Halt at X: A North of Boston Novel

by Sally Ann Sims

  Lucinda watched Aden’s face in the firelight. His concern was touching. As she reached a hand toward his shoulder, he suddenly broke off eye contact and began moving around the living room, checking the locks on the windows. He was more upset than she was about the prowler. Was she getting a little too used to being followed?

  “You’re right. I’ll call the police,” she said, putting the screen in front of the fireplace. “Gretel will be ticked off though. You staying here.” She smiled, which turned into a yawn.

  “She’s the least of my problems.” He smiled wearily. “Where do I go?”

  “Huh?”

  “Sleep? You have a guest bedroom, don’t you?”

  “Oh, yes. Sorry. That room across from the kitchen.”

  “Good.”

  She wasn’t sure whether he was talking about good for surveillance or he was relieved that they wouldn’t be sleeping on the same floor. She couldn’t think straight anymore.

  “I don’t think there are sheets though. I’ll get them.”

  “Just leave them outside the door. Good night, Lucinda.”

  “G’night, Aden. Thanks for staying.”

  When Aden emerged from the first floor bathroom, he spied Catcher crouched on the braided rug peering through the crack underneath the guest bedroom door. He darted into the guestroom when Aden opened the door, immediately cornering something under the upright aluminum radiator.

  Aden shut the door, pulled off his boots, and peered out the front window. All quiet. He left the curtains open. When he opened the bedroom door a few minutes later, there was a sheet set, a cotton blanket, and a wool blanket on the Shaker chair in the hallway. He went to the front door and switched on the light. Nothing out there. He switched it off. The moon was so low he couldn’t find it.

  Catcher settled down in front of the radiator on stakeout. While Aden made up the bed, he heard Lucinda talking in the kitchen. When he peered out the front window, the front light was back on and a police cruiser was parked adjacent to Lady Grey’s paddock. Aden tried to organize his mind, ground himself. He was relieved he’d danced back from that ill-timed kiss and Lucinda had not freaked out. God, it was better than I’d hoped for. But so, so wrong. As long as she’s my boss. As long as she’s married. If only… .

  Just thinking of all the obstacles made him want to scream or hit a wall. Or both. Or thrash that jerk peeping at Lucinda from the barn. Then a thought popped into his head offering temporary relief. I should look for another job. Weird. He absolutely loved his job.

  Then he thought about Gretel. He’d have to get up in only a few hours so he could drive back to his apartment, throw himself on her mercy, give her breakfast, and walk her, then shower, change, and get to campus for an eight-thirty breakfast meeting with the new archaeology professor who stumbled onto some potential funders for an endowed chair. Three hours was not going to be enough, but it would have to do for tonight.

  He fell asleep almost instantly after setting a bedside alarm clock. In his last dream of the night, he was scrambling over boulders in a nor’easter trying to reach Lucinda on the end of the Newcester jetty. She was leaning off the end of the last boulder cursing at the night sky, waving gigantic fireplace tongs. When he looked to where she was looking, there was Orion. Why was Orion out in a storm? But the constellation had become a gigantic man with Frank’s features. At her side was Ben Marshallton, as the Old Man of the Mountain come to life, hurling rocks at Orion that he ripped from the jetty, so that there was a gap between Aden and Lucinda that was open ocean. At Lucinda’s feet was Gretel, hurling growls and other canine insults at Orion as furiously as the wind blew. When Aden reached the gap in the jetty, a huge rawhide bone fell out of the sky offering a bridge to the turmoil ahead.

  As Aden stepped onto the bone the alarm clock buzzed rudely, jolting him out of his dream into the early dawn, disoriented, his heart pounding. He saw Catcher on the floor with a tiny body between his massive mitts. Aden dressed quickly, put what remained of the mouse outside, and left Lucinda a note.

  All was quiet under the stars. Catcher caught a mouse from under the radiator. Had to leave early to feed Gretel and tend an early rising donor. A fundraiser’s work is never done. Take good care and see you later, Aden.

