Kemp insisted that they go out for something to eat. “You must be starved,” he said to Sandy.
She was, although she hated to admit it. Finally, she agreed to have dinner with Kemp—as long as Sam came along, too. “You said that there was a crime involved,” she told Sam. “I want to hear about it from a cop.”
Sandy was not happy when Kemp picked a very expensive restaurant. She didn't want to feel she owed him for anything. But she knew she couldn't afford to eat here. “Can't we just grab a burger?” she asked. “I have a lot of homework waiting for me.”
“Mr. Wolfe is meeting us here,” Kemp explained. “He wants to talk to you in person about this case.”
Sandy swallowed back resentment. These two strangers—Kemp and Wolfe— had been so sure of her, they'd made dinner reservations in advance!
As she followed Kemp across the restaurant, Sandy felt out of place. She could feel people staring as she walked by. No one else was wearing jeans and a cotton shirt, but Kemp didn't seem to notice. Or if he did, he didn't care.
The host showed them to an elegant private dining room. A large round table there was set with a heavy linen tablecloth and shining silverware. Just overhead hung a crystal chandelier. At one end of the room was a roaring fire in a huge stone fireplace.
A tall man dressed in jeans, a western shirt, and cowboy boots stood in front of the crackling fire. So who was this? The only thing missing from the picture, Sandy decided, was a ten-gallon hat. When Kemp introduced the cowboy as Jonathan Wolfe, Sandy's jaw dropped.
Wolfe turned all his attention on Sandy. It was almost as if Sam and Eric Kemp didn't exist. Sandy was a little amused by it. She sensed that Wolfe wanted to make a good impression on her, but she couldn't figure out why.
All during dinner, Sandy studied the mysterious Jonathan Wolfe. The cowboybusinessman was long and lanky, and he talked with a Texas accent. He didn't look like the kind of person who ran a huge company. Sandy had heard of MiraMed, but she wasn't sure what the company produced.
Wolfe insisted that they enjoy this dinner before talking business. Over dessert, he said to her, “Ms. Norris—”
“Please call me Sandy,” she said with a smile. In spite of herself she found that she liked the boyish businessman as much as she disliked Eric Kemp. “Will you tell me now about the crime that has been committed?”
Wolfe smiled. “It's a theft, Sandy. The theft of a priceless formula that could save millions of lives.”
Between them, Jonathan Wolfe and Sam Kennedy told Sandy the story. MiraMed produced medical products, including state-of-the-art drugs. Wolfe said that he and his partner, Greg Dixon, had founded MiraMed.
“Greg and I met in college,” Wolfe drawled. “He was a science major, and I was studying business. It was the perfect combination.”
After graduating, the two bright young men had pooled their talents and resources to start the company. Wolfe's father had helped them raise the money they needed.
“Greg never seemed to be interested in the money part of things,” Wolfe said, pushing his chair back from the table. “As the company grew, we had to hire other scientists. Greg seemed perfectly happy to let someone else take care of hiring and firing. All he cared about was what he could see under a microscope.”
“But all that changed a couple of months back,” Sam cut in. “It seems that one of the other scientists came up with a cure for a disease called Ryse Virus.”
“Ryse Virus strikes young children— mostly kids living in poverty,” Wolfe explained. “Until recently, there was no cure. If a child became ill with the virus, well …” He shook his head sadly.
“But you say that your company had found a cure,” Sandy said.
Wolfe smiled and nodded. “This new drug means that children will no longer have to die from this horrible disease. We were just getting ready to start production for public use. And then— disaster!”