Page 69 of The Botanist's Assistant
“Which is why I need your help,” Veronica Ann continues. “Jon promised that I would join him in the lab once he got the Cameron grant and I would get full credit for my work. Then he filed for divorce.”
“I thought you were going to file first. Because of the affair?”
“I threatened to file but was never going to go through with it. Let him have his little fling. To me, the work was the important thing.”
Margaret isn’t sure how she could call what Dr. Deaver and Rachel Sterling had a “fling,” but she supposes that if there had been other indiscretions Veronica Ann might have come to view it that way.
“He filed the divorce petition to punish me when I said I wanted credit even if he didn’t get the grant. I was tired of cooking and sewing clothes. I wanted to be recognized for mycontributions to his work. He didn’t like to share the spotlight.” Veronica Ann shifts her legs beneath her. Her bare feet are long and graceful. “Especially since I told Jon that he didn’t have the skills to take the next steps, and he needed to bring others in. There’s a guy I went to grad school with, a medicinal chemist, who could have helped. Jon hated the idea.”
“Was the chemist from Florida?” Margaret ventures.
“As a matter of fact, yes. He’s developed the exact techniques the lab needs to get to the next level. Why reinvent the wheel?”
Margaret remembers Rachel’s story. “He didn’t threaten Dr. Deaver in any way? Physically, I mean.”
Veronica Ann lifts an eyebrow. “Certainly not. Maybe scientifically but not in a physical sense.”
Then who sent the threatening text? It had to be Blackstone.
“All you need to do,” Veronica Ann continues, “is agree that I had a hand in the research when the provost and the dean and anybody else questions you, then send me the draft grant application. I’ll add my name to it and submit it. I’ve already spoken to the chair of the Cameron Foundation board of directors. He’s a friend of my parents and he assured me I’ll get full consideration, even with the hole in my CV. Plus thechemist I told you about is very well respected and willing to collaborate. I think we can get this. I’ll also need a competent research assistant. What do you think?”
Margaret thinks that if the world keeps going topsy-turvy like it is, she will have a hard time knowing which way is up when it finally comes to a stop. Whom should she believe? Rachel Sterling or Veronica Ann?
Veronica Ann uncurls herself from the sofa and stands. “Ican see by the look on your face that you’re skeptical and I understand. Let me get my notes for the research I did on the stinging nettle as an anti-inflammatory and you can see for yourself. A woman of science needs facts, right?”
Margaret watches the woman pad down the house’s long hallway.
Veronica Ann is right about a woman of science needing facts, because even with what Veronica Ann is claiming, she still could have poisoned Dr. Deaver. In fact, she may have had a plan to take over the lab all along.
Suddenly, Margaret feels exhausted. It’s all too much. Who is lying and who is telling the truth? Who is what they appear to be and who is not? Should she go along with what might be a lie to get the leaves they need and save some future cancer patient from suffering, or should she continue to look for justice? Margaret has the sudden urge to remove her boots and curl up on this pristine love seat with that pretty woven throw over her head and take a nap like old people do. Is that such a bad idea? She closes her eyes.
“Are you all right, Margaret?” Veronica Ann’s voice snaps her out of her reverie. Margaret opens her eyes to see that shehas listed onto one side, her elbow on the love seat’s armrest and her head resting on her open palm.
“Oh yes. Of course. I’m fine. Just a little tired.”
“I won’t keep you long, then.”
Veronica Ann holds a notebook out toward Margaret. It looks exactly like the ones Dr. Deaver kept. Margaret opens it to find that not only are the notes handwritten but each page is dated and signed just as Dr. Deaver’s notes were.
“I usually wouldn’t do this, but Jon trusted you and so will I,” Veronica Ann says. “Why don’t you take the book back to the lab and compare it to Jon’s notebook. That way you’ll see for yourself that not only are my notes dated two months before Jon started the work, but our hypotheses are virtually the same, only mine is earlier. Then you’ll know what I’m saying is right.”
It’s only then that Margaret notices the vulnerability in the way Veronica Ann is standing in front of her, her arms folded across her waist as if for protection. Perhaps her outfit is how Veronica Ann armors herself.
Margaret pushes herself to her feet. She feels like a battle-scarred elephant that accidentally finds itself standing next to a graceful gazelle.
“I’ll look at your notes,” Margaret promises, an idea breaking through the clouds of tiredness that filled her mind only moments before. “By the way, you wouldn’t happen to have a key to your husband’s office, would you? That way I can look at his notebook.”
Veronica Ann frowns. “I thought you would have a key.”
Margaret shakes her head.
“Well, I certainly don’t have one. I hardly ever went tocampus. All those pretentious men wearing sport jackets with jeans and their knit ties, thinking their private parts somehow bestow them with superior judgment and intellect. Ugh. Jon didn’t push me down because he thought he was superior to me, by the way. He did it because he needed the adulation, the spotlight, in order to function. I’m sure he told you how his mother used to call him stupid and ugly. One time, infifth grade, she sent him off to school with a shaved head because he forgot to put the cap on the shampoo bottle after he took a shower.”
Margaret hadn’t known the story.
“Despite what others saw on the outside, Jon had a deep vein of insecurity and doubt in himself. He needed people like you and me to support him.” Veronica Ann smiles sadly. “Just let me know what you think after you look at my notes. I’d like to continue the work the lab is doing, the work you’re doing.” She moves toward the door. “I’ll see you to your car.”
Outside, the afternoon sunlight has softened. Tall shadows stretch across the front yard.