  When she came downstairs an hour after Aden left, Lucinda found the note on the dining room table propped against the bowl that held her crystallized brown sugar. She read it and then tossed it into her recycling bin. One second thought, she pulled it out of the bin, ripped it into eight pieces and threw it into the kitchen garbage can under the sink. Next time Bart came back, she didn’t want any misunderstandings. She fed the cats and made coffee. Then she stared into her mostly empty refrigerator. She’d have to grab something at The Puffy Muffin.

  Aden was sweet, she thought, sitting at the table with her coffee. They both got silly, carried away by the danger of the night. But that was last night, and she wasn’t going to let “Orion” or Frank or Aden distract her. She was going to catch Frank at his game and she was going to get Bart back. Somehow. When Gabriel jumped onto the dining room table, she swiftly snatched him up and put him on the floor.]

  “Forget last night,” Lucinda said. “You’re not to get up there.”

  Gabriel made three swift licks at his shoulder and stalked out of the room.

  For or Against?

  “We’ll do Development Committee here today, Bev,” Lucinda said, glancing up from her computer screen. “At four-thirty. We were going to meet at Honor’s office, but that can’t happen today. Her partner’s got something big going on.”

  Beverly laid a folder on Lucinda’s desk. Then she bustled around the office straightening piles of papers and adjusting the positions of chairs. She scowled at the conference table. “Will everyone fit?”

  It was not a rectangular conference table but a large circular one. Knights of the Round Table, Lucinda thought, looking at it.

  “Perfectly. It’ll only be the six of us this time. And you know Cliff always paces anyway.”

  “Is Warren coming? He hasn’t come to the last two meetings,” Beverly said.

  “No Warren. The invite is out there, but Frank sent him to Fargill today on some assignment. Warren cancelled his vacation at the last minute.”

  Beverly’s lips curled up slightly.

  “Oh, and Aden will be arriving at five to give us an update on his projects,” Lucinda said.

  “Ok, I’ll prep the monthly RaiseSmart report.”

  The afternoon went quickly, although Lucinda was flagging by four o’clock. She got back to three large donors on outstanding major gift proposals — two of which at more than $5 million were looking really promising. Then she’d jived the prospect lists that the new major gift officers had compiled with whom Lucinda, Aden, Warren, and Jennifer were talking to and put together a summary sheet for Frank on her “million five” push.

  That upshot of that was only nine hundred thousand. She knew she’d left money on the table for some of the donors who weren’t prepared to make large February gifts. But she drew the line at blowing a good chunk of next year’s revenue to play stupid budget games with Frank. She sent the report in an e-mail since she and Frank rarely saw each other’s faces these days.

  Frank shot right back in text message from his phone.

  Very disappointed. Discuss in my office tomorrow. 9:30.

  “What a fuc — ”

  There was a knock at the door. Lucinda shut her mouth and tamped her temper.

  Aden’s head appeared around the door.

  “Oh, it’s you,” she grumbled.

  “Is that so bad?” His face lost a bit of animation.

  “Not at all. But I was just about to unleash a swath of rude and unprofessional commentary. I thought I was alone.”

  Aden smiled. “Don’t let me stop you.”

  He sunk into the green chair by her desk. The sun, setting in a burning pinky orange blob, stung his eyes, and he adjusted the chair away from the window.r />
  “These sunsets are still starting too damn early. Anyway, this news from Abby might put you in a better mood. It seems our man of the mousse was left at the altar last weekend at Chapel of the Cove in Boultonport.”

  “Get out,” Lucinda said. “No wonder he cancelled his vacation.”

  “But wait, it gets better,” Aden continued. “His former fiancé is a friend of Vanessa Weld.”

  Lucinda considered the tidbit. Was there any way this could affect Pat’s large pledge to the business school? And Michaela’s fresh verbal, but not yet paper-worked, commitment to the art department?

  “Neither of the Welds has mentioned Warren in our meetings.”

  “He might have been paid to go away,” Aden said, eyebrows raised.

  “More surprises,” said Lucinda.

