Money Creek

by Anne Laughlin

  “I think I heard of a fellow falling through the gate into a lagoon.”

  The three attorneys sat up straight. “You mean someone other than the plaintiff?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you remember when this was?” Clare said, her pen poised over her notepad.

  “Nah. I don’t remember.”

  “Do you remember whether it was before or after the death of Mr. Oleg, who also fell through the gate?”

  “Objection. Asked and answered.”

  Lyons looked at his attorney, who nodded. “It was before.” Clare remained silent until he spoke again. “I remember it was before because that’s when my bosses started talking about a recall. The guys in my department thought it was bullshit, pardon my French. If a man is standing on the edge of a methane slurry lagoon and leans against the gate, well, that’s a stupid man. Can you do a product recall on stupidity?”

  “Objection!” Michaels placed a hand on Lyon’s forearm. “Don’t say another word.”

  Clare laughed. “That’s a bit like closing the barn door after the horse has got out.” Why was she using farming metaphors? “Mr. Lyons, I’ll ask you again how long before the product recall this incident happened—either when you talked about it with your co-workers or heard about the incident itself?”

  Michael still had his hand on the witness’s arm. “Don’t say another word. I object to this line of inquiry as being irrelevant and beyond the bounds of this deposition.”

  She looked at him as if he’d announced the end of sunrise. “Your ridiculous objection is noted. Now, Mr. Lyons, was it common knowledge among the workers at Ogden that people were falling into methane lagoons because of a faulty gate?”

  “I’m instructing my client to not answer any more questions along the lines of this inquiry.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding. Any judge would allow this testimony. It strikes right at the heart of what Ogden Lagoons knew prior to the issuance of the safety recall. Please tell your client to respond to my question. Would you like it to be read back to you?”

  “I’m not allowing him to testify. You can continue the deposition with any questions not related to what Mr. Lyons and his co-workers talked about.”

  Clare glared at him before pulling her phone out of her jacket pocket. “Fine. We’ll have the judge decide.”

  Michaels looked exasperated. “You can’t call the judge over this.”

  “Of course, I can. Will you please ask the witness to step out while we talk to the judge?” Michaels told Lyons to wait in his office and closed the conference door behind him. The stenographer stayed in place. Clare googled the Timson County courthouse and rang the general number to be put through to Judge Carruthers’s chambers. His clerk answered and said the judge was in recess in his office and he’d put her through.

  “Judge Carruthers, thank you for taking my call. This is Clare Lehane.”

  “Of course,” he said. “The new associate from Chicago.” He sounded relaxed. They’d met at Elizabeth’s party and she was glad he remembered who she was.

  “Judge, I’m going to put you on speaker phone. I’m in the middle of a deposition in the Oleg v. Peterson Ag case, down in Carbondale. I’m here with Dane Michaels, counsel for the lagoon manufacturer.”

  “Good morning, Judge,” Michaels said.

  “We’ve asked the witness to step out of the room while we see if we can get a ruling from you on a disagreement Mr. Michaels and I are having.” Clare continued by describing the impasse. She heard confidence in her own voice.

  “Mr. Michaels,” the judge said, “I think you know you must allow your witnesses to answer Ms. Lehane’s questions. They go to the central question of who knew what when.” Michaels made a lame attempt to argue that the testimony was hearsay. “I’m allowing the testimony and admonishing Mr. Michaels for making this call necessary. Your objection is noted on the record and you’ll have a chance to argue it in court. You know how this works.”

  “Thank you, Judge,” Clare said. She hadn’t even had to make an argument, which she was prepared and eager to do. Nothing seemed beyond her at the moment. If she’d argued the world was flat, she was sure she’d win the debate.

  The judge hung up and Michaels went to get his witness. Clare looked at her phone and saw a message from Freya, asking her to lunch. She sent a quick reply that she wasn’t in town and asking for a raincheck. What would Jo think of them having a meal together?

