Saving Cecil

by Lee Mims

  I sat on the edge of my desk and gave her a lopsided smile. “Wow. You would be a different kind of reporter.” She looked a little like I’d hurt her feelings, so I added. “It’s a very laudable goal and I hope you succeed.”

  “Oh, I know I will. I have lots of arguments with professors and often they grade me lower because I don’t take the liberal view on whatever issue I’ve been asked to write on, but I don’t care. I just keep on. One day, they’ll take me seriously. I’ll teach them how important it is to only report the facts and let the public draw their own conclusions. After all, that’s what the news used to be all about.”

  “Yes, it was. But that was way back before the earth cooled and I was just a girl … ”

  “ … Global warming is a perfect example,” she interrupted determinedly, “I wrote a paper on it last semester … ”

  “Sara,” I interrupted, hoping to steer the conversation away from political issues and where I’d wanted it to go in the first place: to my question about Clinton Baker. I said, “Here’s my suggestion. Make sure your sources are impeccable and your facts are accurate. Then stick to your guns. If you do that, you will be happy and, in the end, that’s the top prize, being happy. Maybe for your next paper, pick a subject that’s not so controversial, huh?”

  “Hell—I mean, heck no! I’m writing on fracking. And it’ll be just what you said, based on accurate facts, and I’ll remain neutral. Only this time, those facts will be first-hand knowledge straight from the horse’s mouth.”

  Great! “And the horse?” I asked pointing to myself.

  “Yes ma’am!” She beamed. “This is gonna be so cool!”

  Yeah, cool. “Say, Sara, not to change the subject, but what was Clinton’s major. If you don’t mind talking about him, that is.”

  “No, I don’t mind. For a while when we first started classes in the general college, Clinton fell in with the far-left views. I was surprised because they were so different from how our families raised us. But, over time, he began to come to soften his views.

  “So, he had a transition of sorts?”

  “You could say that. He’d started dating a girl from NC State who was in the forestry program. She let him know in no uncertain terms that trees are a renewable resource and not “living things with feelings.” They broke up later. The distance thing, you know. She was from the Pacific Northwest. Anyway, she changed his thinking. He started studying paleontology second semester sophomore year and fell in love with it. According to him, paleontology answered all the mysteries of the universe! He has—had—been into fossils ever since. It kind of served another need in him too.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, he always despised the religious sector of the far right. Bible thumpers, he called them. He couldn’t in his wildest imagination see how anyone could not believe in evolution. Paleontology allowed him to fly in the face of the creationists every day. He was seriously into transition fossils, those that show a distinct link between two phases of the same creature. He’d go onto creationists’ blog sites and talk about his latest examples of how evolution worked. He’d really get some heated comments flying his way, but he loved it. Fed on it, really. The nastier the better.”

  Sara sniffed and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. Tulip, noticing Sara’s demeanor had changed, sat up and leaned against her. She smiled and wrapped an arm around Tulip. “What a neat dog,” she said. “What’s her name again?”

  “Tulip,” I said. “And you’re right. She is a neat dog.” My stomach growled about that time, letting me know I needed to find some grub for both Tulip and me. I stood up and threw my soda can in the trash. Sara did likewise and headed for the door.

  “So you’re going to help me with my fracking paper?”

  “I’m glad to help you anyway I can,” I said. “Especially since I know I can count on you to only present the facts, stay neutral, and let folks draw their own conclusions.”

  I waved to her as she drove away, then went back to work. Before leaving today, I still had to finish analyzing my samples, clean up the office, and go over a few things with Jackie and the crew to make sure we were still on schedule.

  Those things took me longer than I anticipated and it was dark as I prepared to leave the site. It was eight thirty, actually, but I didn’t have anyone at home to worry about. Then, because I’m compulsively tidy, I emptied the office trash into the garbage can beside the stoop. Jackie pulled up in his pickup. He powered down his window and called, “Everything looks to be running smooth on the seven to three shift so I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “You will,” I said and waved as he pulled away.

