Saving Cecil

by Lee Mims

  “Good idea,” I said. I had another refrigerator and freezer out there so I never ran low on the important things in life. I was trying to remember what I had there that I could whip up for dinner when I suddenly had a bad thought and ran to catch Bud. Too late.

  He was already in the garage, standing in front of the minivan, his hands on his hips. “You’ve wrecked another car?”

  “What do you mean? It’s not wrecked,” I said indignantly. “I told you, I didn’t want to follow the green Toyota too far into the woods so I turned around and went back to the office where I could let my maps do the work for me.”

  “Where’d you turn around … inside a cement mixer?”

  “Har, har. Very funny,” I said, retrieving the beer from the fridge. Then I opened the freezer, grabbed a surefire subject changer and held it up.

  Bud’s eyes got big and round. “Homemade chicken pot pie?”

  Sunday was a busy day at the well. Jackie was cracking the whip on the crew as they tripped the strings of drilling pipe up out of the hole. They’d pull everything up, change the bit to a directional one, and then push it all back down again. Since we’d reached our kickoff point, the beginning of the gradual turn to the horizontal, we needed a directional bit. This process could take a few days. The good news: I didn’t have to feel guilty about going home once I’d caught up with last night’s samples. I needed to take care of some domestic chores.

  It would take about 500 vertical feet to complete the turn and hit our target horizon at the base of the Cumnock Formation. Once we were completely horizontal, we’d continue on for a quarter of a mile, about 1300 feet, and end the drilling part of this well. Casing, cementing, and perforation would take place after that, followed by a few days of fracking. All this, assuming no unforeseen problems arose, would take another week, more or less. Then, the well would become the domain of the production and reclamation people.

  I was making notes regarding a chip sample when Sara bopped into the trailer with a friend in tow. She introduced me to Mia, one of Luther and Ruby’s daughters. “Nice to meet you,” I said, noticing her Prada shoes and stylish Burberry sweater and muffler. “Are you in school with Sara at UNC?”

  “No ma’am,” said the beautiful child with the perfect manicure. “I’m at Brown.”

  “On scholarship,” said Sara. “Mia’s way smart!”

  “Oh, you stop now,” Mia said shyly. “It’s only a partial scholarship.”

  We chatted a short while until my iPhone rang. I checked the screen. It was Overmire. “I have to take this,” I said.

  “Okay, but first may we go out to the well and see what’s going on?”

  “Yes, but grab two of those hard hats by the door. Jackie is entering a new phase in our drilling plan. He’ll tell you all about it.”

  As they pulled the door closed behind them, I returned to my caller. “Mr. Overmire,” I said. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m afraid we’re going to have to change Lauderbach #2 yet again.”

  Was this guy using darts to pick wellsites? “How come?” I asked politely. “I thought your last change was well founded.”

  “And I think it could be a good site, it’s just that this new area shows even more potential.” He gave me the coordinates and I quickly located them.

  Oh, no. Say it ain’t so! Staring at the new wellhead site right on top of Cecil and the clay pit, I said, “Uh … let me make some on-the-ground observations and I’ll get right back to you.”

  “I’m leaving early today, it being Sunday and all. Wife wants me to go somewhere with her. Let me know as soon as you can if you find any problems.”

  I tapped my phone off. Great! Now I had to either make up a reason why the clay pit was a bad place for a gas well or find a better one. First things first, however. Right now I needed to get started doing what it took to run off a bunch of hog hunters. I pulled up Arthur Lauderbach’s number.

  He answered right away. “Hello, Cleo,” he said.

  “Hi, Arthur. I wonder if you could spare a few minutes to speak with me on a matter of some importance.”

  “Of course. Any time in particular?”

  “Now would be good.”

  “Oh my, I hope this isn’t bad news. I’m actually headed down to the barn. Annette is taking me. Could I meet you there?”

  I briefly wondered if Luther would be there. Didn’t matter. He’d have to be confronted sooner or later. “Yes,” I said. “That will be perfect. See you in a few.”