  Clare continued her questioning of the witness once he was back in his chair. “Mr. Lyons, did the opinion of the people in your department of the intellectual abilities of those using your product affect how you administered the safety recall?”

  “Objection,” Michaels said, with no enthusiasm in his voice. “You can answer the question.”

  “Of course not. We sent the recall notices out to all our customers, and as far as I was concerned, that was the end of it.” Clare could practically hear Michael’s groan.

  “You sent one written notice and didn’t follow up to be sure your customers received it?”

  Lyons looked uncomfortable, as if he knew he was burying his employer but not able to stop it. “We never received instruction to do follow up. As I said, the notices went out and that was the end of it.”

  “It’s possible that Peterson Agriculture didn’t receive the notice at all, correct? The post office may have lost it, for instance.”

  Lyons shifted in his chair. “I guess that’s possible.”

  Clare had what she wanted but continued her questioning until she was sure she’d drained him of information. She gathered her things and left, sorry only that she couldn’t depose others in Lyons’s department right away. On the trip back to Money Creek, she was drenched in well-being. She was good at her job, she’d score some points with Elizabeth, and she’d had fun. She called Freya and asked her out to dinner. She wasn’t sure what she wanted from her, but she guessed Freya wouldn’t make any move until she’d ended things with Jo, and she had no way of knowing whether she intended to do that. She didn’t have to guess at her integrity. Dinner tonight would be safe. She needed time to think about where she wanted things to go, though her body was starting to make that very clear.

  Chapter Eleven

  When Clare got back to the office, she found Elizabeth in the conference room, a file full of papers spread in front of her, typing on her laptop. She looked up when Clare entered the room.

  “You’re back. I didn’t know if we’d see you today.”

  She almost didn’t. Her body started to flag on the long drive back from Carbondale. She’d popped another tablet of speed, annoyed at anything interfering with the day’s triumph. It was a little after five o’clock and the other lawyers had left for the day. “I wanted to let you know about the deposition.”

  She filled Elizabeth in on what had occurred. Would Elizabeth be pleased? She hoped so, though she was simply doing her job. The deposition had required she think on her feet, something she was not always confident she did well.

  “That’s excellent, Clare. It’s a significant piece of evidence. Will you arrange to depose others in Lyons’s department? We’ll want corroboration of what he said.”

  “Sure. I’ll start on that tomorrow.” She’d been hoping for a little more praise. She was speedy and a little on edge. Her mouth was dry and her heart was noticeably beating, her right eye started twitching. She tried to recapture the good feeling she’d had after the deposition.

  Elizabeth closed her laptop and started packing up the papers. When she looked up, Clare was still standing in the same spot, her hand to her eye. “Looks like you have a tic,” she said. “Are you feeling okay?”

  “I’m fine.” She pushed down next to her eye, trying to stop the twitching. Her head began to ache. “It must be the long drive in the bright sun.”

  She turned to leave, before Elizabeth stopped her. “You did good work today.”

  Clare flushed with pleasure, the way she always did when she re
ceived a compliment. And just as quickly, the good feeling was gone. “I don’t know. I probably could have gotten more out of the witness.”

  “Doesn’t sound like it. Before you go, draft an expedited motion for a continuance and we’ll file it first thing in the morning.”

  She went back to her office and quickly wrote up the motion. She didn’t feel like working any longer. She drove home, changed clothes, and sat in her living room. A few calming breaths failed to ease her jitters. She pulled out her pillbox and took a couple of Valium, which would do the trick. While she waited for those to kick in she thought about her dinner with Freya. They were scheduled to meet at seven. If something did develop between them, Clare would have to quit using drugs. There was no way Freya wouldn’t know she was using. Maybe that would be the catalyst she needed to finally quit. She finished her beer, put a couple of extra Valium in her pocket just in case, and headed out to Woodlawn Avenue and the Red Lobster.

  Freya sat at the front of the restaurant and rose to greet Clare when she entered the room. Clare smiled as she sat and shrugged out of her coat.

