Taking On Lucinda

by Frank Martorana

  They pondered that until Tammy returned. She slid their meals in front of them.

  Kent directed a finger at his brother, who had begun sawing his meatloaf. “He was saying how great things were going at the newspaper.”

  Merrill nodded, loaded his mouth, and kept right on talking. “The other day, here in this diner, he told me he had a big story in the works, but he wouldn’t give me the details. Said something about how he was feeling guilty about it and that some people would suffer because of it.”

  “Leave it to Aaron to be the world’s only sensitive newsman. You’ve got an investigation going, right?”

  “Minimal. It looks pretty cut and dry. Shot himself with his service revolver. Lalomia promised me a copy of the report.”

  “At the boat launch? Why there?”

  Merrill scooped another forkful of meatloaf. Didn’t reply.

  “Did you see…the body?”

  “Yes. It was Aaron. Lying across the front seat of his Land Rover.”

  “Did anything look suspicious?”

  Merrill stopped chewing. Looked straight at his brother. “I’m a cop. I’m suspicious by design.”

  “That’s good. What bothered you?”

  “I want to see Lalomia’s report before I say anything.”

  “Jesus!” Kent panned an unfocused stare out over the other patrons and then leaned at his brother. “Merrill, I’m telling you, it couldn’t be. I know Aaron better than that. Hell, so do you.”

  “And I’m telling you we’ve got an old man with virtually no family, out in the boondocks with no witnesses, sitting in his own vehicle, shot with his own service revolver.” Merrill held up his palms. “Come on, Kent, Dewitt County has a small force—undermanned and underfunded. They can’t mount a large-scale investigation on a case like that.”

  Kent pushed himself to his feet, tossing his napkin onto his plate. “Forget that crap! I’ll figure it out myself.” His face reddened. He glanced left then right, not knowing what to do, but knowing he needed to do something. “Think about it. Things don’t fit! Why would he do it at a public boat launch? Come on, Merrill! You knew him. Privacy was his thing. Where would Aaron Whitmore, the woodsman, choose to end his life? Where did we find him when Claire died?”

  Merrill’s jaw slacked as his brother’s prodding struck home. “Big Rock.”

  “Exactly!” Both brothers’ mental eyes formed an image of the beaver meadow on Metcalf Mountain. Along its southern edge, a granite boulder the size of a country church warmed in the sun all day long, all year long. It overlooked some of the best whitetail ground in New York State and was known among the locals to be Aaron Whitmore’s personal deer stand. Kent and Merrill knew it was his thinking place.

  “Big Rock, where he shot the twelve point. Where he talked about wanting to have his ashes scattered!”

  Kent watched his brother assimilate the new information until his frustration boiled over. “Hell, if you can’t do it…”

  He took a step to leave and felt Merrill grip his arm.

  “Hold on, Kent. Man, that’s the hottest I’ve seen you get about anything in a long time.” Merrill’s voice rang with approval. He signaled Kent to take his seat again. “All right. I’ll dig into it some more.”

  “As a favor to Mom.”

  “And you.”

  Kent slid back into the booth and gave his brother a defiant look. “Did you invite me to lunch to tell me about Aaron or was this another attempt to advise me about my lifestyle?”

  “Did you see those picketers at Copithorn this morning?”

  “As a matter of fact I did. Some of the local do-gooders up in arms? They better be careful. If Stef Copithorn gets pissed off and moves her business to Timbuktu, Jefferson goes down the toilet. You better remind folks around here who butters their bread. Tell them to stop reading all the animal abuse propaganda.”

  Merrill swallowed a dry mouthful with great effort as he shook his head. “This is serious. They aren’t our people.”

  Except for the pretty one who had harassed him, Kent hadn’t paid much attention to the crowd. “Who are they?”

  “A group from California. Well organized. Seems they’ve targeted Copithorn—cosmetics, you know?”

  Kent bobbed an ice cube in his tea with a fingertip. “That’s a little bigger problem,” he admitted and then added, “but they won’t last long either. Some new cause will crop up, and they’ll move on.”