  I arrived at the barn ahead of the couple. I assumed Arthur had meant for me to meet him at the barn, which had a private office in it. Stepping inside to watch the goings on in a dairy barn on Sunday, it didn’t take long to realize that as with well drilling, the day of the week makes little difference in the workload. Several teenage boys were riding herd on the gaggle of Lauderbach boys I’d seen playing tag football not so long ago. The oldest of the boys—he looked to be about sixteen—shouted orders like Coach Bobby Knight. The kids in turn complained until he’d threaten them with life and limb. Finding an empty bucket, I placed it out of the nippy breeze that whipped around the gigantic open doors and sat down to watch their antics.

  One kid was making a complete mess, opening bags of feed supplements and pouring them into a mixing vat. “Hey, doofus!” shouted Coach. “Stop tearing those bags open and go get a knife from the feed room. There are several of them on the workbench.” Doofus darted off to follow orders.

  When he returned, I cringed to see the knife he’d been allowed to retrieve. It was an eight-inch fixed blade with a black plastic handle. I wondered if the wicked-looking curved blade, the top of which was serrated, was particularly useful around a cattle barn. Coach had said there were several of them.

  “Here she is, Arthur,” Annette Lauderbach said, pushing her husband’s wheelchair into the barn to meet me.

  “I can see that, lovey,” Arthur said with forced cheer. “I’m in a wheelchair because I’m physically, not mentally, incapacitated.”

  “Oh, now, don’t be such a grump, dear,” Annette said patiently. “And you’re only handicapped temporarily. It won’t be long before—”

  “Yes. Yes,” Arthur sighed, reaching back to pat her hand on his chair. “I know. It won’t be long.”

  Annette smiled at me. “He’s just a little miffed because Luther called and said he couldn’t be here today. He’s been absent rather a lot lately. In any event, unless Sara is here, Arthur has to pick up the slack. I don’t know where she is either.”

  “I think I might be able to shed some light on where Sara is,” I offered. “She and Mia are at the well, watching the new phase of operations.”

  “At least they’re not shopping!” Arthur laughed, some of his usual joviality returning. “Now what was it you wanted to see me about, my dear?”

  “Is there a place we can talk?” Half an hour later, I’d related everything I knew about the hog operation. To say they were appalled would be putting it mildly. They flatly refused to believe Luther would be disloyal to them in any way.

  “Luther’s daddy and his granddaddy worked for my father and grandfather,” Arthur sputtered. “It is inconceivable that he’d do anything so … so … ”

  “Cheesy,” Annette said. “Ungrateful. Entirely low-life. All of those things would be appropriate descriptions of such a scheme. Even though,” she patted Arthur’s shoulders in an attempt to calm him, “it’s probably not illegal. And, so what if he were doing something like that?”

  “What?” Arthur boomed, outraged she’d even consider it a possibility.

  “Calm down, dear! You’re going to have a stroke. I’m not saying he is. I’m merely pointing out that if he is, it isn’t illegal, he’s not hurting anything, and you know as well as I do, times are tough. He’s got kids in college too—”

  “Actually,” I interjected. “I
’m still looking into whether crossbreeding feral and domestic hogs is illegal, but I’m pretty sure it is and—”

  Arthur put his head in his hands, “Lovey,” he mumbled. “I don’t feel so well.”

  Alarmed, Annette felt Arthur’s cheek as though feeling a child for a fever. “This conversation is over,” she snapped, turning the wheelchair abruptly away from me. Then she stopped. “Cleo, I suggest you concern yourself with bringing in our very expensive well. Oh, and continue doing whatever is necessary to remove Clint’s fossil … ”

  “But that’s just the point. I can’t continue with the excavation if … ”

  Completely ignoring my protestations, Annette cut me off again, saying, “As for anything else that is or isn’t happening on this farm … well, I’ll keep your concerns in mind. But Luther doing anything potentially harmful to this family is completely out of the realm of possibility.”

  Well, that went well. I cranked the minivan, but sat for a few minutes before heading home. Clearly the Lauderbachs would be no help in ridding their farm of a pack of dangerous trophy hunters. In short, I was on my own. Well, maybe not entirely.

