“Well, you’ve got some time to get that together.”
Lucinda left Thea with her bridles and hobbled up the stairs to Tori’s office. The CD player blared a former country music singer now shunned by Nashville so Tori didn’t hear Lucinda enter.
“How’s the Champ?” Lucinda said, limping up to Tori’s desk. “Congratulations!”
Tori looked up from a pile of mail. “Cinda! Thanks! Pogo was amazing! So huge, turns like a barrel racer then jumps the moon.” Lucinda enjoyed Tori’s uninhibited grin.
Tori’s office was an extension of the observation room with a view of the indoor so Lucinda checked to see whether anyone was riding. Jay was trotting Kildaire on a lunge line, allowing the stallion to circle him with a twenty-foot radius. She turned away from the view and sat sideways on an easy chair facing Tori’s desk.
“That about sums him up. What a find!”
“What’s been — ”
“What’s new — ”
They both laughed.
“You go first, Tori.”
“There’s so much going on! The Equine Studies Program is provisionally approved. If we work our butts off and meet the requirements set up, we can accept students starting next winter semester.”
“Wow! That’s great. I thought Frank was cool on the idea.”
“That was until Margo took it up.”
Lucinda smiled. “There’s more than a little something going on there.”
“I do not want to know,” Tori said.
“How’s Martin?”
“He’s practically camped out at the vet’s office. They’re trying to make sure Skyline gets enough protein and oversight from a wildlife rehabber. Some state law thing about threatened species. If she doesn’t stand soon, Martin’s not so sure he should go on with it. Seems there was more wrong with her than just broken wings. But if that bird doesn’t make it, I’ll… . I don’t know. I’ve never seen Martin so devoted to rehabbing.”
“Or to this particular bird. There’s something going on between them. Like there’s communication, empathy. On both sides.”
“I know,” Tori smiled.
“What about Hyperion?”
“Filing for bankruptcy protection.” Tori pushed the mail pile aside and stood up.
“Oh, Tori! Is it that bad?”
Tori nodded. She leaned back against the observation window.
“It’s not as bad as it sounds. I mean, yeah, it’s terrible. But Martin was really ready to move on. It’s been 20 years since he built that company from just him at a drafting table.”
“I know… but to totally crash.”
Tori shrugged. “The lawyers don’t give it a chance. I’m looking at the bright side. Martin invested well, the barn is paid off, and they can’t touch any of our personal accounts. With the income we can get from the stable operation and his architecture work — which he’s started to hint that it’s time for him to do again — we’ll be ok. Of course, no buying Pogo-caliber horses every year.”
“Poor you,” Lucinda said. That was Tori, doing one of her specialties — making the best of disaster.
“Or giving massive gifts to your college,” Tori teased back.
“We’ll settle for semi-massive. I’ll adjust the revenue projections,” Lucinda kidded. Of course, she’d already done that. Every year to project revenue she considered the business prospects of her biggest individual and institutional donors, and she knew Hyperion was iffy going into the next year.
“I can’t complain.” Tori turned around and watched Jay lunging Kildaire at a canter. “That is one cool stallion. Look how balanced he is!”
Lucinda moved in next to Tori at the window, walking slowly to avoid limping. Nodding toward Jay, she said, “He’s made himself quite at home since you’ve been away.”
Tori turned toward her, eyebrows raised.
“Yes, he’s targeting Thea as his next conquest.”
“What?”
“Well, he’s here day and night and promising her trips to the UK. And she falls over herself when he offers her advice about Paz. She’s star struck.”
“One little misstep and he’s out of here. Caitlin can move the whole show to Florida.”
“Just thought you’d want to know. I’d hate to see Thea get burned. Or worse.”
“Me too,” Tori said. “So, any news from Bart?”
“We’re supposed to meet today. Martin told me about a show Bart’s having at Rapid Shutter Gallery. So I went down there to see if I could find anything about where he’s living. They wouldn’t give me an address, but told me they’d pass along a message.”