  The chief shrugged but said nothing.

  Kent knew he was being baited but decided to bite anyway. “So. How are you figuring me in this?”

  An irritating little smile of satisfaction crossed Merrill’s lips. “Stef is thinking like you. I spoke with her this morning. For the time being, we’ve decided to keep a low profile. See if the thing burns itself out like you say. They’re peaceful enough for now. They’re not damaging any property or obstructing business.”

  “That’s what will happen. You can bet on it. They’ll leave all right. There’s nothing at Copithorn Research for them to sink their teeth into. Stef plays by the rules.”

  “Well, if they do, great. But while we’re keeping an eye on them, we decided we’d better start getting ready for a fight. Just in case.”

  Kent’s eyes narrowed. “You still haven’t explained my role.”

  “Stef wants to be able to go on record as having an animal health care inspector or supervisor—call it what you want—some outside person who insures that Copithorn is treating their animals humanely.”

  “And you figure I’m the man for the job.”

  Merrill’s hands shot up, pleading innocence. “It was Stef’s idea, but sure, you come to mind. Why not? What’s wrong with it anyway? I know you’re bored to death working in that little shoebox of an animal hospital. Besides, you and I both know Stef Copithorn does everything top shelf. She’ll pay great, for sure. You could use the money, couldn’t you? Be honest.”

  God, he hated it when Merrill was right. Merrill had a habit of being right, which was probably why he had become a cop. Kent shook his head. “Remind me never to accept another lunch invite from you. First you tell me about Aaron, then you try to drag me into a hornet’s nest.”

  Merrill just sipped his coffee.

  “Listen, they don’t have any animal welfare problems over at Copithorn. I’ve never been through the plant, but I know Stef. She wouldn’t allow it. Besides, this is a small town. Word would have gotten out. Jesus. I don’t need this.” Kent blew a breath out his nose. “I’d have to check out the place for myself before I can agree to anything.”

  “Does that mean you’d consider the job?”

  “Maybe.” Kent gave his brother a don’t-push-me look. “Only because it’s Stef.”

  Merrill pulled a napkin from the dispenser, wiped his face vigorously, and tossed the crumpled wad onto his plate. “Good. I figured that was the best I’d get out of you. You’ll do a great job.”

  “Don’t assume anything. I said I’d consider it. That’s all.”

  “Right.” The chief brushed aside his brother’s caveat. “This will be a good project for you. Help you out of your doldrums, maybe. Get you back on top like the old days.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Hell, Kent, you can handle this job with your eyes shut. I figured you’d give us the go-ahead, so Stef and I arranged a meeting at two o’clock tomorrow so you can see their setup firsthand.”

  At his truck, Kent opened a white paper bag and took out the two burgers for Lucinda. She gobbled them. He watched her and provided dinner conversation.

  “Girl, what am I getting us into? This Copithorn thing is going to be a huge headache. I want to focus on what happened to Aaron.” He wadded the bag and tossed it behind the seat. “Come on, Lucinda. We need to take a ride over to Mid-York, see what Mom knows about all thi
s.”

  Chapter 4

  Kent turned into the Mid-York Extended Care facility and followed its smooth macadam through lush lawn and fat maples. The main residence building was modern, with lots of glass and an angular sprawling profile that fit surprisingly pleasantly into the rural landscape. It cost a mint, far more than his mother’s retirement benefit provided, but he and Merrill had agreed it was the best around. They made the monthly payment willingly—not easily, but willingly.

  He proceeded down B-wing, stopping here and there to nod hello or pat the fleshless shoulder of long-retired schoolteachers, pastors, and local businesspeople who had been part of his life at one time or another. He squatted in front of a special few of the wheelchairs parked along the hall and smiled into the cloudy eyes that had sculpted his youth.

  A young woman at the nurses’ station greeted him. “Hey, Dr. Stephenson.”

