Free The Second Lie by Tara Taylor Quinn Page B

straight in the eye. "Really sorry." And scared as hell, too.
    He stood, arms crossed over his chest again, saying nothing.
    She had a ton to say. About a woman he may or may not have seen in recent years. About lies of omission and possible offspring. About faith and trust and betrayal and...
    She was hurt. Not a good time to unload.
    "Will you please tell me why you bought the chemicals?"
    "You want the technical version or the more general one?"
    "Let's start general."
    "The methanol I bought was derived in part from glycerol. Glycerol is a base of sugar, which is high in starch. Methanol is also a gas that, when combined with other things, can be used as a denaturing agent. I experimented and used my final product to soak my prototype seeds. And then soaked them in anhydrous ammonia. All before planting. I also used the ammonia as fertilizer. If you buy in quantity there's a price break. As you already know, my theory is that I can grow corn that has twice the starch per kernel. If I can come up with a way to do this, the cost of producing ethanol could be cut in half. Or at least severely reduced."
    He wasn't making meth. Thank God. He wasn't supplying his ex-lover. Oh, thank God. He was...
    "Those chemicals are dangerous, Kyle. Long-term exposure could kill you--heck, even short-term exposure--or make you really sick. You ingest five teaspoons of methanol and you could go blind. Or die. Or--"
    "I know. That's part of the reason I'm starting out small. And I'm working alone so I'm not exposing anyone else."
    "You aren't a chemist. These things should be left to trained scientists. In laboratories. Where everything is protected."
    If anything happened to Kyle...
    "I know what I'm doing, Sam. I do have a degree in chemistry, remember?"
    Yeah. She'd forgotten. He'd double-majored.
    "I've been talking about this since high school. Where you been?"
    "Here. I listened." Sort of. "I just didn't realize that your project involved methanol." Or anything really dangerous. She should have paid more attention. Cared more.
    Same old story with them. The farm was Kyle's life. To her it was the kiss of death. Death by boredom.
    "I'm sorry I doubted you. Not that I did, really." Okay, she had. And it didn't help that Sherry Mahon's name had muddied the waters. When she calmed down enough to be rational, she would ask him about the woman. "I'm just tired. And going crazy with this meth thing."
    "I thought you were leaving that alone."
    "I can't, Kyle."
    "Sam..."
    "I'm telling you, with the quantities we're seeing, I know there's some kind of mass production going on around here. Chuck thinks so, too. At least, he thinks we're getting large shipments from someplace and is as determined as I am to put a stop to it."
    "You've been at this all night, haven't you? Investigating?"
    "I've been studying. Going through records. Yeah."
    "Be careful, Sam. You're going to end up like your dad."
    And that's why she hadn't told him in the first place what she was doing.
    "This is different, Kyle. And I am careful. Meth has been killing people in Fort County over the past two years and the numbers are increasing. It won't be long before it starts hitting our friends...."
    "If it's that bad, why isn't it all over the news?"
    "It is."
    But then, Kyle didn't watch the news.
     
    Kyle was particularly eager for Friday night's dart game after his encounter with Sam. Growing up on a farm had taught him that life was like a business. It created daily jobs that, when done well, reaped worthy rewards. And then you moved on to the next one.
    Life on a farm taught you early that there would always be another chore. The work was never done.
    An addendum to the lesson had been added at some unknown point: meeting responsibilities brings fulfillment. Reward.
    Playing darts was neither a job, nor a responsibility.
    So Kyle, being Kyle, filed it in the reward category and got on with it.
    He supplied the beer--enough to last them through a heated competition without