“And?” Tori asked.
“And Bart actually answered the next time I called. The exhibition is amazing.” A little too amazing, she thought, remembering the Granite Point shot.
“Lucinda, that’s great. I knew he’d… he’d… .”
“He’d what?”
“I don’t know. Start to get whatever he’s got out of his system.”
“You don’t think it was just Jay?”
“No. I think he’s got his own demons. Drink, for one.”
Lucinda moved back toward the easy chair, wincing. “Well, hopefully he’ll show up.”
“Why are you favoring that right leg?” Tori asked. “I almost said ‘hind leg.’”
Lucinda smiled.
“Fell getting out of the car. On the ice.” She didn’t want to bring up the car incident with Tori. She didn’t want to talk about it anymore today. She didn’t want to think about what it meant, if anything. “Just a little sprain.”
“You should rest it. Have Thea lunge the mare.” Tori looked at her. “What else? You know you suck at hiding things. Unless it’s at work. There’s something else going on?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Out with it, Cinda.”
Lucinda knew Tori would get it out of her. The more Lucinda dodged now the bigger deal Tori would make out of it until she knew the whole story. As many great things as there were to having a longtime friend, there were drawbacks. They saw right through you most of the time.
“Car swerved into me on an icy stretch on Babson Road. Hit-and-run without the hit. I just slid onto the shoulder. So I get out on the passenger side and promptly step into a groundhog hole.”
“Did you see the make of car?”
“No, but it was some dark color.”
“Would someone be after you? What have you been up to lately?”
“Just doing my job.”
Tori laughed. “That could mean anything.”
Lucinda took up Tori’s suggestion and asked Thea to lunge the mare. She watched the action from a folding chair near the entrance to the indoor. A few minutes after Lucinda took her seat, Nanogirl brought Lucinda an apple, which she quartered with her Swiss army knife and fed back to the mare, and then a flyer fallen off the bulletin board outside the tack room advertising Jay’s availability for lessons.
“I’ll pass on that one Nano G,” Lucinda said. Ramsey came by and collected the miniature, snapping her purple lead onto the front lower ring of her purple halter.
“She’s always a’roaming. Can’t get her to stay put. She can undo almost any latch you throw at her, and she kicks the walls down if I put her in a big horse’s stall.” He lifted his well-worn Red Sox cap and scratched his head, then donned the cap.
“She’s a free spirit, Ramsey,” Lucinda said.
“By gosh, she is,” he said. “Keeps things interesting when Margo’s not here.” He winked at Lucinda.
Lucinda returned her attention to the gray mare circling.
Holly had recommended Lucinda have the mare pop over cavalettis to improve her balance, so she watched Thea lunge the mare at a trot and hop low rails alongside one wall. The mare was starting to look good, putting on a little weight. Dr. Camille recommended just a pinch of weight gain supplements during the winter so the mare wouldn’t get too much grain with only limited pasture time to burn it off while putting on flesh.
&nb
sp; Lady Grey’s trot had a wonderful suspension Lucinda was just starting to appreciate, and the mare really seemed to enjoy the ring work now. Her neck was getting more flexible without her even trying. Lucinda noticed too that Lady Grey was losing some of her anxiety about what was going to be asked of her since it was always something she could easily do.
There were possibilities for the mare Lucinda hadn’t seen before, and she contemplated competing in beginning dressage and seeing how far they could go together, rather than using it simply as prep work for trail riding. It was a much more pleasant thing to contemplate than why Bart hadn’t visited or why a car slid toward her last Friday night.
Diamonds on the Sea
On Sunday afternoon Aden pulled up to the one-story house, a glorified shack, a street over from the docks where the lobster boats unloaded. The weathered and splintered boards on its southeastern side fronting the ocean hadn’t seen a good coat of paint in decades, if not a century, Aden thought. The northwestern side had fared only a little better and carried a stubborn remnant of grayish white paint.