  “How’s my mother today?” Shortness of breath had plagued her for the last six months.

  “Better. The doctor checked her yesterday and changed her medication. That seems to have helped.”

  “Excellent.” He pushed through a door into room 135.

  June Stephenson Mays was propped in her wheelchair with a cloud of pillows. The chair seemed like a massive amount of metal to hold her tiny body. She wore a crisp pink housecoat. Matchstick legs descended into fluffy blue slippers. Her kittenish white hair was neatly brushed, and Kent noticed the aides had even applied a touch of lipstick. It helped to distract one’s eye from the tiny oxygen hose that ascended to just below her nostrils.

  He bent down and kissed June’s cheek. It was like the muzzle of a new foal. “Hi, Mom.”

  “Did you hear about Aaron?” she asked in a soft voice.

  He nodded, surprised at how fast she brought up the subject.

  “I don’t believe it was suicide,” she said with as much conviction as she could muster. She watched Kent’s face for a reaction.

  “Neither do I.”

  She patted his hand. “Good.”

  “Merrill is looking into it.”

  “You be sure he does.” She hesitated for a moment. “Aaron had been here a lot lately. He said he just felt like visiting, but I know there was more to it than that.” She toyed with the oxygen hose. “He was worried about something. He kept saying how he had this big story, but he didn’t want to hurt me.”

  “Hurt you? How?”

  “He wouldn’t say. Only that he wasn’t sure how to handle it.”

  “Did he say what the story was about?”

  “I asked, but he wouldn’t tell.”

  Kent considered his mother’s words. “You don’t think he was upset enough to kill himself?”

  “Never.”

  He let his eyes drift around to the various pieces of medical paraphernalia in the room. “What sort of a story could Aaron Whitmore have that would hurt you, Mom?”

  “I don’t know. His articles were just about hunting and fishing stuff, as far as I know.”

  “What exactly did he say?” Kent asked in a stronger voice.

  June’s eyes filled with tears. “I can’t remember.”

  Instantly he was sorry. He squeezed her hand. “That’s all right, Mom. You’ve still got the best brain in the family.”

  He steered the conversation to her new breathing medication, then over to who she had heard from lately and what activities the center had planned. He managed to make it last an hour. He promised to stop by later in the week and left.

  All the way to Copithorn, Kent pondered what sort of a “big story” Aaron Whitmore could have been working on. What could he have known that might have hurt his mother?

  Stef had told him how to bypass the protesters by following a service drive to a secluded parking lot behind Copithorn Research’s main office building.

  He pulled into a space next to Merrill’s black-and-white, twisted the rearview mirror to see his face, and ran his hand over his clean-shaven cheeks. It felt good. Lately he’d gotten lax about going through the motions every morning. It just didn’t seem to matter much.

  He glanced down at the tie he had bought yesterday. The clerk had assured him it was “the style.” He held the tip out toward Lucinda, gave her a dubious look. “At least it makes this old sport coat look a little more presentable.”

  Lucinda slapped her tail in agreement.

  “Keep an eye on the truck till I get back.”

  Lucinda’s tail went again.

  Kent stepped up onto a concrete loading dock and knocked loudly on a green steel door marked Employees Only. As he was waiting for a response, he turned back to the truck. He could see Lucinda’s nose pressed to the windshield. “Don’t even think of joining any animal rights groups while I’m gone,” he actually said out loud.

  As the door opened, Kent was greeted by a security guard and politely steered toward Copithorn’s main lobby.

  Classic modern architecture of the eighties, it was actually more of an atrium than a lobby, with its forty-foot skylighted ceiling and three floors opening onto balconies above. The air was made tropical by a jungle of lush hanging greenery and exotic trees with twisting hairy trunks the size of a man’s leg. The centerpiece was a fountain that babbled into a crystalline pool.

  He noticed Merrill seated on a bench. Beyond him, through giant sepia-toned windows, a throng of protesters churned on the lawn. Merrill was watching them.

  “Look pretty nasty, don’t they?”

