Mystified and concerned by the door being ajar in the middle of the winter, Marsha took a chance and pushed it open farther. She leaned into the front hall and called out Kim's name. There was no answer.

From where she was standing, Marsha's eyes adapted so she could see up the staircase, as well as through the dining room and all the way to the kitchen. She called Kim's name again but again there was no response.

Unsure what to do next, Marsha thought about leaving. But then Tracy 's comment about Kim possibly hurting himself came into her mind. She wondered if she should call the police, but that seemed a fairly extreme action to take based on so little evidence. She decided to probe further before deciding what to do.

Marshaling her courage. Marsha stepped into the foyer, intending to go to the base of the stairs. But she didn't get far. Halfway across the hall she stopped dead in her tracks. Kim was sitting in a club chair in an otherwise empty room less than ten feet away. He looked like a specter in the half darkness. His white doctor's coat appeared to glow like the radium dial of an old wristwatch.

"My God!" Marsha exclaimed. "You scared me!"

Kim didn't respond. He didn't even move.

"Dr. Reggis?" Marsha questioned. For a fleeting moment she wondered if he was dead.

"What do you want?" Kim asked in a tired monotone.

"Maybe I shouldn't have come. I just wanted to offer my help."

"And just how do you plan to help?"

"By doing what you'd asked me earlier," Marsha said. "I know it won't bring your daughter back, but I'd like to help you track the meat in those lots you think might be contaminated. Of course, it might be futile. You have to understand that, in this day and age, the meat in a single hamburger patty can come from a hundred different cows from ten different countries. But, be that as it may. I'm willing to give it a try if you still want me to."

"Why the change of heart?" Kim asked.

"Mainly because you were right about the effect of seeing a sick child. But also because you were right to an extent about the USDA. I wasn't willing to admit it either, but I know there's foot-dragging by my superiors and too much collusion between the agency and the beef industry. Every one of the deficiency reports I've filed for violations I've uncovered have been suppressed by my district manager. He's all but told me to my face to look the other way when there's a problem."

"Why didn't you say this to me before?" Kim asked.

"I don't know," Marsha said. "Loyalty to my employer, I suppose. You see. I think the system could work. It just needs more people like me who want it to work."

"And meanwhile meat gets contaminated and people get sick," Kim said. "And kids like Becky die."

"Unfortunately that's true," Marsha said. "But we in the business all know where the problem is: it's in the slaughterhouses. It's simply profit over safe meat."

"When are you willing to help?" Kim asked.

"Whenever," Marsha said. "Right now if you're up for it. Actually, tonight would be a good time for me to try because there'll be less risk. The only people at Mercer Meats now would be the overtime cleaning crew. I can't imagine they'd think much if I browse through the patty room logs."

"All right," Kim said. "You're on. Let's go."

THIRTEEN

Saturday evening, January 24th

Tracy felt shell-shocked. Her divorce had been tough, especially the custody battle with Kim, but it was nothing compared to what she was feeling now. Thanks to her experience as a therapist, she recognized clearly the symptoms; she was on the verge of slipping into a serious depression. From having counseled other people in similar circumstances, she knew it wasn't going to be easy, but she wanted to fight it. At the same time, she knew she had to let herself grieve.

As she rounded the final bend in the road and approached her house, she could see Carl's yellow Lamborghini parked at the curb. She didn't know whether she'd be glad to see him or not.

Tracy pulled into her driveway and turned off the engine. Carl came down the steps to meet her, carrying a bouquet of flowers.

Tracy stepped out of her car and into Carl's arms. For a few minutes they didn't talk; he just held her in the late-afternoon darkness.

"How did you find out?" Tracy asked, with her head still pressed against Carl's chest.

"Being on the hospital board, I hear all the news," Carl said. "I'm so sorry."

"Thank you." Tracy said. "God. I feel drained."

"I can imagine," Carl said. "Come on. Let's get you inside."

They started walking up the pathway.

"I hear Kim really lost it. That must make it extra tough on you."

Tracy only nodded.

"The man's clearly out of control. Who does he think he is – God? I tell you, the whole hospital is in an uproar."

Tracy opened the door without responding. She and Carl went in.

"Kim's having a hard time," Tracy said.

"Ha!" Carl commented. He took Tracy 's coat and hung it along with his in the hall closet. "That's an understatement. As usual, you're being generous. I'm not nearly so charitable. In fact, I could club him for carrying on the way he did in the Onion Ring restaurant last night about Becky's getting sick there. Did you see the article in the paper? It's had a big effect on the Onion Ring share price. I can't tell you how much of a paper loss I've suffered from his lunacy."

Tracy went into the living room and collapsed on the couch. She felt exhausted and yet wired and anxious at the same time. Carl followed her.

"Can I get you something?" Carl asked. "Like a drink or some food."

Tracy shook her head. Carl sat across from her. "I spoke to some other members of the Foodsmart board," he said. "We're seriously thinking about suing him if the share price continues to fall."

"It wasn't an idle accusation on his part," Tracy said. "Becky had a rare burger there the night before she got sick."

"Oh, come on," Carl said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Becky didn't get sick there. Hundreds of thousands of burgers are made in the chain. No one gets sick. We cook those burgers to death."

Tracy didn't say anything. Carl quickly realized what he'd said.

"I'm sorry. That was a poor choice of words under the circumstances."

"It's okay, Carl," Tracy said wearily.

"I'll tell you what bugs me about all this," Carl said. "Hamburger has gotten a bad rap with this E. coli brouhaha. It's now like a knee-jerk reaction: E. coli and hamburger. Hell, people have gotten the same E. coli from apple juice, lettuce, milk, even swimming in a contaminated pond. Don't you think it's unfair that hamburger has to take all the crap?"

"I don't know," Tracy said. "I'm sorry I can't be more responsive. I feel numb. It's hard for me to think."

"Of course, dear," Carl said. "I'm the one who should be sorry for carrying on like I am. I think you should eat. When was the last time you had a meal?"

"I can't remember," Tracy said.

"Well, there you go," Carl said. "How about we go out to some quiet place?"

Tracy looked at Carl in total disbelief. "My daughter just died. I'm not going out. How can you even ask?"

"Okay," Carl said, raising his hands in defense. "It was just an idea. I think you should eat. I suppose I could get some takeout food. What about that?"

Tracy lowered her face into her hands. Carl was not helping. "I'm not hungry. Besides, maybe it would be better for me to just be alone tonight. I'm not very good company."

"Really?" Carl questioned. He was hurt.

"Yes, really," Tracy said. She raised her head. "I'm sure there's something you should be doing."

"Well, there is the dinner at Bobby Bo Mason's house," Carl said. "Remember me telling you about that?"