  I put the van in gear, then had a thought and called Bud. A plan was forming in my mind and it required his assistance. Most importantly it had nothing to do with trying to find Clinton’s murderer. I’d said I wouldn’t do that any more.

  I was just trying to provide a safe environment so my good friend Watson and his team of paleontologists could excavate Cecil. Besides, bad as I hated to admit it, Bud and I still had some issues from way back in our past that needed to be dealt with before we tied the knot again. Tackling this little clean-up job might be just the ticket to set us straight.

  SIXTEEN

  Tulip and I busied ourselves arranging a fall display of pumpkins and mums on the front porch until Bud got home. “Nice,” he said, admiring it from the yard after he arrived. He took the steps two at a time, then plopped down beside me on the top one and heaved a tired sigh. “I’ll sure be glad when we’re married again,” he said.

  “Me too,” I said, snuggling under his shoulder. “Any special reason?”

  “Well, laundry comes to mind. No one can fold T-shirts like you … Ouch!” he grinned at me and grabbed his wounded pectoral muscle. “That’s going to leave a bruise.”

  “Serves you right,” I laughed. “Come inside. I’ve got something that’ll make you feel much better.” Bud’s grin turned wicked.

  A few minutes later, scooping hot crab dip onto a chip, he groused, “Well, not quite what I had in mind, but tasty.”

  “Thanks,” I said, offering Tulip a chip, sans dip. Now it was my turn to heave a heavy sigh.

  He gave me a concerned look. “I know you didn’t call me over here for chips and dip. What’s up?”

  I took a deep breath, “Since I started this job on the Lauderbach farm, everything reminds me of our past. How we … well, how we started life together in such a traumatic way … ”

  “I wouldn’t exactly call it traumatic.”

  “You don’t call my dad getting arrested for murder and you having to hire a lawyer for him, the father of a young girl you barely knew, traumatic? Not to mention—”

  “In the first place,” Bud interrupted, “I didn’t have to do anything, and secondly, I knew you plenty well. I knew I loved you from the moment I saw you that day, standing by the drill rig, all tall, and willowy … ”

  “Not to mention,” I continued, “you having to literally put me back together when Mom died. I couldn’t even function, I was so afraid … ”

  “You’ve never been afraid of anything in your life. Anyway, while all that might have been a tad traumatic for you, it wasn’t for me.” Bud smiled, then added, “Turns out it was all just preparation for living with you.”

  “See,” I said, the pressure of truth causing me to stand and pace. “You keep making light of the way things really were, but face it, Bud. My dad blackmailed me into marrying you and you went along with it because you felt sorry for me—”

  “I never did any such thing!” Bud boomed indignantly. Tulip whined.

  “Bud!” I snapped back while giving Tulip a reassuring pat on the head. “I need to say this. Please, hear me out. I might have been a pretty young girl with a big education, but I was a nobody from nowhere with a dad facing a murder charge and possibly a death sentence. Not exactly what your folks, Mr. and Mrs. Pre-Revolutionary Blueblood, had in mind. You felt sorry for me and I, well, I would never have considered marrying you if my dad hadn’t made me.”

  The look of hurt on Bud’s face was not what I wanted. I wasn’t handling this well at all. “Are you saying you never loved me?”

  “No. Yes. I mean, no, not at the time.” Silence fell between us until I continued. “As I said, we were polar opposites socially, but more than that, I couldn’t feel anything but intense fear at that time. Fear like I’ve never experienced in my life before or since. And, no, I didn’t love you then but I did later. But it was later, Bud. Much later. I got pregnant immediately after we married. I was so young, so immature, so unprepared for children. And I didn’t want to give up my career. Trying to do both … ”

  “You were a great mother, Cleo,” Bud said softly.

  Suddenly I felt very tired. “Yes,” I exhaled deeply. “I was a good mother. But that’s just the point, don’t you see? I gave them and my work everything and you got what was left. Looking back, you never got all of me in any sense. Our marriage was unfair and unbalanced. What I’m trying to say is, I’m so sorry. You deserved so much more … ”

  “Clearly you’ve forgotten all the times I had to dash off unexpectedly and leave you alone to cope the best you could.”

