Taking On Lucinda

by Frank Martorana

  “With his left hand? You ever see Aaron do anything with his left hand?”

  “No.”

  “Me either. And I’ve seen him shoot too. He hit what he wanted to hit.”

  Merrill didn’t respond.

  “So what’s up with the other shot? Do they figure he missed altogether with one shot?”

  “They have no explanation for that. Yet.”

  “Yet? Meaning the investigation continues.”

  “Kent, like I said, it’s a small force. No money. And a lot of odd, unexplained things happen in a suicide.”

  “So they’re still calling it a suicide? Aaron was a cop, your boss, for a long time. What are you calling it?”

  Merrill’s eyes narrowed, he looked straight at Kent. “I’m calling it open.”

  Sally cast an uncomfortable look back and forth between the brothers. “The sixty-four thousand dollar question is what he was doing on the launch at ten o’clock at night.”

  Chapter 7

  Kent felt the old determination coming back. It was exhilarating. It was the attitude that had drawn people to him. When the passion disappeared, so had everything else. He was ready to get his meeting with Fairbanks under way. Was she behind the anonymous note to Sally?

  He had agreed to pick her up where she was staying, the Red Horse Inn, and then find someplace for lunch where they could talk.

  The inn was one of Jefferson’s oldest establishments, with historical society documents dating it back to before the French and Indian War. Three stories of colonial red brick, even rows of windows flanked with black shutters, it was a massive building for its day. Over the years, the thoroughfare had been widened and rewidened to accommodate larger, more modern vehicles, until now, the elegant structure sat almost on the curb with barely enough room for its signpost and seven stone steps.

  In the lobby, the desk clerk greeted him. “Hi, Doc.” He didn’t bother to inquire Kent’s business. “It’ll be a minute. Ms. Fairbanks asked that I buzz her when you arrived.”

  The lobby smelled faintly of oil soap and polish. Wood floorboards creaked under Kent’s feet through rich oriental carpets. On high, plastered walls, between twelve-over-twelve windows, hung larger than life portraits of a half-dozen of Jefferson’s forefathers. He was squinting to read the brass plate beneath one when he heard soft steps on the center stairs that descended from the rooms above.

  Aubrey Fairbanks paused on the landing and scanned below her like a hunting panther. She wore an oversized sea-green sweatshirt that was fronted with the Greenpeace logo. A whale breached in the rolling surf created by her breasts. Her eyes had softened some since the Copithorn rally but still showed a glint that said all business. Her presence filled the room. She padded catlike down the stairs.

  “Nice to see you again,” he said, and he sort of meant it. He extended his hand, and she shook it. Her grip was firm.

  Movement behind Aubrey drew Kent’s eyes to a dark-haired, middle-school-aged boy, gangly now but destined to be tall and athletic. He was wearing baggy jeans and a T-shirt that commemorated Pink Floyd’s The Wall tour, Los Angeles Memorial Sports Arena, February 8, 1980. Kent studied the gray-blue eyes that dominated the boy’s face and knew before Aubrey could say so that they were of the same bloodline. She encircled the boy in an arm and drew him around in front of her.

  “Dr. Stephenson, this is my son, Barry. Do you mind if he joins us today? I know you mentioned a one-on-one meeting, but I’d like to have him along. His allergies are acting up.”

  Barry twisted from under his mother’s wing, uncomfortable at the betrayal of his frailty. “Mom!” His expression was a mix of youthful intelligence and boredom at having to endure yet another meeting with adults.

  Kent smiled. Saw himself in the boy. “No problem at all. There’s plenty of room.” Barry’s hand had his mother’s soft warmth and firmness.

  Kent led them toward the door. “Any preference where we eat? Of course, you don’t know the area, but what do you like?”

  Aubrey glanced at her son. Her eyes again flashed maternal concern.

  “That’s part of the reason I asked if Barry could join us. His diet has been off for the last few days. I know that’s contributing to his allergy flare-up.”