A For Sale sign was staked into the minute yard, only a few feet from the road next to the cottage. There was a tiny dock out back and then the famous Newcester Harbor with its stoic lighthouse-on-the-jetty, painted by artists great and mediocre for at least the last 170 years. The walkway through the tiny yard was made to appear as part of the dock, and there was a mailbox on a pier post with the number 2 ½ and no name. Gretel, front paws stretched up to the dashboard, scanned the harbor. Catching sight of a few Common Mergansers too close to shore, she sounded her punishing bark.
“Forget doing undercover work with you,” Aden said, snapping a leash on her collar, her barks settling to anxious growls.
Before knocking, Aden couldn’t resist peeking through the porthole-shaped window by the front door, which was slightly off kilter. He saw John packing cardboard boxes, and he rapped his knuckles lightly on the glass. John continued stowing cookware and waved Aden in. Aden stooped to get through the doorframe.
“Don’t tell me the place has potential,” John said. “Come back when we’re having a nor’easter and the water sloshes up through the floorboards in the bathroom.” He grinned. “Actually, it’s a fun party spot.”
“Still, it’s all in the location,” Aden joked.
“I’m only the tenant. Almost former tenant I’m happy to say. Is that her?”
Gretel, weight shifted to three legs and right paw aloft, looked between Aden’s and John’s faces.
“The one and only. Gretel the Ferocious.”
John walked up to the dachshund and then scrunched down closer to her eye level.
“Dachsies are tricky,” he said, sitting on the floor next to her to save the strain on his legs. “I should charge more to capture their — ”
“Orneriness?”
“Personality. But tans are easier than blacks.”
“She likes you,” Aden said, watching Gretel’s tail gyrate. “I didn’t even know you painted ’till I saw a few of your pieces at The Deep End a couple of weeks ago. So how does a chef like you become such a great artist?”
“I don’t know about great. If I were great, would I still be cooking for Frank Wickes?”
Aden smiled. “Well, you came on to work for Ben. And you’re a superb chef too. Nothing second class about the edible arts.”
John took several full-body photos and a dozen head shots of Gretel on the sunny side of the house. “Do you ever hear from him? I miss ‘ol Benjie. He loved real food. Good, local food.”
Aden shook his head.
“Hey, you were right about him. Frank. Let’s go into my cabin and discuss.” John led them through to a space one would call the living room, with a complete wall view open to the harbor, if it weren’t decked out as an art studio.
“Is this place insulated?” Aden asked. The row of windows made Aden feel like he was standing in the cabin of a tiny yacht.
“You’re looking at very serious windows,” John said, sagging down onto a canvas deck chair. “Toss those sketch pads over there,” John said, pointing at a pair of lobster traps, long since hauled out of the water for good. “I really only use this place for painting in the summer and fall and storing a few pots and pans. My mother’s grandfather built it, and my sister’s selling it. I live farther inland, like half a mile.”
Aden sat in another deck chair and stretched his legs out, while Gretel found a hunk of wood and began gnawing it. John flipped her a rawhide bone. She switched over with no complaint.
“My sister’s dog has rawhide to spare. Don’t want my portrait sitter getting splinters in her tongue.”
Out the window, the sun sparkled on the sea as if someone had just flung a path of diamonds to the eastern horizon.
“So, what was I right about?” Aden said.
“Frank. He’s been Pres for what, almost a year now? He was really zipped up tight for the first six months, but he’s tripping up now. I’m hearing and seeing things that probably went on last summer and fall before he let his guard down. First is Warren, they are tight and he visits just about every other night. He’s definitely paying Warren off, but I don’t know where the money comes from. Cliff drops by every month or so, but Frank is very careful with how he talks around him. I don’t think he knows everything. He still thinks Frank’s the best thing to hit P-H since central air conditioning in Rantoul.”
Aden chuckled.
