Halt at X: A North of Boston Novel

by Sally Ann Sims

  Another sound, like a door being kicked. Then silence.

  Warren turned on Lucinda’s computer, logged into RaiseSmart, and began transferring data on P-H’s largest donors, not just those to the business and IT school — his previous turf, to an external hard drive. Lucinda had blocked his log-in access to this select group of major donors over the last three months. He would need to plan his debut to these key funders and thought a reception at Frank’s mansion would fill the bill perfectly.

  The phone on Lucinda’s desk rang.

  “Warren Rindge,” he said. Smiling, he leaned back in Lucinda’s chair to take his first call as vice president.

  “Rindge? Blast! Where the hell is Lucinda?” said the voice.

  “She’s no longer with the college. May I help you?”

  There was a pause. Then the voice, much louder, said, “Yes, you can tell me what the hell you think you’re playing at!”

  “I assure you, Mr. — ”

  “Mulholland.”

  Warren stood up. “Chester! How great to talk to you. I wanted to thank you for your — ”

  “Cut the bullshit, kid,” he said. “Pass this along to your boss. Unless Lucinda is put back in place, you can say goodbye to my estate gift. I’m holding the papers here in front of me unsigned. The shredder’s turned on.”

  “I’ll have Frank get back to you — ”

  “No discussions. Lucinda is put back in charge by next week — if you can still get her before someone else snatches her up — or Constance and I take our gift elsewhere.”

  “But Frank will — ”

  Chester rang off.

  It popped into his head right then what Orion would do next. Not cause an accident but make it look like one.

  Halt at X

  Aden called Harris from Newcester. He’d seen the dented, muddy midnight blue compact SUV, New Hampshire plates, Live Free or Die, in Newcester and Thornbury on and off since last spring. He was just as concerned that he saw it this Sunday morning heading north on Route 8 toward Plumcliff. Lucinda mentioned her rear-ender was from New Hampshire.

  “I’m more worried about Lucinda now than before she got fired,” Aden said. “She’s not returning my calls. I know her brother’s living with her now, but we worked together closely and… .” Aden stopped. Better not to go further and betray that his feelings ran a hellava lot deeper than that. “Warren Rindge has moved into her office and e-mailed his staff that she… basically cracked up. Which is so not Lucinda.”

  “Thanks for the heads up,” Harris said. “I got the same earful from Honor. I haven’t let up on him. Since the rear-ending, we’ve had someone tail Mr. Stong. In fact, I see some tire tracks off Route 8 right now. Broken branches. East of Lucinda’s driveway where it curves north along the beach. Car should be somewhere in that copse of beech trees is my guess. Thanks for the tip.” Harris pulled his unmarked car to a stop at a small opening in the trees by the road. “Even if he says he’s just hunting, it’s a Blue Law day. So I can arrest him on sight if he’s trespassing with a gun.”

  Aden hung up, temporarily relieved. He took Gretel out for a walk, but his unease returned, amplified, twenty minutes later.

  * * * * *

  “This wasn’t part of the deal,” said Vic. “Two of them. He’s tailing me.”

  “Comes with the territory,” said Warren. “You’re getting enough.”

  “So do I do it or not? Or do we keep fucking around?” Vic slumped in the driver’s seat, wondering why he’d agreed to this stupid cat-and-mouse game. There was a job in California he should’ve taken, a straight job at a mega-warehouse. He would take it next week no matter how long Rindge wanted to string this gig out.

  Warren mumbled something that sounded like “do it” — or was it “blew it?” — Vic wasn’t sure because at the same second a car door slammed near the road.

  “Three guesses who’s coming now,” Vic ended the call and scrambled over to the passenger side door and let himself out. The crunch of dried beech leaves grew louder a minute later as Vic glimpsed Harris through the windows of the SUV and then crouched near the large front passenger-side tire.

  Harris approached the vehicle warily. When he was alongside the right front headlight, a deer crashed through the beech saplings and sumac near the shoulder of the road. Harris spun toward the direction of the sound, gun at the ready. Then something came down hard on his head.