  Kent’s medically trained eye detected nothing about the boy that suggested allergies or any other infirmity.

  “We’re vegans,” Aubrey said.

  “Vegans?”

  “Absolute vegetarians. It’s hard to eat right on the road.”

  “No problem.” Kent said for the second time and mentally scrapped the list of possible restaurants he’d compiled. “There’s a place you might like a town over called the Wheat Sepal. It’s a pretty drive.”

  At his truck, Kent asked, “You mind hopping in the back, Barry?”

  “Nope.” The boy pulled open the door as Lucinda sat up. “Holy crap!” Barry jumped and slammed the door. “I didn’t expect to see that dog!” he said, trying to disguise his shock.

  “Her name is Lucinda,” Kent said. “She wouldn’t hurt a flea. I should have warned you, sorry. I guess I just think of her as another person.”

  Barry gave his mother a questioning glance.

  Aubrey fired a look at Kent. “That’s right. You own a dog. I remember seeing her at the Copithorn rally.”

  “She’s totally friendly. Loves everyone.”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “She’s clean. Gets a bath every few weeks.”

  “That is not the point either!”

  “All right, I’ll bite. What is the point?”

  “Like I said at Copithorn. We condemn pet ownership in any form.”

  “If I’d thought about it, I would have left her at home. It’s just that she goes everywhere with me.”

  “That dog will make Barry’s allergies worse.”

  Kent was struggling for a way to break the deadlock when Barry opened the truck door again and pushed Lucinda back.

  “Mom, I’m okay,” he said with a let-it-rest tone. “I don’t mind riding with a dog. She just surprised me. That’s all.”

  “Thanks, Barry. Lucinda, get over on your own side.” Kent pushed the delighted canine over to make room.

  Aubrey made a show of opening her window. “Keep your window cracked, Barry. I want you to get plenty of fresh air.”

  “Mom!”

  They drove through the rural upstate New York countryside—rolling hills rife with the fall smells of lakes and leaves, fresh-spread manure from dairy farms, and unpicked apples fermenting in the orchards.

  “Pretty country,” Aubrey said. “Southern California is dust dry this time of year.”

  Kent scanned the terrain. “Sort of a harmony we have here—dairy farms using animals to give us milk and cheese, intermingled with orchards giving us the fruit we need.” The second he said it he wished he hadn’t. He sounded like a rep for the department of tourism.

  But Aubrey looked at him with raised eyebrows, as if she had not expected such insight from this man. Her expression softened a little. “Interesting observation.”

  They rounded a bend that was like a dozen others they had traveled. But this time Kent lifted his foot off the accelerator. The decrease in speed caused Aubrey and Barry to perk up. They looked ahead for some obstacle in the road, saw nothing unusual, and turned to Kent for an explanation. He was staring at a simple log cabin half-hidden by spruce trees, a hundred yards off the road. Beyond was Cuyler Lake.

  “What’s that place?” Aubrey asked.

  Kent turned his head to hold his view of the cabin as the truck eased past. “An old friend lived there.”

  She scanned the cabin’s meager landscaping. “Lawn needs mowing.”

  “He died recently.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  “The lawn usually needed mo
wing even when he was alive.”

  “Let me guess. He spent all his time hunting and fishing?”

  “Exactly,” Kent said with satisfaction.

  “How did he die?”

  “We don’t know yet.” There was an edge on his voice that signaled the subject was not for discussion.

  Aubrey caught it, stared at him a moment, and then let the subject drop.

  “The Wheat Sepal,” Barry read from his menu as the trio squeezed around a tiny table in the little restaurant. “Now, that sounds like LA.”

  It made Kent chuckle.

  Decor was sixties—the furnishings were clean but secondhand—attic and auction stuff. Nothing matched. Surprising to Kent, almost every table was occupied. “I’ve never eaten here, but they’ve got a pretty good reputation.”

  Aubrey spoke without looking up from her menu. “Lots of good choices. Finally. I’m starving. Barry, this should suit you too.”

