What were they up to?
Gwen called from across the room by the fireplace, where she’d been eating a sweet roll and working on her phone. “For a company with a building that size, I can’t find evidence of a single successful product, patent, or research breakthrough that they’ve produced in the last five years. Before they acquired Vision Zone, they were working on the development of new antibiotics and electronic prostheses. But they haven’t issued a news release in almost three years, so it isn’t clear how they’re even in business at all.”
Just then, my phone rang. It was Barbie. I looked at my watch and saw that she’d beaten her estimated travel time by ten minutes. She was displaying a sense of urgency, too. Good.
“Lexi, I’m in the lobby,” she stated with little inflection.
“I’ll be right there.” I hung up and stood. “Ladies, our journalist has arrived. I’ll go meet her and see if she’ll come up.”
I took the elevator down to the lobby and looked around for her. It didn’t long for me to spot her. The journalist who had detonated Vision Zone Technology twenty years ago stood near one of the slot machines with a travel mug in her hand. Her short brown hair had been carefully styled, and she wore dark jeans, a black blouse, and an unbuttoned tan coat. Her purse was slung over her right shoulder, and she carried a small soft-sided portfolio in her left hand.
I approached her, holding out a hand. “Hi, I’m Lexi. I recognize you from the photo that accompanied one of your articles. Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, too,” Barbie said shaking my hand.
“Would you like to go up to our room?” I asked. “There is plenty of space there to spread out our materials and talk privately. We’re in the penthouse. The bride-to-be won a hotel contest, which is what brought us here to Atlantic City in the first place. We could go somewhere else, though, if that would be a more comfortable fit for you.”
She studied my face for a long moment, as if measuring me, before she nodded. “I’ll come up.”
“Great.”
We rode the elevator to the penthouse in silence, and I used the key card to get us into the room. Gwen and Gray rose as she entered. Basia waved from her spot at the table.
“Guys, this is Barbie Shutt,” I said. “And Barbie, this is Gray.” I swept my hand out at Gray. “Gwen, the redhead, is the star of the weekend, and the pregnant woman over there is Basia,” I said, concluding my introductions.
“Thanks for coming,” Gray said.
“I hope I can help,” Barbie said. She stood for a moment, turning around and taking in the penthouse suite before shaking her head. “I’ll be frank with you; I don’t normally conduct interviews in Atlantic City penthouses. My internal alarms should be screaming that this is a setup because the situation is so odd. Four random women in a casino penthouse. Shouldn’t you be tossing back margaritas and losing money at the slots?”
“It started out that way,” Basia explained. “But after Lexi won nearly ten thousand dollars by counting cards on our first night, we’ve been banned from the casino for the rest of our visit.”
“I wasn’t exactly counting cards,” I protested. “I was playing strategically, since luck is a significant variable in cards. Anyway, Barbie, we apologize for this uncomfortable situation. It’s very strange for us, too.”
“And that’s saying a lot for Lexi, because she does strange like no one else,” Basia said, laughing.
My cheeks reddened. “Please sit down. I know this all seems unusual, but if you’ll be patient, we’ll bring you up to speed on what we know so far about Ginger and what has happened that’s led to us being so interested in Tango Bio Research Solutions.”
“Ginger?” Barbie asked as she shed her coat and joined us at the dining room table. “Who’s that?”
“That’s our dog,” Basia said. “Well, not really our dog, but the dog that found us and asked for our help.”
“Asked for your help?”
I held up a hand. “Yes. Let me start at the beginning.”
“Do you mind if I take notes?” Barbie asked, opening her portfolio and pulling out a notebook. “It helps me keep things straight. I promise I won’t share anything personal without asking you first.”
I looked at the others, who shrugged. “Sure, I don’t see why not.”
The rest of the story took some time, and everyone chimed in with tidbits of information. We gave her the full story, including finding Ginger wandering around alone in the woods, Ginger’s intelligence and evidence of possible experiments, and what we overheard the scientists saying. Barbie took lots of notes but was a good listener and asked pointed clarifying questions. She was obviously an experienced investigative journalist.
When we finished, she sat there silently as if trying to absorb the entirety of the situation. Finally, she asked, “Can I have a drink of water, please?”
We looked around at each other, collectively struck by our lack of hospitality. “Of course,” Gwen said, standing quickly. “We have coffee or tea if you’d like that instead.”
“Water would be fine, thank you.”
Gwen returned with the water, and Barbie took a sip, leaning back in her chair, rolling and rubbing the back of her neck. It was not the response we expected, so we just sat quietly, hoping she could help us.
