The Gray Drake

by Charles Cutter

  Maggie ordered them a bottle of champagne. The waiter uncorked the bottle, poured them each a glass and left the bottle in an ice bucket.

  Maggie raised her glass. “To rising fish.”

  “And tight lines,” Burr said, the only fly-fishing toast he knew.

  Maggie finished her champagne. Burr poured her another glass.

  “Veuve Clicquot is my favorite,” she said.

  “Mine, too,” Burr said, fibbing. He liked champagne well enough, but he had no real taste for it.

  She finished her second glass. Burr split what was left in the bottle between them and stuck the dead soldier upside down in the ice bucket. Maggie flagged the waiter down and ordered another bottle.

  As much as he liked this somewhat eccentric, altogether beautiful woman, there was something he had to say before things went any further. He thought they’d probably gone too far already.

  “Maggie, as you know, Lizzie Shepherd has been charged with murder. I am defending her, and you are a key witness.”

  “That’s how we met.” She reached her hand across the table to his.

  “Of course. But it’s inappropriate for a lawyer to have a personal relationship with a witness.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “We really shouldn’t go out until this is over. It’s an ethics violation. Cullen will crucify me if he finds out.”

  “Just my luck,” she said, but she didn’t pull her hand back.

  “It’s only until the trial is over.”

  “So our date is over?” Maggie said.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “What exactly did you say?”

  Burr lost the courage of his convictions. “Let’s figure this out after dinner,” he said.

  “You’re still a bit of a wet blanket.”

  “I’m sorry. Forget I said it.”

  “How can I do that?”

  “I’m sorry I brought it up. Please, let’s keep going.”

  Maggie smiled, but Burr thought he had spoiled everything.

  The waiter arrived with the second bottle of Veuve. He poured them each a glass. Maggie asked him to leave the cork and the cap.

  She studied the cap and then turned it so Burr could see it. The cap was black and shiny with a picture of a woman’s face on it.

  “Do you know the story?”

  “No,” Burr said.

  “This is a very old, very famous champagne. The owner, Monsieur Clicquot, died suddenly. His wife refused to sell the winery and decided to run it herself. It was scandalous at the time, but she made a great success of it. So much so that she put her picture on the cap and changed the name from Clicquot to Veuve Clicquot.”

  At least she’s over my speech. He was over it, too.

  “Veuve is French for widow.”

  “Of course,” Burr said.

  “I wonder if Lizzie was as resourceful as the Widow Clicquot, or cunning enough or maybe mad enough to kill her husband?”

  Burr looked over her shoulder at the twilight on the lake, the trees a black band between the silver of the lake and the fading blue of the sky. He looked at Maggie. “I hope the only similarity is that they’re both widows.”

  “I’m sorry, Burr. I was getting carried away.”

  “You’re not the only one who wonders about Lizzie.”

  Burr poured them each another glass of champagne. “To fair winds and following seas.” They clinked their glasses and drank.

  “I don’t ask men out, but I could see you like dogs, and you understand them.”

  “That’s why you asked me to dinner?”

  “I’m fussy, and I don’t like most men. I think it’s my father. Brilliant, but unapproachable.”

  “And I’m neither.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I didn’t think so.” Burr didn’t quite know how to take her, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  The waiter arrived. “Do you mind if I order for us?” she said.

  “Please do.”

  She ordered dinner and a bottle of wine to go with it. While they ate, Maggie asked him about duck hunting and sailboats. He quite liked her, and he was sure the champagne and the wine had nothing to do with it.

  For her part, Maggie didn’t seem as crisp as she had been, but maybe she was just relaxed.

  The ever-attentive waiter arrived again. Burr was sure they had rung up at least five hundred dollars’ worth, and he needed to stop the bleeding. Just as he was about to ask for the check, Maggie ordered them two Cognacs and a crème brûlée to share.

  “We’re on the way to six hundred,” Burr mumbled.

  “What was that?”

  “Nothing.”