  “That’s a relief,” Kent said into his napkin.

  Aubrey and Barry ordered things foreign to Kent and seemed satisfied with their choices. Kent ordered spanakopita at Aubrey’s suggestion and a takeout order of tabbouleh. The vegetables in filo were better than he expected. He let the tabbouleh sit next to his plate in its cardboard carton.

  When he sensed the effects of the meal had improved his odds, he broached the reason for their meeting. “So, tell me about FOAM.”

  Aubrey seemed reluctant to break back to business. She set down her fork and chewed a moment, getting back into character. “Well, we’re California-based, as I’m sure you are aware. Hollywood, to be exact.”

  Kent did not stifle his smirk adequately.

  “Hollywood is the center for a lot of progressive thinking.”

  “More like the center for a lot of high-profile people with too much money.”

  “If that’s what you want to believe, I’m sure I won’t be able to convince you otherwise.”

  “Sorry. I’m listening. Go ahead.”

  Aubrey started again. “FOAM is a group of individuals bound by the philosophy that, among other things, all animals are entitled to the same rights as feebleminded humans.”

  Kent marveled at how she could maintain such a self-assured air while making what he considered such an asinine statement. A voice inside Kent’s head whispered, Zealot, zealot, zealot.

  “We promote religious traditions of earlier times, the Earth Mother, the Matrix-Creatrix, Gaia, Pan, Diana. Man linked as an integral component to the rest of the animal kingdom.”

  Kent closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as if warding off a headache. “That’s an easy position for the ultrawealthy of Hollywood to take. It is a very unsettling thought for any of us who understand and love animals. We get it that mankind needs their sacrifice for our food, clothing, and recreation.”

  “Like we really need to eat meat. And zoos? Horse racing? Dog racing? Rodeos? You could live without them. Easily.”

  Kent shook his head. “Not easily.” He paused. “Then there is the matter of animals in research.”

  “Research can be done with computer models.”

  “That is simply not true. Control of diseases from smallpox to diphtheria and a hundred others occurred because of animal testing.”

  “They did not have computers back then.”

  Barry cleared his throat loudly, and simultaneously both adults remembered he was there.

  “Sorry, Barry. We kind of got caught up. Didn’t mean to leave you out.” Kent searched for a neutral topic to include the boy. Finally he said, “I guess you get to travel a lot. That’s got to be fun, right?”

  “I’ve been on every continent except Antarctica.”

  “I bet not many kids in your school can say that.”

  “I’m homeschooled, which is probably the weirdest thing about me. At least most other kids think so. Except the ones who think being a vegan is more weird.”

  Kent gave his no-big-deal look. “Where’s your house?”

  “Anaheim. It’s a great house. Big. Lots of rooms and a pool.” The boy’s expression became wistful. “Seems like we’ve been away for a long time.”

  “Judging from your shirt, you’re into music, huh?”

  “Yeah. I collect a lot of tapes, and I’ve been to more rock concerts than any kid I know.”

  “That’s for sure,” Aubrey said it with a smile.

  “What about sports?”

  “Basketball mostly.”

  “Lakers?”

  “UCLA Bruins.”

  “Maybe someday they’ll play Syracuse in the NCAA tournament.”

  “They your team?”

  “Of course. Go Orange!”

  Barry snickered. “I feel sorry for you. The Bruins are back. Syracuse is flat.”

  Kent’s eyebrows squirmed into a wave of indignation. “No way!” He took a sip of his coffee, studied the boy. His thoughts drifted away from sports. “You like being a…what is it…vegan…vegetarian, or whatever?”

  “It’s okay. I’ve been one my whole life.”

  “Don’t have much to compare to then, do you?”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Kent saw Aubrey’s posture become more rigid. The she-bear guarding her cub.

  “Mom is one, so I became one. I never really felt like I missed anything, if that’s what you mean.” He remembered something and laughed. “Plus there was Mom’s Otis story.” He looked at Aubrey as if this was her cue. “Tell it, Mom.”

