Death by Honeymoon

He guffawed again. “By who?”

 His wet mouth was all over neck.

“I know every move you make.” Then he pulled at her face, so he could kiss her. She yanked her head the other way.

“You’re sick,” Cindy breathed, “When I tell Marge -”

He grabbed her tighter. “Honey, you tell Marge about this, and you’re as good as finished.”

Cindy was enraged. She felt a surge of strength she never knew she had, and with all her power took both her hands and shoved him away. Taken by surprise, he tipped backwards and slid on the floor.

In that precious second, Cindy flew upstairs, through the open front door, and ran into the night like a criminal, speeding away. Ralph was a monster. She never wanted to lay eyes on him again. But, at least she had the key. All the rest was garbage.

* * *

Cindy flew home and went straight to Clint’s study. The run home had been fast and furious and her body was shaking.

She ran to Clint’s study, pulled out the key, put it into his safe’s lock, and turned it. The safe opened instantly.

Chapter 17

Cindy had expected to see the safe packed with papers, valuables.

But to her surprise, it was nearly empty. There was only one, tiny thing sitting inside it: a thumb drive.

She held it up and stared at it, wondering what could be on it. Then she hurried over and inserted it into his computer.

Up came a message. Directory access was locked . Password protected.

God, help, please, she cried out. Cindy was so muddled and exhausted, she couldn’t remember what some of his passwords might be.

She tried entering a few that she knew Clint used regularly. Neither of them opened the file.

She switched around some letters and tried again.

None worked.

You’ve got to help me, Clint, she thought.

Her head cleared a little. Then, from nowhere, it struck her to try her name.

She typed in Cindy.

To her amazement, the directory opened.

Thank you, Clint, she thought. Thank you.

She quickly scanned the contents. –It was there. The Tearwall Project Report. A huge burst of energy came over her. Cindy immediately opened it and started reading,

First she found a general report about offshore drilling that went on for pages. It was titled: Ecological Zones in Offshore Drilling. It detailed the harm expected by drilling in the wrong area. Attached to the report was responses by others.

What, then, is the true value of an oil well drilled a mile down offshore in a unique ecological zone subject to multiple uses? Is it simply the cost of the well or the price of the product? For example, let’s look carefully at the Tearwall Project. What are the ancillary expenses, revenues and losses and the consequences of possible disaster? Much too large for comfort. Much too much risk for the public versus what can be gained.

A response from someone said, “Let’s drop this right now, Clint.”

Obviously he hadn’t. Cindy read on.

And let’s not forget the environmental refugees, the communities affected, the damage to the productive ecology. From a balance sheet perspective, what in the near term seems like profit is in the long term a financial disaster. We saw this just a few months ago in the photos of oil slicks, wide and deep. We saw fouled beaches, dead wildlife, destroyed wetlands, unemployed fishermen, bankrupt tourism businesses, depressed local economies, ruined communities.

A response from a man named Lew Dorin, at the firm, was attached. It said, Clint. A big decision is coming down in Washington. We need to let the bill pass.

Beneath that was another letter, from Henry Greerson.

Fine report, Clint. We’ll keep it on hold for the next month or six weeks. Expecting a sizable government allocation. Once that’s in, we’ll deal with these facts and assess the way we wish to proceed.

Under that was a letter from Greerson’s assistant.

The consequences of drilling there are enormous, dangerous.We’re looking at more than earthquakes, it’s massive human, animal and ecological devastation.

Obviously, Clint’s company, DGB, had been commissioned to do a massive drilling project. They were just ready to start. A few months before the project was to begin, there was trouble in Washington regarding it.

Clint had included all kinds of reports backing up his conclusions. There was a report on an explosion that left eleven dead and slathered Alabama’s beaches due to an oil spill.

There was big money here and big promises. The government was involved on many fronts. Clint’s reports could potentially affect millions of dollars and millions of lives.

There was a note attached to that report signed by Greerson.

 Great research Clint. Let’s file this report for future reference. Take a break from research dealing with spills and faults.

Clint hadn’t gone along. Seemed like he continued unearthing more information. Immediately after that, he wrote and sent out another report.

Cindy looked carefully at the responses to his reports from people at the firm. In the beginning they were complimentary, commenting on his attention to detail and thoroughness. As time went on, there were more and more letters telling him to stop. Drop it. His reports were becoming hot potatoes.

Clint paid no attention, just continued on. They hadn’t been able to stop him.

Or had they?

It seemed obvious what had happened. Clint had pushed it too far. And they had gotten rid of him. They waited for a time and place that was convenient, a place, like Barbados, like the rough surf of the ocean, where it wouldn’t be clear it was a murder, where suspicions would not be raised. It was all too much for Cindy to bear.

She had to make sense of it all. She needed confirmation, needed to know that she wasn’t crazy.

Then it came to her. Greg. He would know. He would know for sure. She had to share this report with him, had to hear his opinion of it. What exactly were its consequences?

Cindy picked up her phone and dialed Greg. It rang for a long while. Finally, someone picked up.

“Hello,” a female voice answered.

“I’m sorry to be calling so late,” Cindy said, “just wanted to talk to Greg.”

Silence on the other end.

“Is he there?” said Cindy.

“No,” the voice sounded distant and odd.

“Can I call later tonight? Is tomorrow better?”

“Tomorrow isn’t better,” the voice sounded devastated.

“Is something wrong?” Cindy’s heart leapt.

“Greg died suddenly of heart failure, yesterday,” she said.

Cindy gasped. “Who’s this?”

“His sister. We knew he had a weak heart, but no one expected him to die. It wasn’t that bad. He was so young. It happened out of the blue.”

Cindy was silent.