  After the Cognacs, Burr finally got the check. It was all of six hundred dollars. He reached for his wallet, but Maggie snatched the check from him. “I’m the one who asked you out.”

  “Thank you, Maggie. I’ve had a lovely time.”

  “My treat.” She took the check from him and paid the bill. Burr walked behind her and pulled her chair back. She stood up, then sat back down.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “I’m afraid I had too much to drink.”

  Thank God, Burr thought. There was no way I could keep up. He pushed her chair back in and ordered two cappuccinos. “These are on me.”

  They finished their cappuccinos. Maggie pushed her chair back and stood up. “Now I’m wide-awake drunk. Let’s try for a walk.”

  When Burr stood, he knew she wasn’t the only one who’d had too much to drink.

  “We won’t be long.” She led him on a brick path around to the lake. The moon had just risen, a crescent-shaped new moon. It cast a silver glow on the lake—flat calm in the late September night. They walked down to the beach. Maggie handed Burr her heels and stepped in. “It’s still warm.” She took Burr’s hand and they walked along the beach—Burr in the sand, Maggie in the water.

  “Maggie, I think we’re on someone else’s property now.”

  “I think you’re right.” She led him another two hundred feet. “Follow me.” The beautiful professor stepped onto a dock that stretched out into the lake.

  “We’re trespassing. This dock belongs to that cottage.” Burr pointed behind him.

  “I have a very fine lawyer.”

  Out she went. Burr, an inveterate rule breaker, and decidedly under the influence, didn’t know why any of this troubled him. He followed her to the end.

  “You sit there,” she said pointing to a chair. Maggie walked to the edge of the dock and sat down. She dangled her legs over the side and splashed. “It’s colder out here.”

  Burr eased himself into the chair. He shut his eyes and breathed in the night air off the lake. Wet, sandy and full of leaves.

  He felt Maggie standing over him. She bent over and kissed him full on the lips. “You are a handsome man, Burr Lafayette. Maybe a bit old for me.” Then she unzipped his slacks and fumbled in his shorts. “There you are.” She got down on her knees.

  This can’t be happening.

  As suddenly as she started, she stopped and stood up in front of him.

  “I think you’re ready.” Maggie Winston reached under her dress and stepped out of her panties. “Hold these.” She handed Burr a pair of white satin panties with lace on the front.

  She thought better of it, took them back and folded them like a handkerchief and stuck them in the breast pocket of Burr’s blazer with the lace sticking out.

  “What if someone comes?” Burr said.

  “I hope we both do.” She sat down on him.

  Thirty minutes later, they stumbled back to Burr’s Jeep. There was no way he could drive her back to her cabin. They made it as far as the closest motel. Burr checked them in. Maggie had slept all the way, snor
ing softly next to him.

  Burr couldn’t understand why the desk clerk, mid-sixties, balding and bifocals, kept staring at his chest until he looked down his nose and saw Maggie’s panties hanging out of the breast pocket of his jacket. He half carried Maggie to their room, the farthest of six cabins. He was at a loss as to what to do next, but finally got her out of her dress, back into her panties and put her in the single bed closest to the bathroom.

  * * *

  Two days later, Burr sat in Skinner’s chambers, the judge in front of him, Cullen to his right.

  He had just now gotten rid of his Tapawingo hangover and had sworn off alcohol forever.

  He had spent the night in the motel in the other bed with Zeke. Finn slept with her mistress. The next morning Maggie looked absolutely radiant, but it was clear that she was more hungover than he was. She didn’t say a word about what happened on the dock. If she wondered how she got to the No Tell Motel or how her dress had gotten hung up, she didn’t let on.

  After a shower, they each had steak and eggs with hash browns, rye toast and tomato juice. When he dropped her off, she kissed him on the cheek and said she’d like to see him again. Burr didn’t think she remembered anything about his ethical issue. He was clearly in over his head.

  “Mr. Lafayette, are you with us?” Skinner said.

  Burr snapped to attention. “Of course, Your Honor.”

  “As I was saying, I think the best thing to do is settle this here and now.”