  I decided to find dinner on the way home. Hopefully it would be more nourishing than the fast-food burgers Tulip and I had woofed down at lunch. Then I remembered a small country restaurant on the outskirts of Sanford that served good down-home meals and offered takeout. I couldn’t remember the name, so I couldn’t call ahead, but I didn’t mind waiting. One of the perks of not being married is making plans on the fly. I sure was going to miss that.

  I pulled up to the Spring Chicken Restaurant—how could I forget that name—and went inside where I gave the waitress my order for a blue plate special to go, then sat at the counter to wait.

  “Well, hello,” said a cheery voice to my left. I executed a half turn on the spinning lunch-counter-style stool and looked into a familiar face. Where had I seen this pretty boy? Then I remembered, but still struggled for the name.

  SIX

  “Detective Sergeant … uh … ” I clicked my fingers like doing so would improve my memory.

  “Oh, man,” pretty boy laughed. “My mother told me no one could ever forget this face. She lied!”

  “No. No, she didn’t,” I said, stalling for time and not wanting to let his mother down—bless her heart for raising such a gorgeous creature.“DetectiveseargentChrisBryant!” I said, smacking down my palm: the winner!

  “Correct! For a seven-day, all-inclusive trip to Hawaii … or a blue plate special, whichever arrives first in the next ten minutes,” he said, adding, “and please, call me Chris.”

  “Okay, Chris,” I laughed. “Since I don’t expect a courier with a ticket to Hawaii to bust through that door, I guess I’ll have to settle for the blue plate special. But you don’t have to pay for my meal, detective. In fact, I should be buying yours, you being a prince of the court and defender of the people.”

  “No way. I could never eat dinner with a beautiful woman and let her pick up the tab.”

  “Well, thank you, anyway,” I said, enjoying his compliment. “But actually I’ve already ordered takeout. My dog is in the car and she gets cranky if she doesn’t get fed.”

  The waitress who’d been washing dishes a few feet from us squeezed out her greasy dishrag, walked over, and stood in front of us.

  We lifted our arms off the counter so she could give it a good swipe. “You can bring your dog in, honey,” she said. “It’s almost closing time. Besides it’s just you two in here and I know the county inspector real well … he’s my husband so he won’t be causing no trouble. I can feed your pooch too. No charge. I’ve got a big bag of dog chow in the back where I keep Buddy. He guards the place at night. You wouldn’t believe the bums that try to break in here and steal my steaks. Why, I can tell you stories … ”

  “Gosh, Wilma, that’s very kind of you to feed Miss Cooper’s dog,” interrupted Detective Bryant as he took my elbow and steered me toward a booth next to the wall. “That way she and I can talk without bothering you.”

  “Okay, Chris,” Wilma said dryly. “I can take a hint.” Then, to me: “Seriously, hon. Go on and git your dog. It won’t be no trouble.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I know she’s getting hungry. It has been a long day for her.” I retrieved Tulip and considered my luck for the second time today. Dinner with a handsome young m
an—I’m getting married, not having a frontal lobotomy—who just happened to be investigating a case I was very interested in solving. Especially since I was the lead suspect.

  Wilma placed a gigantic bowl of chow—Buddy-sized, I imagined—beside our booth. Tulip dug in. “I’ll be back with your dinners in a few,” she said and sped away on crepe-soled shoes, her ample derriere twitching back and forth furiously beneath her white waitress dress.

  “So tell me,” Chris said. “What’s a fancy, big-city woman geologist like you doing in a small town like Sanford?”

  Though I wasn’t wearing reading glasses, I crossed my arms on the table, leaned over, and gave him a look like I was. “Same thing a small town detective like you is doing. Making a living. Besides, you already know from taking my statement, I’m working here.”