  * * * * *

  It was unusually warm that first Sunday in November. Lucinda cantered the mare in a large circle in the ring behind the barn — not as big as a dressage ring, but close. She came back to a trot smoothly and without fuss, turned, the mare still a little stiff on that left shoulder but improving each day, balanced herself nicely down the center line, and halted at X — which really doesn’t exist except in your mind since it’s dead center of the ring. She dropped the reins and the mare still stood. She was ready for her dressage tests. What a great feeling, no matter what happens at the show two weeks from today.

  “Let’s go for a dash through the woods!” Lucinda said, stroking the mare behind the saddle and then gathering up the reins.

  * * * * *

  Anyone would have thought the tableau comical. Peter had rigged up his four-sided No Trespassing/No Hunting signposts in a sling over his back on which Bodhi rode. After Lucinda left the paddock, riding Lady Grey to the top of the orchard and beyond, Nanogirl was inconsolable, kicking her door and whinnying a god-awful sound that mimicked the roar of a wet bobcat. So he brought her along. For comic relief, he told himself. Man, horse, cat, property markers. Maybe that’s what the monastery had needed after all. Things would never have seemed so serious with a tiny horse, eyes obliterated by a fuzzy forelock, showing up at every turn. Dropping objects, butting in, reminding everyone what a joy the present moment really is.

  He led Nanogirl to the edge of the dunes and started driving the metal-reinforced posts into the sandy soil where Lucinda’s property started and the beach pretty much ended — he couldn’t tell exactly where, but it was close enough he figured — with an old wooden mallet he’d found in the barn. He worked his way toward the orchard.

  * * * * *

  Lucinda trotted along the narrow trail, enjoying what might be the last warm day of fall. The apples were gone from the trees, but the fallen ones laced the air with a tangy blast when the wind shifted up from the beach. The bronzed oak leaves crackled under the mare’s shod hooves. Lady Grey felt comfortable on these trails now, comfortable with Lucinda, and self-confident. Lucinda had even hopped her over a few cross rails. She jumped higher than necessary, not wanting to bang her hooves on the rails.

  She halted the mare three strides away from an X jump that would take her on the path down to the beach and turned instead toward an opening in the pine trees that led into the orchard. As she turned to the left, she thought she saw someone just flit behind the largest apple tree at the top of the orchard where the trail she chose not to follow exited the woods, probably Peter out posting those signs. She urged the mare forward into the orchard.

  “Peter?” she called. The mare, nostrils flared wide, nickered softly, and Lucinda heard a high-pitched whinny answer from the direction of the ocean before a wind gust snatched it to silence.

  Suddenly, a flash of a figure, decked out in a hunter’s orange vest, jumped from behind a tree and aimed a shotgun at her. Lucinda whirled the mare in the opposite direction and dug in her heels as a bullet skimmed the outer rim of her left riding boot.

  Cantering frantically to the edge of the orchard, Lucinda managed to steer the mare left into Aunt Jean’s memorial plot. Better than becoming an easy target racing down the hill to the barn, Lucinda thought as she pulled the frightened mare behind the boulder as another bullet shattered the smooth plate with Aunt Jean’s name etched it in.

  At the sound of the bullet ricocheting and rock chipping, Lady Grey, whinnying frantically, tore away from the boulder, the reins breaking at the buckle. Panicking and now unre
strained, the mare cleared the three-foot iron fence and tore down the hill in the direction of the barn. Lucinda heard an answering whinny somewhere close in the orchard. She knew she had only seconds to decide what to do. She could hop the spiky fence behind her and run back through the woods — and get hunted down — or not. She could —

  A shadow fell over her feet. The gunman had climbed and crouched atop the boulder. Lucinda pressed back under the modest overhang of the boulder, hoping she wasn’t visible, flashing on her much maligned handgun that snoozed on a shelf in the guest bedroom closet. Hardly breathing, hardly moving, she touched the button on her hip cell phone to call Harris. It buzzed on top of the boulder.

  “Hel-lo,” a voice said. “He wants this to look like an accident. So you can cooperate or not, I don’t care.”

  Lucinda swallowed. The cowardly bastard! At least give me a fighting chance!