  Burr didn’t say anything.

  “The State would accept a plea.” Cullen turned to him.

  “Thank you, Mr. Cullen. What would you accept?”

  “Second-degree murder.”

  “My client is innocent,” Burr said.

  Skinner sighed. “Mr. Lafayette, that’s a bad decision, but if you are not going to agree to a plea, we are going to have a trial. And we are going to have it soon.”

  * * *

  Back in East Lansing, Burr made a U-turn on MAC Avenue and parked in the no-parking zone in front of St. John’s Catholic Church. He crossed himself, said a Hail Mary and got out of the car, followed by Zeke. A cold wet rain was falling. The two of them dashed up the street to his office.

  As soon as he walked in, Eve and Jacob ambushed him. Before either of them could say a word, he squeezed by and sat at his desk, a position he thought he could defend.

  They followed him in. Eve handed him an envelope.

  This can’t be good. He handed it back to her. “What does it say?”

  “It’s a summons from the Crawford County Probate Court. Thompson Shepherd is suing Lizzie for custody of Josh.”

  Burr took the envelope back and read the summons. “Will it never end?” He folded the summons and put it back in the envelope. Then he crumpled it into a ball and threw it in his wastebasket.

  * * *

  Burr waited for yet another judge, this time the Honorable Judge Horace Gilmore of the Crawford County Probate Court. Lizzie sat to his left, Jacob next to her. It was obvious it was all Lizzie could do to hold herself together. Eve and Wes sat behind them. And there in the back, who else but John Cullen. There was no sign of the judge, Thompson Shepherd, or his lawyer, whom Burr knew only too well.

  Burr heard the door open behind him and watched none other than Roy Dahlberg glide into the courtroom with his new client, Thompson Shepherd. Roy Dahlberg of Dahlberg and Langley, the Ford family’s lawyers. Dahlberg was the patrician’s patrician. His black suit made Burr’s look like it came from Goodwill. In his prior life Burr had sparred with Dahlberg. Many times. Burr had won more than he’d lost, but he had met his match in Dahlberg.

  Dahlberg stopped in the aisle across from Burr and offered his hand. Burr thought it over, stood, and shook hands.

  “Good to see you, Lafayette. I’m afraid you’re on the wrong side again.”

  Burr winked at him and sat back down. The same wispy-mustached bailiff entered. “All rise.”

  He’s doing triple duty.

  Judge Horace Gilmore shuffled in, a painfully thin man. His robes hung over him like a funeral shroud. Two big ears stuck out from a fringe of white hair, which also grew out of his ears. Wire-rimmed bifocals hung halfway down a long, pointed nose. He had a sour expression on his face. Burr thought it entirely fitting that such an elderly man served as probate judge.

  Judge Gilmore sat and caught his breath. He shuffled through the papers in front of him, painfully slowly. His lips moved as he read. He turned the pages back and forth. Back and forth. The judge could have memorized the pleadings by now. At last, Judge Gilmore looked at Burr, then at Dahlberg, then he boomed, “I note two strange lawyers in my courtroom.” Gilmore had at least one foot in the grave, but he had a voice like a foghorn.

  “Let us begin,” Gilmore said.

  Dahlberg stood.

  “Sit down, Mr. Dahlberg. This isn’t going to take but a minute.” The judge shuffled his papers again, his lips moving again. At last, he looked over to Dahlberg. “Mr. Dahlberg, in your emergency petition, you ask that custody be awarded to your client, Thompson Shepherd, the father of the deceased, Quinn Shepherd, and the paternal grandfather of Joshua Shepherd, the lad in question.”

  “That’s correct, Your Honor.”

  “Mr. Dahlberg. You allege that the lad’s mother, Elizabeth Shepherd, is not fit to be a custodial parent because, among other things, she has been accused of murdering her husband, engages in drug trafficking, and is otherwise an unfit mother. That is quite a laundry list of bad behaviors.” Judge Gilmore cleared his throat, which pinned Burr’s ears back.

