Halt at X: A North of Boston Novel

by Sally Ann Sims

  “P-H grad students are doing environmental education programs for school kids out there. Hah! I used to muck around in that mud when I was a kid chasin’ frogs. Now the kids need to be escorted over the swamp. Excuse me, wetlands.” His grin revealed two gold crowns on his lower jaw.

  A row of swallows with metallic blue-green capes perched on the boardwalk railing like a guarding regiment, surveying the standing water to the north as the sun rose higher in the sky and willow leaves fluttered like confetti in the breeze. It was a beautiful, distracting scene, and Lucinda willed her gaze away. She could not afford distraction.

  With coffee served, Chester started.

  “I’m so glad to have you both here today,” he said. “Since Peabody has showed so much vision and success in pulling together its plan for the next ten years.” He nodded to Frank. “I can really see a place for myself to give you a huge leg up. As they say.”

  “We’re so pleased you’re interested in getting more deeply involved,” Lucinda said. She leaned slightly forward in her seat.

  “Yes,” said Frank. “What an example to the community.”

  Chester’s chest puffed out like one of those swallows buffeting a cold wind. Lucinda smiled at his physical response to praise and then glanced away at the boardwalk railing for a few seconds to calm her growing excitement. She felt her engines revving. Easy, she thought. Just easy does it. The tree swallows were gone, and a red-shouldered hawk circled over the marsh.

  “To all of Cape Tilton,” she added. “We’re excited to hear about what you’d like to do.”

  Frank watched Chester, who spent most of the time looking at Lucinda.

  “My vision in a nutshell. Simple.” He stood up and extended his arms wide. “Raise the already high academic bar higher.” He nodded briefly to Frank and returned his attentive gaze to Lucinda, carrying on with arm talk, stabbing the air with his right index finger. “By attracting the best professors and greatly increasing need-based scholarships spun off from an invested fund.”

  Bingo, thought Lucinda. Just what I spent five hours mapping out last night.

  She sat up taller and her smile spread wider. Frank continued to follow Chester with his eyes, but his smile looked brittle, as if masking another less benign expression underneath.

  “How incredibly generous, Chester,” Lucinda said, with a genuineness that could not be faked.

  Chester sat back down again after making his proclamation. “Now for nuts and bolts… .”

  “Actually,” Lucinda interrupted gently. “I thought this might be where you were headed. So I took the liberty of writing up scenarios for you featuring an outright gift for faculty development and a charitable lead trust for the scholarship fund.” Lucinda noticed Frank’s mouth open in astonishment before he regained composure.

  “Excellent!” Chester said, patting his shirt pocket for his reading glasses. “You can read me like a book.”

  She passed him a copy while he popped on his glasses.

  “This version includes a twenty-year payout period for the lead gift before it goes to your beneficiary. And, of course, we can consult with your tax lawyer concerning the best way to structure the multiyear gift and the trust.”

  “So if you were thinking of an amount up to… ” Lucinda paused, inviting a response with the timing of an actor.

  “Thirty-five million,” Chester said.

  “Then I can plug numbers in and get you the specifics.” She breathed out with relief.

  “I’ll check this out thoroughly and pass it by my tax man this week,” Chester said, reading parts of the proposal carefully and skipping others. “But on first blush, it looks superb Lucinda.” He winked at her. “You’ve got yourself a hellava Vice President, Frank.”

  “Don’t I?” he said, without a lot of conviction. “What’s your vision for how the faculty development will unfold?”

  Easy, Lucinda thought. Don’t get him bogged down in too many details just yet.

  “Great question, and probably something to be decided by the deans and provost and the Board. I don’t want to favor one discipline over another. Of course, business administration is my baby.”

  Don’t you dare sway him toward your pet projects.

  “In that case — ” Frank started. Lucinda tried to nudge him with her right pump under the table but he was too far away. Chester became distracted by his cell phone, hearing his wife-only ringtone.

  “Constance can call at the worst times,” he said gaily, positioning the smartphone near his ear. “Yes, love.” He spun his chair around to face the window while he spoke. “We’re doing it now. What is it?”

  Lucinda shook her head at Frank and mouthed, “Don’t ask questions.”

  His eyes narrowed, and Lucinda felt a chill that matched nothing associated with this fine summer day. When she glanced again out the window, waiting for Chester to conclude his call, she saw the hawk fly back into view low over the boardwalk. A small still body in its talons.

  Brain Steam

  “You piddled around with a half million when this guy could go to thirty-five million? What were you thinking?”

  His words landing like blows on Warren’s head, Frank watched his employee slouch lower in the black vinyl guest chair. All the furniture — modern dark or sleek metallic — on the second floor of the president’s mansion was Frank’s, not Ethan Thornbough’s castoffs, creating a space out of synch with the public area downstairs. No staff were allowed on the second floor when Frank was there, the cleaners did their thing when he was out. Frank and Warren were alone.

  “You wanted the money quick.” Warren’s voice, colorless as his face, offered neither boast nor apology.

  Frank switched on a brushed steel floor lamp. Outside, clouds raced past the orange-tinged moon.

  “He was testing you. And you failed. And Lucinda rubbed my nose in it.”

  Warren opened his mouth. He shut it when Frank spat out, “That’s never going to happen again.”

  Frank paced once past Warren’s chair. “Second dog, that’s how he’s treating me. The biggest, biggest P-H donor in our history, bigger than any single corporate donor we have now.” Frank smacked his open hand on the top of another guest chair.

  Warren uncrossed his legs and sat up straighter. His palms were sweaty, but he had nothing to wipe them on.