  “I haven’t been in a Red Lobster in years,” she said. “They don’t have many in Chicago.”

  “Here it constitutes fine dining, so I imagine you’ll be back. Olive Garden and Outback Steakhouse are also among the premier restaurants in Money Creek. Bet it makes you miss the city.”

  “Not yet, it doesn’t.”

  “It’s a different story in Bloomington. We have great restaurants there.”

  “Do you miss Bloomington?”

  “Not as much as you’d think. I like it here, like my work on the task force, like the people.”

  They ordered their food and some wine. Freya got the fish and chips and Clare ordered the shrimp scampi, thinking she could push the food around to make it look like she was eating. She had no appetite. Freya busied herself with her napkin and she wondered what was going on in her head. Was she thinking of this as two friends getting together or was it more like a date? It felt more like a date to her. She didn’t have many female friends. Ever since law school she’d hung out mostly with men, for no rhyme or reason. They seemed to be there and girlfriends were not. This tended to be the case when taverns were your primary source of society.

  “What have you been doing with your time since you moved?” Freya said.

  “I don’t want to admit how boring I am.”

  “You’re not boring. I know boring, and I’m not looking at it.”

  Clare’s instinct was to be self-deprecating and to wave away the compliment. She said a simple thank you instead. “I don’t spend my time that much differently than I did when I was in Chicago. Except I’m learning to cook because there’s no Grubhub here, no nearby corner restaurant. I’m left to my own devices.”

  “Good for you. I’m a microwave dinner gal, sad as that is.”

  Clare took a sip of the mediocre wine. A basket of biscuits appeared on the table. “As soon as I can cook a whole dinner, I’ll have you over.” It just popped out of her mouth. The idea of cooking for someone cowed her.

  Freya beamed. “I’d love that.”

  Their dinner arrived almost immediately. She was grateful for the distraction of the food. They were close to having an awkward silence and she filled it in the least appropriate way she could. “You must spend a fair amount of your time with Jo.”

  “What makes you say that?” She didn’t seem thrilled with the question.

  “Jo’s said a few things while we were working. She made it sound like it’s serious.”

  “It’s not serious,” she said quickly, as if to dislodge the notion before it could take hold. “I mean, we’ve been seeing each other for a few months, but I don’t think it’s anything serious. Maybe I need to have a talk with Jo.”

  Clare cringed on the inside. “I’m sorry if I stepped in it. It’s none of my business.”

  Freya stopped a server and ordered more wine. Her hair fell loose to her shoulders, the first time she’d seen it worn that way. It relaxed her face, made her seem more accessible. The sleeves of her dark blue shirt were rolled up to her elbows, leaving the long muscle of her forearms visible. Clare found herself staring at them.

  “It’s fine,” Freya said. “It’s the kind of thing friends talk about.” She looked more relaxed as she drank more wine.

  Crap. Now it seemed it was friendship Freya was looking for. Why was this so confusing? “Of course, I’ll keep anything we say between us.”

  “I wouldn’t think anything else. You’re a lawyer, after all.”

  Clare laughed. “For that kind of confidentiality you’ll have to pay me a dollar.” She pushed her food around her plate. “Why do you think it’s not serious with Jo?”

  Freya hesitated. “I don’t want to seem like I’m judging her, especially behind her back.”

  “Of course not.”

  Freya put her napkin on her plate, the fish and chips gone. She’d eaten very fast. Nerves? Or the appetite of a normal person?

  “She seems a little possessive. She wants to spend more time together than I do, and she plans things for way in the future, with the presumption we’re a long-term couple. I feel like I don’t know her well enough for that.”

  Clare sipped her wine. She could feel the Valium relaxing her. It didn’t sound like Freya was much into Jo. She wondered if Jo knew that. Maybe that’s what made her so territorial. “I hope it works out however it’s supposed to.”

  “It will. It helps to have another person to talk with.”

  “Are we going to be friends?” Clare said, raising her eyes to Freya’s. She kept her tone light.