  “If even a scintilla of this is true, the lad should be removed from the household immediately. Based on your pleadings, I am going to rule in your favor and award custody to the grandfather, pending the outcome of the trial.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor,” Dahlberg said.

  Burr couldn’t believe what he just heard. Jacob’s jaw dropped. Lizzie started to cry. Burr jumped to his feet. “Your Honor, I object. My client has been wrongly accused of a crime, and she certainly has not been convicted. She hasn’t even been tried, yet. Quinn Shepherd’s death was an accident. Just because the plaintiff alleges these things does not make them true.”

  “I do not like to chance with the life of a young lad.”

  “Your Honor, what is the emergency? Joshua is in a stable living situation. He goes to school. He has two grandfathers.”

  Dahlberg bounced to his feet. “Your Honor, this most certainly is an emergency. There is to be a trial shortly. What would happen if the defendant’s bail were revoked?”

  “Yes,” the frail judge thundered.

  “Your Honor,” Burr said, “that is highly unlikely, and if it were to happen, Joshua has two grandfathers close at hand.”

  Lizzie looked up at Burr.

  “It is prudent to make a change now before there is an emergency,” Dahlberg said.

  Judge Gilmore cleared his throat. “Mr. Lafayette, while I find your argument compelling, I am going to rule in favor of Mr. Dahlberg.”

  “Your Honor, the law favors the custodial parent, especially the mother. If you believe there may be an issue with Mrs. Shepherd, I ask that you appoint a Friend of the Court to conduct an investigation. We will agree with the Friend of the Court’s recommendation.”

  “A Friend of the Court,” the judge said, mostly to himself. “A Friend of the Court,” the judge, thundering this time.

  “I object, Your Honor,” Dahlberg said. “This is a grave situation that you must deal with immediately.”

  “Your Honor, nothing is lost and everything is gained by appointing a Friend of the Court. I think it’s the most prudent thing to do,” Burr said.

  “Mr. Lafayette, I think you may be on to something,” Judge Gilmore said. He looked at Burr, then Dahlberg. “So ordered.” He tapped his gavel, a wea
k tap with all the force of the law.

  * * *

  Burr had just finished his first Labatt when his cheeseburger arrived.

  The Keg O’ Nails, a stone’s throw from the courthouse, smelled like stale beer and smoked cigarettes. It was built of logs, had a sunken bar and eating area, and the best cheeseburger in Grayling.

  Burr took a bite of his cheeseburger.

  “How can you possibly eat that?” Jacob said.

  “Arguing makes me hungry.”

  “That will kill you,” Jacob said.

  Eve looked up from her chicken Caesar. “My guess is that something or someone will get to Burr before a cheeseburger does.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want anything?” the waitress said, a robust woman of fifty, who had managed to smear her lipstick outside the confines of her lips.

  “I am quite sure,” Jacob said.

  Lizzie picked at her Caesar salad but mostly rearranged the romaine without eating any of it. “Burr, thank you, but I’m not sure what just happened.”

  “We won,” Burr said.

  “It’s not clear to me that we did win,” Jacob said.

  What was clear to Burr was that Thompson Shepherd wouldn’t be paying for Lizzie’s defense.

  “All you did was get a Friend of the Court appointed. That hardly constitutes a victory.”

  “Jacob, by the time Gilmore gets a Friend of the Court appointed, and by the time the investigation is done and the findings are reported to the judge, the trial will be over. Lizzie will have had custody of Josh the entire time.”

  Burr drowned a French fry in ketchup, which then dripped on his tie. Eve, ever at the ready, dipped her napkin in Jacob’s water and dabbed the ketchup off Burr’s tie, a subdued red paisley with a black and yellow pattern.

  “What are you doing?” Jacob said.

  “If I get to it quick enough, the Scotchgard keeps it from staining.” Eve had long ago figured out that the only way to keep Burr from buying a new tie after every meal was a generous spray of Scotchgard.

  “It’s still not a victory,” Jacob said.

  “Delay is often the best victory.” Burr took another bite of his cheeseburger.