  Merrill turned quickly and rose. He looked uncomfortable, out of place in his police uniform. “Yeah. I’d say so. What took you so long? I was beginning to think you chickened out.”

  “I might still. Stef didn’t call and cancel our meeting or anything, did she?”

  “We’re on in about five minutes.”

  The woman who had harassed Kent stood on a stone retaining wall. She spoke to her disciples with a bullhorn that carried her rhetoric through the glass.

  “Every generation prior to our present leaders has strived to leave the world in better condition than they found it,” she blasted. “But the generation of Huns that reign today has disgraced tradition. Like some insatiable monster, they claw the products of nature into their maws without thought to any other creature on earth. And what is the cost of this rapacious appetite? Animal pain, suffering, and death! That’s what. It’s time to change! It’s time to stop indulging in selfish behavior at any price. Do we really need eyeliner? Mascara? Lipstick?”

  “Does this bunch have a name?” Kent asked his brother.

  “Freedom of Animals Movement. FOAM for short.”

  “As in foaming at the mouth?”

  “It would fit.”

  Kent stared at the group with a disdainful expression he had unwittingly learned from Lucinda. “There is nothing so boring as a zealot.”

  “They may be boring, but they’re also disruptive,” came Stef Copithorn’s commanding voice from behind them. Both men spun on their heels.

  Stef was the same age as Kent but looked years younger. As the highly visible owner of a cosmetics company, she was very much aware of her appearance. Tall and willowy, she had auburn hair cut short and gelled smooth, a chestnut show horse on a sunny day. Her skin reminded Kent of French vanilla ice cream that was just starting to soften. She wore an above-the-knee black silk dress that clung perfectly. Heels, diamonds, uptown all the way.

  She was single and always would be. Kent had learned that secret long ago when they were in high school. The night she told him, they had been parked where the kids hung out behind the airport. Just the two of them. It had been such an epiphany for her. She had bubbled with relief as she confided in him about her sexuality.

  Stef extended a firm hand to both men and looked straight at each with penetrating hazel eyes. “Thank you for coming.”

  “Our pleasure,” Kent said
, and it was not totally a lie.

  Stef gave Kent a questioning gaze. “A pleasure, huh? Merrill told me he thought he might have to put a bullring in your nose and lead you here.”

  “The business part doesn’t thrill me, but it’s nice to see you again.”

  She smiled warmly. “Me too.”

  Their exchange was interrupted by a commotion at the front entrance. All three turned to see a flood of protesters stream in past startled security guards. The bullhorn woman was in front. She marched directly up to Copithorn’s chief executive and gave her a surly look.

  Kent straightened his back, readying himself for battle. But he felt something strange about this woman who was here to devour them. Her conviction! That was it. Twice he had seen her, and both times he had been struck by how she glowed with the vehemence he had enjoyed during his early years as a veterinarian…and had lost. It had made his life worthwhile back then. He was envious of her passion.

  She held out her hand to Stef. “Aubrey Fairbanks, field representative for the Freedom of Animals Movement. We saw you through the window and decided to come in and have a word with you.”

  “You are on private property,” Merrill interrupted. “On behalf of Ms. Copithorn, I’m asking you all to leave immediately and peacefully.”

  Without breaking eye contact with her adversary, Stef held up her hand to signal Merrill. “That’s all right, Chief. If Ms. Fairbanks can keep her people under control, I have no objection to them being here. In the lobby only. For now.”

  Merrill took a breath to argue then shrugged his shoulders in a whatever-you-say gesture and settled back to see what developed.

  Both women bristled, exuding dominance like two dogs meeting for the first time.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I’m sure you know by now why we’re here.”

  “Well, Aubrey…may I call you Aubrey? Why don’t you tell us anyway?”

  “First names are fine with me and, in a nutshell, we are against any exploitation of animals—no wearing, eating, using, or owning animals.” Aubrey leveled a venomous gaze. “Your company exploits animals for research. In cosmetics, of all things.”