had questions. Every morning she had questions and she expected Mary Ellen to save her precious time by providing the answers. Mary Ellen kept her back ramrod straight, her feet flat on the floor, preparing for whatever Baldwin wanted.