  “And those rumors about Abby? What on earth were you thinking? Grounds for immediate dismissal, if proven true.”

  Warren stood and faced Frank. He spoke slowly, his jaw tight. “I did not touch her or say any of the things she’s accusing me of. She’s trying to throw her weight around and failing miserably. Or else she’s fantasizing, dull little life that she has.”

  He ran his fingers through his gel-less hair, leaving a subtle gleam from the sweat. “It’s the same as that supposed rape, absolutely false. I bet Lucinda put her up to this one too.”

  Frank scrutinized Warren’s face. “I need a go-to man I can depend on to close big deals and not be the subject of sleazy rumors. Do I have to keep searching?”

  “Look,” Warren said. “I’m waiting to hear on three potential gifts to come by the end of the year. Then I thought we’d upgrade the President’s Circle from what Lucinda’s doing. Or not doing.” Warren spoke quickly, spinning out a better future.

  Frank interrupted. “Thirty-five million, Warren.” Frank paused in front of Warren, still standing. Frank usually didn’t pace, and Warren sensed an invisible pressure building up in the room.

  Damn! The Vice President job is slipping away, and it had been a slam dunk. Rachael, his reputation, his future career — it was all being taken away. He would not let Lucinda do this to him. He’d started the Orion thing to scare her, make her uneasy. He’d underestimated that girl’s grit. Vic thought it odd how she looked at the sky that night. It seemed like a game, to see how far she could be pushed, to nudge her aside easily. Not easy at all.

  He wouldn’t let the VP prize go. It would be a fight, and whoever won wou
ld surely earn the job. Because if you could stand the heat of competition, you would be able to hold on to it in the long run. I’ll pull it together for Frank. Or… he wondered, eyeing Frank, if maybe Frank were vulnerable?

  Warren took a more comfortable seat against the wall, where he could watch Frank as he paced, and sat up straight. “So it’s ok for Lucinda to be sleeping with Aden? A direct report? But when I look at someone, it’s sexual harassment?”

  Frank, still pacing, glanced at Warren, smiled, and then paused in a shadowed corner of the room. His phone rang, and he checked the caller ID.

  “Cliff, yes. I know! The Mulholland legacy gift. Thanks! I don’t mind saying so. She’ll claim credit, but it was me. You know, behind the scenes stuff before the meeting. Yes, I know. We’re halfway there.” He ended the call.

  Warren took this in. Frank went from second dog when talking to me to man of the hour when talking to his boss. Hell, Frank could be done with Lucinda so easily. Fire her. For not working his plan, missing the Valentine’s Day deadline. For having an adulterous affair that pissed off her donors. For sleeping with a subordinate, although that was coming a little too close to what Frank and Margo were up to. Are, were up to? My pathway up seems much more tangled than before Abby opened her big mouth. He studied Frank’s face, gauging his own future.

  “Aden’s car has been seen at Lucinda’s farmhouse on several occasions and at least one overnight last spring,” Warren said. “Margo mentioned to me she saw them getting cozy on a hill at Salt Marsh. That was about a week ago.”

  Frank became thoughtful, and for a few seconds, Warren felt some of Frank’s exasperation lessen, although he still looked volatile.

  “What date was the overnight?”

  “March fourteenth. A Sunday,” said Warren.

  Warren knew he was far, far from out of the woods, but he was determined to get back in the good graces of this man. He glanced at Frank. Or maybe he needed to get in tighter with Cliff if Frank were expendable? He could switch alliances if need be, if Frank were taken out unexpectedly, they would need his expertise. Warren stood up.

  “Ok,” Frank said. “Listen. Executive Committee meeting day after tomorrow. The shit’s gonna hit the fan about silly accounting stuff. But it’s when we, I, make my move. Anything you can close in the next day or two will help immensely.”

  Bustin’ my balls, Warren thought. What should Orion do next?

  * * * * *

  Lucinda wore her black pant suit, with an ivory shell underneath, and her college seal pin on the lapel. Black round-toe pumps with a full, curved, three-inch heel. Her power outfit.

  “It’s the most hideously conservative thing I have, but the point must be made.” She and Aden walked from The Puffy Muffin to the parking lot for Rantoul.

  “No comment,” Aden said. “There’s enough useless talk about what women politicians wear.”

  “Honor doesn’t want me there. She said she’ll cover defense for the Development Department on my behalf, but it’s my neck, I told her. The Board’s not the one getting threats.”

  “Have there been more?” Aden asked.

  “I got rear-ended last night.”

  “Well, that can happen.”

  “In a practically empty parking lot?”

  Aden stopped walking. “What?”

  “Harris got the guy. Vic Stong. New Hampshire driver’s license. He’s watching him.”

  “Couldn’t he arrest him for something?”

  “He fined him, and his insurance will pay the damage.”

  “In other words, he can’t prove anything malicious.” Aden balled his hands into fists and mocked a scream. He wanted to grab Lucinda and whisk her to Canada until everything blew over. Montreal’s a happening city. He shut his eyes, composed himself, made himself smile.

  “What are you smiling at?” she said.

  “How beautiful a day it is.”

  “You lie.”

  “Ok, I’ll fess up. I want to kidnap you to get you away from this sicko.”

  “Nice thought. But I don’t think he’s got the guts to really do anything. I don’t think Frank’s behind it. He doesn’t operate in violence. Psychological intimidation is his thing.”

  “Not unless he’s lulling you into complacency,” Aden said. They’d reached Lucinda’s car in the parking lot. