Chapter 1

Jeff spotted a young woman emerging from a lecture hall and approached her. “Hi,” he said. “Are you Ms Lane? My name is Jeff ... Jeff Brooker. I understand we’ll be working together on this project for Clinical Analysis.”

“I’m Chelsea,” she replied, “Chelsea Lane.”

“Chelsea Lane ... Sounds like the title of a Beatles song.”

Chelsea’s full lips turned up in a slight smile. “I hadn’t heard that one. Yes, I saw I was paired with Mr Brooker.”

“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance,” he said.

Chelsea wore a sleeveless blouse and cut-off jeans. She was of medium build, small-breasted with slender arms and shapely legs. Her oval face had a strong jaw line, a chin with a hint of a dimple and was framed by a mane of coarse chestnut hair parted low on the left. A shock of it covered her forehead and seemingly rested atop her large black-framed glasses. She wore no makeup -- no eye shadow or liner. Her nose was up-turned and with hints of freckles.

“Likewise,” Chelsea replied.

“I’ve seen you on campus ... last year,” he added. “This is the first class we’ve been in together. We only have a couple of weeks to do this project.”

“I’ve had this prof before,” she replied. “I know what she’s looking for.”

“Maybe we can get together this evening and strategize.”

“Actually, Jeff ... I work much better by myself.”

“This is a collaborative assignment. That’s the whole point of working in teams. Divide and conquer. We’ve been assigned the topic of Field Testing of Blood Lead Using Flame Photometry. What do you know about it?”

“Nothing. But, I can learn.”

“You can’t put my name on a report that I didn’t contribute to,” Jeff protested.

“Tell you what ... I’ll write something up and we can get together later this week and go over it. Okay?”

“Okay, but I’m going to do my own research. Do you live on campus?”

“Yes. I’m in Wheeler House.”

“Wheeler? How did you score a room in Wheeler? That’s reserved for upperclassmen ... not sophomores.”

“I guess I’m lucky. There’s a study lounge in Wheeler. Maybe we can meet there.”

“Okay ... Thursday at six?”|

“Fine,” she replied.

“I’ll see you at six.”

Jeff sat in the study lounge at Wheeler. Chelsea sat across from him with a manila folder in front of her. “I printed it out so we can mark it up,” she explained.

Jeff started reading. “I don’t know, Chelsea,” he said as he scanned her text. “This looks bogus to me.”

“Bogus, how? I quoted the original source.”

Jeff turned to the last page and read her citation. “That’s not a peer-reviewed source.”

“What makes you think it’s bogus?”

“The chemistry doesn’t make sense. They start with a finger-prick and put a drop of blood on a piece of ashless filter paper. Once it’s dry they use a hole punch to take a sample and put it into a flame photometer. The sample is incinerated and the light from the flame passes through a color filter to a photocell where the intensity is measured.”

“Yeah, that’s what the paper said. What’s wrong with it?”

Jeff started counting on his fingers. “First, flame photometry is more of a qualitative technique. Second, it’s much more effective for the alkali elements. Lead is too far to the right of the periodic table to have distinct spectral lines. Third, the combustion of the paper is going to swamp out any light from the lead. Fourth, there’s no mention here of how to calibrate the device...”

“All right, all right ... How do you know so much about this?”

“I’m a chem major. I read up on the technique. I think we need to dig deeper into the literature. Can we meet here tomorrow, same time? I want to see what I can find.”

“Fine,” she replied petulantly. She stuffed the pages into her folder and headed out the door.

“And a pleasant evening to you, too,” he muttered as he headed back to his dorm.

Jeff sat in the Wheeler study lounge awaiting Chelsea. She approached wearing a blue sundress and sandals. A denim bag was slung across her shoulders and she carried her manila folder.

“I wanted to say,” Jeff said, “when I was listing the issues I had with what you wrote ... I wasn’t criticizing your writing. Your writing is excellent -- clear, concise and understandable. I was criticizing the science. If your writing is based on a paper with flawed science ... that’s not your fault.”

She smiled. “Thank you, Jeff. I appreciate it. I’m sorry if I was short with you. I must have come across as pretty arrogant.”

Jeff held up his thumb and forefinger. “Just a tince, maybe.”

“I’m shy around new people.”

“That’s okay. I forgive you. You know ... You have a pretty smile.”

“We’re here to discuss this assignment, not my smile. You said you would look for more material. Did you find anything?”

“I did,” he replied. Jeff pulled out his phone and set it before her.

“What’s this?” She read the screen.

“It’s an abstract I found from a paper...”

“A paper titled ‘Fraud or Fudge -- Flame Photometry in Lead Analysis’.” She looked up at him.

“It appears to take apart the paper you found fairly thoroughly.”

“Where did you find this?” she asked. “I never found anything like it.”

“Chem Abstracts.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a service that collects abstracts from papers published in peer-reviewed journals.”

“You can access this?”

“The school has a subscription. I spent a couple hours in the chem library looking through it and found this. It’s published in a rather obscure Israeli clinical chemistry journal. Our school doesn’t have it so I’ll need to search for it in inter-library loan.”

“So this basically negates what I found.”

“With all the news about lead in urban water supplies, this is a hot topic,” Jeff observed. “There would be a market for a simple portable field device that could screen for lead in blood, especially in children. Something that could give rapid results and not require drawing tubes of the stuff.”

“That’s why we were assigned this topic.”

“Right, and with the Theranos scandal as a backdrop,” Jeff replied.

“How could someone publish work so full of errors?”

“Lots of reasons. Sloppy technique, faulty assumptions, improper experimental protocol, observational bias, lack of peer review ... wishful thinking. I know of several papers that were shown to be nothing but observational bias. This is how science works. Someone publishes something and another team attempts to replicate it. If they can’t ... well, there’s a problem. Chelsea, I have an idea. Why don’t we combine what you have with this. We can show how pressure to go to market is at odds with the science of doing it right.”

“I like it,” she replied. “I like it a lot.”

“You handle the writing and I’ll deal with the science. I think we can put together something that will make Dr Stumpf’s toes curl.”

“Ewww ... What an image.”

“So, can this be a true collaboration?”

“Yes, Jeff ... I think it has to be.”

He extended his hand. “Shake on it?” Chelsea grasped his hand.

“This is the first hard science course I’ve taken,” she admitted.

“So, what is your major?”

“Pre-med,” she replied. “I took Stumpf’s Science and Society course last term.”

“Science doesn’t get much softer than that,” Jeff replied.

“This assignment has a social element, don’t you think?”

“It sure does. As pre-med you’re apt to find yourself in other hard science courses. Anyway, now I have to try to find that paper. We need more than just its abstract.”

“Sounds good,” she replied.

“If we’re going to be partners in this,” he said, “it would help if I knew your email address.”

She reached into her bag. “Here,” she said and handed him a card.

“A business card ... Lambda Industries ... Chelsea Lane...”

“It’s from when I was working,” she explained.

“It says Office Manager.”

“I was working for my dad. He owns Lambda Enterprises. The email and cell numbers still are good.”

“Okay ... I’ll put my contact info in an email...” Jeff composed the email on his phone and sent it. “I think we covered a lot of ground tonight. How would you feel about a stroll over to the snack bar in the quad for a malt or something?”

“I’m good,” she replied.

“I’ll pay.” He looked into her blue eyes.

“Maybe some other time.”

“Would you be interested in going to see a movie or something? I can see what’s playing at the Union this weekend.”

“I’m not into the dating scene.”

“Already have a boyfriend?” he asked. “Not that it’s any of my business.”

“I don’t and no, it isn’t any of your business.”

Jeff held up his hands. “Okay, okay ... Message received and understood. Let’s reconvene in a couple of days and see what we can put together out of our research. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

Jeff slipped his phone into his back pocket and headed toward his dorm. He unlocked his door and stepped inside. “Hey, Ted,” he said to his roommate.

“You’re out late.”

“Yeah ... I was working on a project ... team effort for Stumpf’s class. I got teamed up with Chelsea Lane.”

“Chelsea Lane? Sounds like the title of a Beatles song.”

“That’s what I said to her.”

“What’s she like?”

“You must’ve seen her around campus ... medium build with bushy reddish-brown hair and big black-rimmed glasses.”

“Oh, yeah ... the nerdy-looking one.”

“I think she’s cute ... and I like nerdy girls. We got off to a rocky start but I think we’ve patched that up.”

Jeff sat across from Chelsea in the Union. “I wasn’t able to find that paper in any of the schools in inter-library loan,” he reported. “It’s a fairly obscure journal.”

“So, what do we do?”

“The library has a catalog from some regional private research facilities. The nearest copy is at the Bear Mountain Institute.”

“What’s that?” she asked.

“It was founded in the thirties as a tuberculosis sanitarium back when the thought was that clean, fresh mountain air would help cure the disease. Now it’s a private research lab.”

“Can we get it on loan?”

“I called them about it. They do have the issue containing the article. But, no -- they don’t let material out of their library.”

She gave him an exasperated look. “Can they make a copy of that one paper for us?”

“They can’t get it to us in time to help us.”

“Then, what do you suggest?”

“I suggest we take an afternoon and drive down there.”

“Do you have a car? Because I don’t.”

“Neither do I, but my roommate does. If I ask him nicely maybe he’ll let us borrow it.”

“Why US, Jeff?”

“I thought we were partners on this project. Chelsea -- having that one reference means a letter grade on this project. I don’t know if a letter grade makes a difference to you, but it does to me. I have a scholarship to protect.”

She regarded him. “I think you’re right. And, I do care about a letter grade.”

“My afternoons are free on Wednesdays. We can drive down after lunch and be back for dinner.”

“I have a math recitation then ... but I can probably cut it once without any serious consequences.”

“Then, Wednesday. I’ll check with Ted and see what he needs from me in order for us to use his car.”

Jeff powered down his laptop and packed it in his backpack. He made the walk across campus to his dorm and climbed the stairs to his room. “Hey, Ted,” he said upon entering.

“Working with Chelsea again?”

“Yeah. We were wondering ... Can we borrow your car on Wednesday?”

“Wednesday? Where are you going on Wednesday?”

“Bear Mountain.”

“What’s at Bear Mountain? It’s too early for skiing.”

“Bear Mountain Institute -- the old sanitarium.”

“Are you visiting an inmate or checking in as one?” Ted asked.

“It’s not that kind of sanitarium. It used to be where they treated TB patients. Now it’s a research center. Their library has a journal we need and they’re not part of the inter-library loan. I figure we’ll leave after lunch and be back by dinner. I’ll pay for the gas, Ted.”

“You’ll bring it back with a full tank.”

“Why? How much is in it now?”

“About half. It’s that or no deal.”

“All right ... agreed.”

“I’ll put the keys on my hook. By the way -- how are things going with you and Chelsea?”

“We’re fine as partners on this project. Whenever I try to approach her socially ... zoom, her shields go up. I don’t know how many times I’ve offered to buy her a snack after one of our sessions. She always says no.”

“Maybe she’s one of those chicks with serious guy issues,” Ted remarked. “If that’s the case, you’re better off forgetting about her.”

“That’s why I have an ulterior motive on this road trip. She’ll be a captive audience for three hours. Maybe I’ll have a chance to break down her shell.”

Chelsea walked with Jeff to a small older Kia in the parking lot. She sat in the passenger seat. Jeff sat behind the wheel.

Chelsea looked behind the front seat. “Does your friend ever clean this car? The back seat is ankle-deep in burger wrappers and soda cans.”

“At least it’s not ankle-deep in condom wrappers.”

“Ewww ... I’m sorry I mentioned it.”

From under the seat Jeff procured a folded-up packet. “Here.”

“What’s this for?”

“It’s called a road map. I’ll drive, you can navigate.”

“I know it’s a road map. We don’t need this.”

“Oh? Do you know the route?”

“No.” She took her cell from her bag -- a new model Galaxy. “I have this. We can use the map app.” She manipulated the phone. “Where are we going?”

“Bear Mountain Institute.”

“Ah ... Here it is. We head south on Route fifty-eight.”

“That much I know already.” He put the key in the ignition and started the motor. Jeff backed out of the stall and headed down the highway. “What’s next?”

“Turn left onto Route Three at Killworth Corners.”

“Okay ... Got it.”

He headed down the highway. Jeff glanced at Chelsea. She sat, her hands folded in her lap and staring straight ahead. “Relax -- we have a long drive ahead.”

“How long?”

“What did your GPS say?”

“I didn’t ask it.”

“It’s about a hundred miles ... figure an hour and a half or so.”

“So, it’ll be nearly three when we get there.”

“That’s about how I figure it.”

He glanced at her again. Her eyelids were drooping and her chin was resting on her chest. Jeff saw the sign for Route Three. He slowed, put on his turn signal and turned left. Chelsea leaned against the passenger door.

He drove for about forty-five minutes and saw a sign for the village of Prescott ahead. “Chelsea? Chelsea?”

“Mmmpf ... I must’ve dozed off. I’m sorry -- didn’t mean to. I was up late last night.”