  She’d walked over to the window. The paths down the hill and around the buildings began clogging with students, some scurrying against the cold. Others, the thick-blooded locals, carelessly hatless and gloveless, stopped in groups to chat. Lucinda imagined their little clouds of breath escaping with their urgent words as they leaned together in pairs or threes. Lights on the sides and along the walkway of the tall brick library popped on.

  “He was working on a business deal with his fiancé’s brother,” Aden said. “Some online thing they were going to start that went sour. Then there was some kind of family fallout.”

  Aden got up and joined her at the window.

  “Aden,” Lucinda said, watching the massing of students, all with different plans and schemes. Joys and problems. “Where do you want to be in five years?”

  “Are we having an employee performance review?”

  “No. Just wondered.”

  “Here, actually.”

  “Here, my office, or here, P-H?” Lucinda joked.

  “Here P-H. I was just thinking this morning about looking for a different job so that I, we… .” He turned to look at her. She continued looking out the window. “But who am I fooling, I love this place.”

  “Why would you look for… .” she said, turning to him. “Oh, Aden don’t do it for that.”

  She looked steadily into his eyes. “I can’t,” she said.

  Aden turned away and looked down at the sidewalk where the groups of students were breaking up. He shut his eyes briefly and Lucinda noticed a quick flash of some horrible weather across his features that disappeared when he opened his eyes.

  “Right. I’m off. I’ll see you back here at five-thirty.”

  Lucinda stared at the door after Aden shut it. This was going to be harder than she ever imagined.

  * * * * *

  Bomi arrived first, as Lucinda expected, followed closely by Honor. There was a gap before Cliff and the rest of the committee members arrived.

  Honor, in an espresso brown pantsuit, commandeered the spot so her back was to the bookcase. Lucinda knew this was so she could keep an eye on Cliff when he passed in front of the far window. Bomi, in a smart black suit, chose a seat next to Honor, crossed his legs, and surveyed the room. Beverly took beverage orders.

  “Coffee, all around I think,” Honor said. The sun was square in her eyes.

  “Let me lower the shade,” Beverly said, walking over to the window. “You’ll be blinded otherwise.” She left the report packets on the table. Bomi helped himself to one and began reading. He’s so diligent, Lucinda thought.

  The door popped open abruptly. “Hey folks,” Cliff said. “We all here?”

  “Two more coming,” Honor said, without looking up. She was scanning the RaiseSmart report and making notes in the margin. Bomi pulled out a spreadsheet from a folder.

  Cliff, wearing suit pants and a button-down shirt under a polar fleece jacket, strode to the window and leaned, partially sitting, on the sill, one wing-tipped foot on the floor, one in the air. Lucinda handed him a report that he flipped through, then he scanned the walkways below.

  “What’s Harris doing outside?” Cliff asked.

  Lucinda looked toward Honor, questioningly, as she walked over to the window and peered down to the sidewalk. There he was. Unlined brown skin, face drawn with a compass. Rocking his weight from one foot to the other while joshing a security guard, poking him playfully on the upper shoulder. His smooth jocularly belied his stealth and strength. Coming to the force eight years ago from Chicago, Darnell Harris was put in charge two years ago after the former long-serving captain retired. Everyone called him Harris, which he preferred. Sensitive to town politics, he took Honor’s requests seriously. Honor had mentioned to Lucinda she was trying to talk him into running for county commissioner. Or at least selectman.

  Honor didn’t miss a beat. “I wanted to get input on the state of campus security. He’s probably just checking in with staff.”

  “You’ve got your fingers in a whole lotta pies,” Cliff said, chuckling.

  Lucinda saw Honor peer at Cliff with her unreadable courtroom face. The final two committee members arrived, and Honor swung into high gear.

  “First, I want to introduce Bomi Singh to the folks who haven’t met him yet. He’s been working on special finance issues in tandem with Don Keegan, who — ”

  “Who needed to pull out of our finance review to attend to some family business,” Cliff interrupted from his perch by the window. He hopped forward onto his feet and paced from the end of the filing cabinet by the coffee maker, bearing right behind Lucinda’s desk, to the coat rack by the door, then back.

  What the hell does that mean? wondered Lucinda.