“Then there’s our friend Miss Margo aka The Flame Thrower. They’re involved romantically, or maybe just sexually, but I haven’t quite figured where they each stand on this or what all she’s getting out of it. Or he’s getting, for that matter. The latest is him offering to pay board for her horse at Tori Bentley’s stable. She refused, but hey, who knows if he’ll make a second offer? Again, I don’t know where Frank intended that stash of cash to come from either had she accepted. She never stays overnight, but that’s certainly not necessary to indulge — ”
“I get the idea,” Aden said.
“She could be just leading him on, not giving him — ”
Aden heard a banging sound from the dock. Gretel growled low while mouthing rawhide, sounding like a motor with something stuck in it.
“Kids whacking on the dock is all,” John said. “There’s also a new guy in the picture. Hal Denton of the green Jaguar. They discuss sets of accounts. Set Matilde and Set Fiona they call them.”
“Interesting. Can you find out anything more about Hal? Get the license number or something? Find out more about these accounts?”
“Oh, I intend to,” said John.
“How long have you been at this?”
“Longer than it took you and Lucinda Beck to get in on it.” John smiled. “She’s good people, by the way.”
“I know,” Aden said. More than good people, he thought. He looked down at Gretel, still gnawing.
“I guess it was after the Fourth of July. He had his son up to visit for the holiday weekend. It looked very reluctant on the son’s part, and Frank started making these wild promises to Sean about a job and investment money. Sean’s ticked off about something Frank did to his mother. Don’t know what exactly. I just got bad vibes from Frank, starting around then. And of course nothing we ever do in the kitchen is quite good enough for him. Margo came into the kitchen one day to make suggestions, and I chased her out with a bread knife. She hasn’t been in since.” John smirked and leaned back in the chair.
A boy’s gap-toothed face popped up into view in the one of the long windows. Startled, Aden jumped up and Gretel bounded to the wall, stretching up to the sill. She threatened the boy with her muffled bark, the bone wedged crosswise in her teeth. The boy smiled wide. He must be about nine, Aden figured.
“Billy! You salty dog! You should be home now!” John sprung up and ran toward the front door, Aden followed. Gretel jumped on the chair Aden had vacated. The men hurried outside. Under a sky now battened with cotton-ball clouds, the diamonds had slipped below the s
urface of the sea, while Billy had scampered three docks down and was talking to a man hauling lobster traps. He nodded and Billy began stacking them. John put his hands on his hips and frowned at the Jetta’s left front tire.
“I will arrange to have Billy return your hubcaps,” John said. “Sometimes he’s too much the entrepreneur. His dad Kyle died eight years ago in Afghanistan so Billy figures he’s head of the household, constantly scaring up gigs for money. Legal or otherwise.”
As Aden turned to fetch Gretel, John glanced out to the short jetty south of the lighthouse.”
“Right over there.” John pointed. “I’ll do her in gouache on the end of a jetty barking into the spray, the lighthouse behind. Fighting back against the mighty ocean’s advance.”
“Perfect,” said Aden. “That’s her personality all right. The Teutonic wonderhund.”
* * * * *
The sun was already below the treetops when she turned out of the Salt Marsh Stable driveway and still no signal from Bart. Lucinda checked the road ahead and her rearview mirror for any suspicious-looking cars, whatever that meant. Hell, someone heading straight for her with no intention of stopping.
She was vexed at this new threat in her life, on top of her other problems — what she needed to do to get Bart back for one and two to keep P-H, especially Frank, on track so she could face her donors and, more important, the students next year. It seemed too far-fetched that anyone would want to hurt her for doing her job well. Maybe too well? Can a fundraiser ever raise too much? She supposed it was like everything else, it depends from whom it’s raised and why.
As she started down her driveway, tears slid easily out of her eyes when she saw Bart’s old blue van parked next to the barn. Annoyed with herself, she wiped them off with the back of her hand and checked her face in the rearview mirror. She hadn’t planned to be in dusty barn clothes with dirty hair when he arrived, but the fact that he was there trumped tears and dust.
When she got out of her car he was loping down from the orchard toward her, with that loose-hipped walk of his. Her heart beat surged as she started toward him.
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