  She closed her eyes, and Aden appeared in front of her closed lids. With his image in her brain, tears let loose down Lucinda’s face. She wouldn’t get to say good bye to Aden, or tell him what she really felt about him. She could now. She wasn’t his boss. And Peter, her father. Tell them she loves them. She wouldn’t get to ride in the damn dressage show. Stupid to think now, but… She wouldn’t get to —

  “Your nigga cop friend won’t be rushing to your rescue. Come out!” the irritated voice ordered from the top of the boulder, its timber exuding northern New England. Those flat fermented vowels. Would this be the last voice she heard?

  She heard a louder whinny and Nanogirl dashed into the gated area and up to the base of the boulder.

  “I’d shoot that one too but that would give you a chance to run for it. Fucking shotgun season. Wouldn’t it, Cinda?”

  Nanogirl scooted round the back of the boulder looking for Lucinda. When Lucinda reached out to grab her halter, a shotgun pellet grazed her upper arm and Nanogirl’s left flank. She pulled the animal close to her, straddling her as if she were riding her if she didn’t come to just above Lucinda’s knees. Nanogirl twisted her head back to bite at her flank where the wound stung. Lucinda held her small head to keep her from flailing around or going back out in the line of fire. The two of them almost fit under the overhang, if she tucked in Nanogirl’s muzzle toward her neck. Terrified and in pain, Nanogirl whinnied again.

  What a shithead coward! Lucinda thought. She could hear Vic reloading.

  “No!” Lucinda screamed. Her upper arm seared like flame, but she wasn’t losing much blood. As she sucked down gulps of air, her father flashed into her mind. The night he routed a black bear off the porch when she was four. Protecting what was his. Made a big impression on her. Keep it together, she thought. It’s your only hope.

  “Wouldn’t it, Cinda?” Irritation turning to taunt descended from above. But inside her, she felt infused by a sudden force that seemed to come from the very boulder itself. She remembered Aunt Jean’s defiance.

  “Don’t shoot!” she yelled. “What do you want? Everyone’s got a price.”

  If I could just face the bastard squarely I could try to knock him out or negotiate, or Nanogirl could kick him in the groin, or — her escape fantasies grew more improbable as her desperation flared. Focus!

  Then she realized Vic couldn’t aim well because of the top curve and steep slope of the left side of the boulder — as long as she was pressed against it, she had cover. But for how long? If she heard him moving off the boulder, she could run for it, but which side of the boulder would be safe?

  “Come out!” Vic screamed, patience evaporated.

  She heard the gun cock and sucked in her breath. If I get a chance, she thought, I’ll face him with my bare hands. What else is there? Then a crisp crack rang out from atop the boulder, followed shortly by a heavy thud on the ground to her left. She leaned out a scant inch and saw Vic in a heap, three feet away, facing her. Unconscious. His blaze orange hunting cap fell off, revealing stringy gray-yellow hair that reached the collar of his red plaid shirt and a long mustache, the total effect bringing to mind a greasy Afghan Hound. The shotgun had partially somersaulted with the barrel landing facing the sea in the center notch of the cement dog bone that honored the life of Sadie Pearl, 1968 to 1977.

  Lucinda rushed out from behind the boulder, tears of relief gushing onto her curled upper lip, the roof of her broad smile. She looked up.

  Peter stood atop the boulder, holding a No Trespassing/No Hunting property marker upside down like a club, the two-inch-thick rebar exposed. She loved his lopsided smile.

  “See, you don’t need a gun. It only invites violence,” Peter said. He flung the post marker to the right of the boulder and scrambled to the ground. Then he crouched low and gathered his sister, still holding onto Nanogirl’s halter, into his arms. They hugged for a full minute and then toppled over, Nanogirl tugging to get loose.

  Lucinda and Peter sat up next to the boulder. “Are you ok?” Peter asked, his right arm around Lucinda’s back.

  “One of his shots grazed my arm and Nanogirl’s flank.”

  “Let’s get you down to the farmhouse and check it out. You too, missy,” Peter said, grabbing Nanogirl by the halter so Lucinda could rest her arm.

  Lucinda’s intense relief spilled out in laughter until her eyes fell on the Harris buzzer at Stong’s hip. “When I finally had to really use that blasted thing, the bad guy had it.” She stopped talking, her eyes widened.