  He gave me a thousand-kilowatt smile and said, “Of course I do, I’m just messing with you. But it is nice to know—by your ringless finger and the fact you have to work for a living—that I don’t have to worry about a rich husband busting my chops for spending an evening with you.”

  I burst out laughing. “Getting out over your skis a little, aren’t you? You’re having dinner with me, not spending an evening, and no, I don’t have a rich husband.” Well, not for several weeks, anyway. “Besides, I have a hard-and-fast rule about younger men.”

  “Younger? You can’t be a day older than me and I’m 32. But, do tell, what’s your rule?”

  “Never again.”

  “Ah … again. Now there’s a word I can work with.” Wilma brought our water and utensils.

  “No you can’t,” I said, smiling in spite of myself. This guy was obviously a player, but I had to give it to him. He seemed to be an honest player. Behind the fast-and-loose exterior, he was probably a genuinely nice guy. Of course, I’d been fooled before. Thus the reason for the newly in-place, hard-and-fast rule. Well, that and the getting married thing. I took a sip of water. “But I am surprised at your attempt at … flirting, charming though it was.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Seriously, is this some new method of interrogation for murder suspects?”

  Chris screwed up his splendid face. “Huh?”

  “I mean, as I understand it, I’m suspect number one in the murder of Clinton Baker.”

  “Who in the world told you a crazy thing like that?”

  “Your sheriff,” I said.

  The detective leaned back against the bench and bumped the salt shaker between his index fingers. “Oh … him. Well, that makes sense.”

  “What makes sense?”

  “The crazy part. Look … ” Chris paused, chewed his bottom lip, then said, “I take that back. I don’t have anything bad to say about our sheriff. We just have a different view on how an investigation ought to be conducted … ”

  Wilma laid out the specials—country-style steak, mashed potatoes, green beans, and rolls. Meanwhile, under our table, Tulip chomped and gobbled, pushing her bowl across the floor until it smacked against the wall.

  Chris smiled, gave an inquisitive peak under the table, then raised his water glass. “Bon appetite,” he said. We both busied ourselves with our meals for a while and I offered no further information, just waited to see what he had to add. Finally he continued, saying, “You know...it is odd. Sheriff was there when I took statements from you and your crew. He didn’t have much to say then. Has he talked to you since?”

  “Oh yeah. And he was very clear on why I am his number one.”

  “Why?”

  “Motive and opportunity. He thinks I’m invested as a partner with the Lauderbachs on their well. Plus, since I found the body, in his mind, I was obviously there when he died.”

  “Huh?” Chris puzzled. “I went to the Division of Land Resources at NCDENR—North Carolina Department of Energy and Natural Resources—and looked up the permits for that well. All investors and partners have to be listed … by law. There was no mention of you. You aren’t some kind of silent partner are you?”

  “No. I’m not invested with that well in any way. I’m just a hired employee and I told him so, but he doesn’t seem to want to listen.”

  “He does have a point on the opportunity thing. Sometimes the person who finds a body is in some way connected. But since I did a thorough search on you and found no connection with the victim, I counted you out right away. I gave all this to the sheriff in a report. I can’t imagine why he’s wasting time looking at you.”

  “Again, the word crazy comes to mind. And what do you mean, you did a thorough search on me?”

  “Now, now, remember. We’re talking about my boss. And, yes, I Googled you. Very impressive. All those degrees and published papers. Not much there in the way of personal information, though … ”

  I ignored his attempt to illicit such information because I was still processing his having Googled me. Chris continued, “You know, all this could be cleared up with an alibi. County coroner says the stabbing wound did so much damage, he probably went unconscious relatively fast even though it took a while to bleed out. Maybe up to two hours.”

  “Jeez,” I said, shaking my head sadly.

  “So if you have someone that could vouch for your whereabouts during the two hours before he died at 11:14 a.m., that’d put you in the clear with the sheriff.”

