“I’m on the Poison Squad.”
Poison Squad? It seemed a suitable nickname, but this was quite possibly the last place she ever expected to see a Delacroix. They seemed so wealthy and refined, not the sort to delve into an experiment like this. And yet here he was, his darkly handsome face flushed with excitement as he watched her.
“Go ahead and hunker down in front of Mr. Princeton,” she said.
“How did you know I went to Princeton?” a gangly man with a trim mustache asked.
“Who else would wear a black jacket with orange piping?” she asked.
Her guess caused another round of ribbing. She handed Princeton a tennis racket, then tossed a ball to Luke. He snatched it out of the air with one hand and flashed a wink at her. She wished that wink didn’t send a thrill through her, but oh, he was handsome. He radiated charisma, even amidst this loud, boisterous crew.
She moved quickly to prepare her camera, desperate to capture this image before the men settled down. Already a few were straightening their collars, and she didn’t want that. She grabbed another tennis ball and tossed it toward the center of the group.
“Catch!” she said, and it injected an immediate spark of energy back into the men. She held the camera against her waist, cranked the roll of new film into place, and looked down through the viewfinder. “Don’t move or say anything, but I want each of you to think about which of you is the best tennis player in the group.”
The challenge worked like a charm, inserting a jolt of competitive spirit even as they held still, and she got two good photographs. Then she had the rows trade places, moved the tennis rackets among the men, and took four more.
These would surely be her best pictures of the day, but she needed to take the boring individual pictures that would be used to document each man’s appearance before they began eating tainted food.
She counted out a number for each man, leaving Luke for last. Her reasoning wouldn’t bear much scrutiny, but if she finished quickly, perhaps they could have a few minutes to talk before he headed into lunch to begin this disagreeable experiment.
The man she had dubbed Princeton was first. She asked him to stand against a portion of the wall devoid of any decoration so she could take the plainest of all possible pictures.
“No smiling,” she said. “Just look straight ahead with a blank stare.”
He did as she asked, and then the next man in line took his place. All the while she felt Luke quietly watching her as he lounged against the arched doorway that led into the foyer. Why on earth was he here?
The portraits were so routine that in less than ten minutes she had processed eleven men. Then it was Luke’s turn. Having watched all the men before him, he knew the procedure as he took his position against the blank wall and straightened his shoulders to face her.
“No smiling,” she said.
“I’m not smiling.”
And strangely, he wasn’t. It only seemed like he was smiling because the keen animation in his face conveyed energy and excitement. She took the picture.
“Thank you,” she said, replacing the cover over the lens.
She’d done everything on her assignment card, and there was still fifteen minutes before lunch would be served. When Luke would start eating poison. At least so he believed.
“Why are you here?” she asked. “This test is a pointless abomination. I’m sure you don’t need the free room and board.”
“Most of us don’t,” Luke said. “We’re here for the challenge.”
“The challenge of seeing how sick you can get?”
“The challenge of seeing if we can do something great.”
She turned away to avoid the accusatory look that suddenly appeared on Luke’s face. In fifteen minutes these men were going to sit down to a meal tainted with massive doses of preservatives. It was a meaningless endeavor. The food industry had been using preservatives for decades, and they had already been proven safe.
“Can I see the kitchen?” she impulsively asked.
“You can. None of the volunteers are allowed to see what’s going on in there.”
“But you’ll eat whatever they bring out?”
“Yes, but I’m not too worried. There won’t be any Magruder foods on the menu.”
The direct attack took her by surprise, but maybe it shouldn’t have. For years the Delacroix family had been accusing the Magruders of adulterating their food. Last year Gray Delacroix had launched an infamous campaign against her father over applesauce that almost cost him the election. It was a petty and spiteful act that still smarted.
“Chemical preservatives have saved countless lives over the years,” she said. “Just because your family is leery of science—”
“Anyone with a functioning brain ought to be leery of what your father dumps into his food. It’s science run amok.”
She wasn’t going to stand here and listen to her family be slandered like this. She set down her satchel, undid the buttons on her collar, then yanked her blouse down to expose a small round scar on her shoulder.
“That is a smallpox vaccination,” she snapped. “I’ll bet you have one exactly like it. People were once terrified of getting vaccinated, but they’ve been doing it for more than fifty years, and I thank God for it!” She jerked her blouse back into place and tried to calm her breathing, but he made her so angry. “It’s normal for people to be cautious of scientific progress, but the Delacroixs aren’t normal. You people are highbrow snobs who will do anything to ruin us.”
Her fingers shook as she rebuttoned her blouse, and she couldn’t even look at him because if she did, she might start crying, and that would be horrible.
She grabbed her satchel and stormed out the door.
“Wait!” Luke called, but she wasn’t interested in anything else he had to say.
Luke picked up the piece of paper that fluttered to the ground after Marianne stormed out the door. He already regretted shooting his mouth off. He glanced at the paper, which listed assignments throughout the city. It was her work schedule for the week.
He didn’t even bother to reach for a coat before following her outside. The winter chill cut straight through his thin cotton shirt, but he couldn’t let her leave without apologizing.
“Marianne, wait,” he called after her as she hustled down the sidewalk toward the streetcar stop. He had to sprint to draw up alongside her. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”
“That’s right, I didn’t,” she said. “Neither did my family or my grandfather, and what your brother said about—”
“Stop,” he said. He didn’t want to hear her litany of accusations. He could answer every one of them, but that didn’t mean he harbored a grudge against her. He admired her too much. It took a lot for a woman to walk into a group of rowdy men and handle them as masterfully as she just had. All except him, and that was entirely his fault. “Let’s not talk about our families. They’re never going to get along, but I like you too much to be mean to you. Here. You dropped this.”
She sucked in a quick breath when she saw the list and snatched it from him. “Thank you! I’d be in trouble without this.”
“The assignments look interesting, except the one at the DC Jail.”