  “Omigod, Peter! Do you think he got Harris?”

  Peter pulled the Harris buzzer off Stong and called the police station. Nanogirl snatched up the orange hunting cap with her teeth. Her prize.

  Lucinda stared at Stong, at this being that had plagued her for months. Why? His right arm folded under his chest, his left arm out to his side. A thin gold band on his fourth finger glinted dully in the sun. My God, he has a wife, she thought.

  “Let’s head down the hill,” Peter said after notifying the police. “They already knew about Harris when you called from under the boulder.”

  “Is Harris — ”

  “Don’t worry. He’s ok.”

  Peter stopped talking as they watched a red Jetta pull into the driveway, followed fifteen seconds later by a two squad cars and an ambulance.

  As four officers ran toward them, Peter pointed up the hill. “You’ll need the stretcher up there guys. He’s out cold. Blow to the head.”

  The officers nodded to Peter, three headed off up the hill, and one lifted out a pad from his shirt pocket for questioning.

  Aden ran up to Lucinda. When she looked at his magnificent face now blighted with fear and worry, her tears started again. Aden wiped the tears away with his fingers and enfolded her gently in his arms, her face against his fleece jacket. He feels so good, Lucinda thought. Facing what could have been death clarified her feelings like nothing she’d ever known.

  “Aden, I — ” Lucinda opened her eyes. Her face still lay against Aden’s jacket, when she saw Lady Grey grazing on the other side of the riding ring. Aden did too and released her from his embrace so she could catch the mare. Lucinda walked calmly but quickly up to her.

  “Easy, Lady,” she said. “What a day we’ve had. Thank God you didn’t catch the reins on anything.”

  Peter held up his hand to the officer. “Got to get my sister some medical attention, then questions.”

  Lucinda put the mare and Nanogirl in the barn. Both men followed, along with one of the officers. Bodhi crouched on a hay bale, eyes wide. Lucinda called Dr. Camille to come out and see about Nanogirl’s wound.

  “What about your wound?” Peter asked Lucinda while scooping up the tiger cat. Bodhi butted her head against his cheek, her rough tongue licking his smooth cheek skin. She’d obviously been someone’s baby before life on the street.

  “Wound?” said Aden. “Are you ok, Lucinda? I’m taking you to the hospital to get that seen too. No arguments.”

  “It’s just a scratch or two,” she said. Both men glared at her. “Ok, ok! I’ll go, if Peter stays here fo
r the vet.”

  Peter nodded. Aden walked Lucinda over to his car and opened the passenger side door. Her arm stung but she waved off the EMT from the ambulance.

  “How did you know?” Lucinda said.

  “Well, for one thing, Warren is acting even more insane than usual. He took over your office and wouldn’t let me or anyone else in all of Friday. I figured he’d snapped and any kind of restraint he had going with Orion — or control over him for that matter — would have ended.”

  Lucinda listened as he drove. She put her left hand on the seat between them, and he covered it with his right hand.

  “You’re cold,” he said.

  “I’m ok now. What happened with Harris?”

  “We were talking this morning when he was driving. He was right where Stong’s tire tracks went off the road, but Harris hadn’t spotted him yet. I still didn’t like the whole thing. It felt like there should be something else I should do, so I got in my car and drove to where Harris said he was. I found his car by the side of the road and called the police department.”

  “Who, of course, told you to stay out of it. Which, of course, you ignored,” Lucinda said, smiling at him.

  Aden looked straight ahead as he drove. “No way I was going to hang around and do nothing when some freak is stalking you, turns out with a frickin’ shotgun.”

  “And?”

  “So I get out and follow the tire tracks through those stunted trees, and there’s Stong’s SUV and Harris conked out in front of it. The buzzer gone. By then the police showed up, then we got Peter’s call. They got your earlier call too, but they were still enroute then. Plus the buzzer’s a GPS unit, so we knew right where he was. Thank God Peter was in the orchard.”

  “He was posting the property No Trespassing/No Hunting.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “You can thank Tori for that. She insisted I post the property, which Peter was doing while I was riding in the woods above the orchard. I wasn’t going to bother with it. So Tori saved my life. Again.”