  “It was still one-sided … ”

  “I never asked for more or expected it,” Bud cut in. “Life is what it is and I was glad for any little bit of you I could get. But, let’s go back to the blackmail thing. Maybe that’s why you’re having such a hard time getting your dad to come home for our wedding. I hope you don’t let him know you call his insistence that you marry me before he’d agree to let me help him with a good lawyer, blackmail.”

  “I don’t know what he thinks,” I said dismally.

  “He was just being a good father,” Bud said solemnly. “Try to put yourself in his place. With your mom suddenly gone and him quite possibly going to jail for life … or worse … it was only natural for him to take any and all means available to protect you. Any fool could see how crazy in love with you I was. He saw that love as a means to get you to a safe place, being my wife. Of course I happily agreed to his terms. You were the one in the middle, not me. Turns out, in order to get your dad out of a jam, you had to agree to marry someone you didn’t love. I think you got the sharp end of that stick.”

  “No, Bud, you did, ” I insisted, as my emotions finally got the better of me. Tears pooled. My chin trembled. I turned away and said. “It’s important to me that we start out this time knowing that we’re marrying for one reason and one reason only.”

  Bud stood up behind me and put his arms around my waist. “And the reason?”

  “Just plain old love,” I said.

  “Sounds like a plan,” he said, carrying me upstairs to my bedroom. Tulip opted for a snooze on the couch in her favorite afternoon sunbeam.

  Much later, pulling rumpled sheets around me, I sat up in bed. “Say, Bud,” I said.

  “Uh-oh,” he smiled. “Two words that strike terror in my heart.”

  “Two words?”

  “‘Say, Bud,’” he mocked me in falsetto voice. “But go ahead. What were you about to say?”

  “That I need your help.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Well, remember that guy that used to live down the street from us with the wild animal trophies on the wall in his den?”

  “Jack Newsom,” Bud answered quickly. �
�Dr. Jack Newsom. Heart specialist. Moved his practice to Cary. Built a big stone house over off Kildare Farm Road. Why?”

  “Well, I was wondering if you would mind calling him. Maybe chat for a while about big game. Maybe let him think you’ve become a big game hunter, too, and you are just dying to kill a local wild boar.”

  “Oh, I see where this is going … ”

  “All I want you to do is find out if he’s heard anything about clandestine trophy hunts on the Lauderbach farm. If he hasn’t, maybe he knows someone who has.”

  Bud squinted. “I’m afraid to ask, but why do you need me to do this little acting job?”

  I described my visit to the Lauderbachs and their reaction to Luther’s having anything to do with a hog operation or a trophy hunting scheme. Then I pointed out to him I wasn’t trying to solve a murder case, but instead, making a safe environment for extracting Cecil from his 250-million year old rock bed.

  “You may remember,” I said, pulling my clothes back on, “that Watson’s due in on Friday. Five days from now. Works out good for me time wise since I’m not needed on the site while the crew is busy changing to a directional bit. I was thinking maybe I—or we—could catch them in action. Then Chris could bring in the wildlife people and they’d put a stop to it.”

  “Your reasoning makes sense,” Bud said. “And it doesn’t sound dangerous to either one of us, so I’ll get up with him as soon as I can. But do tell, how do we catch them in action?”

  “I haven’t thought that far yet.”

  In the days following our confrontation with the past, I had scant time to spend with Bud. Tuesday afternoon I took the opportunity of downtime at the well and headed east to the coastal plain to do a small piece of consulting work. Bud still had to take care of a backlog of office paperwork that had piled up while he was in Greece.

  Following a bathroom break, I was heading back into a conference room at one of the leading banks in New Bern. I was about to finish my report on the geologic structures underlying a proposed shopping center out on Highway 70 when I got a call from my son. Hoping it wasn’t a wedding-related problem, I took a minute to answer it.