Free Lab Notes: a novel by Gerrie Nelson Page A

office window as a steady procession of Friday afternoon sailors—truants from their desks and cubicles—headed out the channel from Clear Lake into Galveston Bay. His gaze shifted to the BRI marina below where Woodwind tugged on her lines as if to say, “I want to go too. I want to go too.”
    Along with the grand “treehouse” on stilts (their lakeside home nestled in the tall pines and left vacant by Dr. Harry Lee), Bellfort had given Vincent and Diane the sailboat as a sign-on incentive. She was a beautiful craft, and he was proud to own her. But as early as their first BRI business meeting, three months ago, Vincent suspected that the treehouse and the sailboat had been dangled as glittering lures in some elaborate game of bait and switch.
    At that meeting, Raymond Bellfort reported that there was a short-term cash-flow problem. He said he was unable to fund both of their projects immediately; he’d have to go with the one that excited the investors most.
    “Let’s jumpstart Diane’s program first. Then we’ll go with yours, Vincent,” he said, promising it was only a temporary setback.
    Vincent was more than a little disturbed by the announcement. They were barely unpacked from their move to Texas, and already Bellfort had reneged on his “unlimited funding” pledge. But he didn’t want to rain on Diane’s parade. So, he became her “interim help.” He ordered laboratory equipment, interviewed lab assistants and fielded Diane’s phone calls in her absence. He stayed busy, but not gratified. And his dissatisfaction soon became apparent.
    Diane complained that he was irritable around the office. She teased that he was “not being a team player,” a line borrowed from Vincent Rose, PhD, erstwhile department chair at a large university.
    To keep his sanity intact that first month, Vincent began designing the next animal testing protocol for Peruvase. Then one afternoon, Raymond Bellfort stopped by Vincent’s office. He looked at his computer screen—he had the annoying habit of addressing Vincent’s monitor when he spoke to him—then took off in a flight of ideas.
    “Ahh… You should take advantage of this slack time. I know you must be itching to get Woodwind back in shape. I’ll have Maxine give you the names of the engine people, the sail loft, woodworkers and so forth. Diane will be out of the country a lot more. Ahh… Why don’t you join the sailing club down the way?”
    The barrage of suggestions roused Vincent’s suspicions that Diane had squealed on him. She must have told Bellfort that her husband was not working and playing well with others. He felt like the pesky child being bribed to run outside and play alone. So he did just that.
    Maxine was helpful. She gave him the names and phone numbers of assorted vendors to the yachting community in triplicate. But she never looked him in the eye.
    It was one thing when the boss didn’t make eye contact—he could have a thousand things on his mind or, as in Bellfort’s case, he could be just plain squirrelly. But it was another situation altogether when the executive assistant avoided your glance. She knew something.
    Vincent felt the reason for Maxine’s reticence would surface eventually. In the meantime, he quietly worked on Peruvase and became a boat bum—ever watchful for pirates.
    Vincent tore himself away from the view and walked to the doorway connecting his office with Diane’s. She looked up from her computer and said, “Did you know that Ecuador is southeast of here? I always pictured it more to the west.”
    Diane was working on her trip to Quito. She had meetings scheduled with government officials there to negotiate a contract allowing BRI to explore Ecuador’s jungles and remove plant specimens.
    Satisfied he was not interrupting any serious brain crunching, Vincent settled into a chair opposite her and studied the small jar of Peruvian balasi nuts she used as a paperweight.
    “I never really thought about it,” he