  “Yes. Well,” Honor said, glancing briefly at Cliff. “I wanted Bomi to be aware of our development efforts in a more hands-on way then we’ve done before with finance. I also know he’s looking forward to cultivating prospects locally and in Mumbai as we ramp up our technology campaigns. Lucinda?”

  Lucinda took over the mechanics of the money part of the meeting — mostly updating on current campaigns. They covered endowment, capital, all the academic departments — except Aden’s, he was coming in to present in person — and the athletic fields. Neither Honor nor Cliff mentioned Frank’s “million five” campaign. Lucinda didn’t think they were even aware of it.

  “We need to put more pizzazz into the athletic fields push,” Cliff said. “I really think we can get donors to step up to the plate. There’s a lotta guys I know who’ll cough up bigger gifts if we can build some winning teams in some really smashing venues.” He eyes flashed, and with his small round nose and puffy cheeks pinkening, he reminded Lucinda of a feverish Santa Claus.

  Honor glared at Cliff. Lucinda knew how excited Cliff got about the surge in athletics since P-H went co-ed. Honor was constantly drawing him back to academics. She suspected he was ready to move off the Board into something else. He’d accomplished a lot with Ben at the helm and was doing a bit of well-earned coasting. But for Honor, the Development Committee, never mind the Executive Committee, was no place to coast.

  “Not,” he continued diplomatically. “To take one iota of energy away from everything we got going in the academic departments. Not at all.”

  “We appreciate your perspective, Cliff,” Lucinda said. “We’re addressing that point through the alumni office as part of annual giving. It’s the best way we can communicate with our alumni devoted to P-H sports. But we’re shifting the big guns, so to speak, to academics, the graduate archaeology program, studio art renovations, and the endowment.”

  “Frank is really pushing the corporations for athletic tie-ins,” Cliff said. “It’s the way we have to go.”

  “If I may,” said Bomi “I see in the numbers there’s been an increase starting last semester in research grants from corporations. From when I read your Strategic Plan, that wasn’t to be the major focus of corporate giving until other areas had caught up with — ”

  “Yes,” said Cliff. “Good point. “But we want to be sure Frank is free to do his thing. The thing we brought him here for. If he can do it sooner, all the better.”

  Silence. All ar
ound.

  Lucinda looked at Bomi to see how he took Cliff’s interruption. He smiled at her. No doubt he was used to this sort of thing, starting an international company. But corporate volunteers, as Bomi was, could be a touchy lot. Bomi looked fine, actually looked like he was enjoying himself, she thought.

  “As he pulls the various strings along, there will be more and more corporate donations flowing in — for all aspects of the college. University, I should say,” Cliff said.

  “Now’s the time to dust off and revamp the Gift Acceptance Policy,” Lucinda said. “It can prevent a sea of trouble and misunderstandings.” And lawsuits, she thought, but she didn’t want to scare the rest of the committee. “Especially since… ” How should she put this? “Frank is — ”

  “Doing so many donor visits on his own,” Honor said, with only a slightly caustic tone.

  Bomi looked thoughtful.

  “And remember,” Cliff said, ignoring Lucinda and Honor’s comments and addressing Bomi. “The plan was created and practically done before we knew Frank would be president. We have to use the flexibility inherent in strategic planning to capitalize on the timely, new opportunities we find.”

  In others words, thought Lucinda, we can ignore the plan if we think we know better now.

  Knocking on the door pulled everyone back to the present. Aden entered carrying a white paper bag.

  “Peanut butter cookies all around. Help yourself.”

  “Mrs. Whipple?” Lucinda asked.

  “She can’t help herself. My landlady should open a bakery,” he explained to the committee.

  Bomi pulled a warm tan cookie with fork-made crisscrosses from the bag and examined it. “I have never seen this kind of cookie.” He took a bite. “Very good.”

  The bag went around the table and over to the window. Cliff grabbed three and worked through them like he hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

  “Ok,” Aden said. “My good news is that we have a definite lead gift for the endowed chair for maritime archaeology. All the information is in here, including the updates on the art building renovation.” Aden passed out his own updated report.