  Aubrey shook her head. “Not now, Barry.”

  “Come on, Mom.”

  She started to protest again and then sighed. “What the heck?”

  Kent pushed back in his chair and crossed his arms, settling in for a story. The soft light and mismatched furnishings made her look more childlike than Barry.

  “I guess I need to set the scene for you with a little background on my early home life. My parents were killed in a car accident when I was about the age Barry is now—somewhere out on those Iowa highways where everyone drives a hundred miles an hour. I have a mental image of them, but I’m not sure how much is true memory and how much is from pictures I’ve seen and stories I’ve heard. After that, I went to live with my father’s brother’s family outside of Des Moines.”

  She let out a little laugh that was an unsuccessful attempt to hide the emotions that went with the memories.

  “I didn’t fit in very well. They were rugged farmers, heavily into football and tractor pulls. I was from the city. Uncle Walt always believed my mother had taken advantage of my dad’s post-Korea blues and led him down the primrose path.” She made a gesture like Kent should understand. “She was an actress and a real knockout.”

  She paused a long moment. “I reminded Uncle Walt of my mother, and he was going to make sure I followed the straight and narrow.”

  Barry reached over and took a gentle hold of his mother’s arm. “Mom, don’t tell it so sad. That’s not what I wanted. Tell it funny. You know, like you used to when I was little.”

  Aubrey rolled her eyes to the ceiling, and released a calming breath. She started again, only this time there was a much more musical tone to her voice, and Kent warmed to it.

  “Anyway, in case you didn’t already know, in Iowa, meat is a really big thing. Beef, poultry, you name it, but especially pork. My Uncle Walt mostly grew corn and soybeans, but for a cash crop he had a couple hundred hogs. And,” she shook her head as if the thought of it amazed her even after all these years, “like all good Iowa kids, my two cousins, William and Oakley, and I belonged to 4-H and raised a pig each year to show. One year I made the mistake of naming mine. Otis. Things were never the same after that. It became a Charlotte’s Web kind of relationship.”

  Aubrey glanced at Kent. “You know the old rule: Never name anything you intend to eat.”

  “Oh
, boy,” he said.

  Aubrey nodded. “Otis did all right at the fair, but not good enough to get a stay of execution. So sure enough, when fall came around, and I was dreading it, I saw Uncle Walt and the boys setting up the meat hooks and the vat in the barn. I spent the whole rest of the afternoon with Otis. I didn’t even come in for supper. My cousins couldn’t believe it. Finally, Aunt Margaret came and got me at bedtime. But at first light I was right back out there. I know Aunt Margaret felt bad for me, but she and I both knew it would be hopeless to argue with Uncle Walt.”

  Aubrey sighed deeply and gestured with palms up. “That afternoon when I got home from school, I ran straight out to Otis’s pen, and he and about ten of his pals were gone.”

  There was a grievous silence.

  Finally Kent said, “That’s a sad story.”

  “It is, except that’s not the end. I think all kids go through that to some degree at some time. But what really locked me in as a vegan was the incessant teasing from my cousins. Every time we had pork, which was often, William and Oakley would start mock crying for Otis or say something else to hurt my feelings. I wanted to just run away from the table, but Uncle Walt was a firm believer in thanking God for all the bounty he’d given us by not wasting any. I had to sit there until I ate every bit of food on my plate, including Otis. It was awful.”

  Aubrey mustered a laugh for Barry’s sake.

  “That’s how I became a vegan. I’ve stayed one and promoted it ever since because, with time, I recognized there are a lot of more important reasons for not eating meat. Even more important than Otis.”

  Her tone had such finality to it that it effectively brought their meal to a close.

  “And that’s the Otis story,” Barry said.

  Kent guessed the boy had heard countless versions of the sordid tale since he was old enough to sit still. The pathos was gone now for him. It was just another funny family story. Kent signaled the waiter for their check.

  “Let’s go ride around some more. See the sights of Jefferson.”

  Aubrey seemed relieved at the suggestion.