  “That would be difficult unless you want to help me find a very large wild boar.” Chris blinked his startling blue eyes, waiting for an explanation. “Truth is, I was up a tree during those hours. The same one I took you and the sheriff to. The boar chased me up there, but I didn’t want to admit it because normally I would’ve had my Beretta 380 and blown him into barbeque.” I shrugged. “For some reason, I didn’t bring it that day.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t worry, unless you’re the real murderer, of course.”

  “Why not?” I said, pushing my plate away.

  Chris wiped his lips politely with his paper napkin and tucked it under the heavy crockery plate. “Because I’m going to find the real murderer. I’m like a Mountie. I always get my man.”

  “You have a record?”

  “Yes. I got my illustrious start in the military, and without delving into my background I can tell you I’ve had many years of experience with the worst of the worst and, again, I’ve never missed my man … or woman.”

  “Well, that’s good to know. And, thank you for your service, by the way, and the meal. Now I’ve got to go.”

  “Just one more thing. When you said the sheriff said you had a motive, money invested in the well, what did that have to do with Baker?”

  “Oh, yeah, good question. I asked that too. He said Baker was an active environmentalist and was planning to stop drilling by staging a rally and fracking protest in front of the Legislature building in Raleigh. Said he was the leader of a group of young environmentalists. I checked it out. Went to UNC myself and talked to people in the department and he wasn’t even an IE student.”

  The detective raised his glossy black eyebrows.

  “Institute for the Environment,” I said, answering his unspoken question. “Then earlier this evening, I talked to Sara Lauderbach, his best friend—I imagine she knows him better than anyone—and she said he had no interest in environmental issues anymore. In fact, she said he’d changed his major long ago to paleo.”

  Chris sat up stiffly. “You’ve been running around asking questions about the victim? Why?”

  “Because your cra … your boss said I was the prime suspect, of course. I’ve got to do something to protect myself.”

  “No you don’t!” he said, raising his voice. I instantly stood and Wilma looked up from her mopping across the room. “Sorry,” he corrected himself immediately and stood. “But this is my job and your poking around could jeopardize my case. But, thanks for trying to help.”

  “No problem,” I said. “And thanks again for dinn
er.”

  After settling Tulip in the cargo area, I got behind the wheel just as Chris finished paying the tab and made it out of the restaurant. “Listen,” he said, leaning into my window. “I really enjoyed dinner. Maybe we can do it again sometime.”

  “Well … ” I figured now was as good a time as any to set him straight on my lack of availability.

  But before I did, he said, “Good, glad we got that straight, Miss Cooper.” He tapped the door as he strode off, calling over his shoulder. “Remember what I said. No more detective work!”

  My iPhone woke me Tuesday morning before my alarm went off. “Hey, sleepy head,” chirped Bud.

  “Hey, yourself,” I yawned, checking the clock: 6:30. “Where are you?”

  “Funny you should ask,” he said. “I’m in Athens.”

  “Yeah? What’s going on in Georgia,” I asked, knowing it was probably something to do with one of the family’s textile mills down there.

  “Athens … as in Greece, actually.”

  I sat up. “What?” I sputtered. “You didn’t tell me you were going to Greece. You mean Greece as in the Mediterranean Sea, azure blue skies, and all the ouzo you can drink?”

  “Yep. That’s the place. Sorry, babe, but some things came up over here … an opportunity I couldn’t pass up. There was no time for, well, for all the planning it would take to bring you with me. But we’ll do it someday, I promise. Gotta go right now, though. It’s two a.m. here and I’ve got an eight a.m. meeting. Opportunity calls!”

  “Just as long as opportunity isn’t wearing a thong bikini … or topless,” I said into a dead line. Tulip opened one eye and stared at me from her curled-up position in an overstuffed arm chair. “Don’t give me that look. One thing I know about my Bud. He always prefers home cooking.”

  I got up, removed the protective cover from the upstairs doggy door that opened onto the master deck. She hopped through it and trotted down the stairs to the backyard, and I jumped in the shower.