  “Why not? I like you, we both need someone to hang out with, and let’s face it—the options are not that plentiful.”

  That stung. “Friends by default, in other words.”

  Freya laughed again. “That came out wrong. Let’s see how it goes.”

  Clare nodded. “Okay. What kinds of things do friends do around here?”

  “The usual. Drink, hang out at home watching a movie or chatting, shopping. You have to go into Bloomington for that. But I have something a little more exciting. There’s supposed to be a big storm coming in tomorrow. If it does, do you want to go snowmobiling?”

  The thought of screaming through the frigid air on a snowmobile didn’t seem nearly as enticing as lying on the couch. But with Freya driving and Clare hanging on for dear life, it had some appeal. “You have a snowmobile?”

  “I don’t. But we busted a meth lab that was hidden in a corner of a farmer’s property. He was so grateful he offered me his snowmobiles whenever I want them.”

  Clare drained her wine. “Sure, I’ll go snowmobiling. I don’t know if I have the right clothes for it.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll fix you up,” Freya said, looking pleased. They finished up their meal and left the restaurant. Freya offered a hug as they said good night. It lasted two beats longer than a hug would between new friends. “I really enjoyed this.”

  Clare was flushed in the cold night air. The offer of friendship, the snowmobiling, the hug. Life in Money Creek was getting better. If Freya were only a friend, it would still be an improvement. It would mean less isolating at home, maybe less consumption of drugs. A positive influence wouldn’t kill her. She watched Freya drive away in her Jeep and got into her car. The air was too cold for a snowstorm, but she hoped there’d be one, her first in Money Creek. She pictured clinging to Freya from the back of a snowmobile, racing across the flat cornfields.

  She turned toward home, passing by the fast food franchises and automobile dealerships. She’d recently learned to use a shortcut to get to the downtown area, an angled road that cut through the residential neighborhoods and dumped her out in the town square, two blocks from her house. It occurred to her that a nightcap at Abe’s would be a fun thing to do. Maybe she’d make some more new friends. She turned right instead of left at the end of the angled street and pulled into Abe’s parking lot. The lot was
half full, two cars and three pickup trucks. It was only eight thirty, and if drinkers were the same everywhere, the patrons still had hours of drinking time ahead of them. She zipped her coat and trotted from her car to the tavern door. Inside it was warm and smelled like Buffalo chicken wings. There were more people than she expected—about five at the bar, with a number of tables occupied by young people drinking pitchers of beer. She climbed onto a barstool toward the far end, her feet slipping onto the footrest like a gun into a holster. She was comfortable in that position. The back bar was well lit, and she could clearly see her reflection in the mirror. Why did taverns have mirrors there? It wasn’t great customer service to allow patrons to see their own bleary faces staring back at them. For the moment, she was young, pretty, and had her act completely together. No bleariness. She’d stay for one or two drinks and then go home. There was work tomorrow.

  Three hours later, she found herself sitting next to Ben, like he’d been beamed down onto the barstool next to her. She’d just snapped out of a blackout and had no idea what he was talking about. She didn’t remember him coming into the tavern. When she looked in front of her, she saw a couple of empty shot glasses on the bar. She pushed them to the back of the bar for Danny to pick up and ordered another as soon as he came back down their way. It was unusual that she’d pop out of a blackout, but she was glad she’d not gotten in trouble while she was in it.

  Ben stopped talking and looked at her thoughtfully. “You must have some kind of hollow wooden leg. I’ve never seen a woman pack so much down without showing the damage.”

  How dare he? He was practically a teetotaler. “How much I drink is none of your business.” She wasn’t slurring her words, but her body was slumping, as if her bones had softened.

  “Hey, I wasn’t judging. I kind of admire your capacity. It’s why I’m such a lightweight. I get loaded after about two drinks.”

  Clare laughed. That struck her as hilarious. “That’s like a disability or something. I insist you have another drink with me so we can test the theory.”

  He smiled. “Not a chance. I have a big day tomorrow and the last thing I want is a hangover.”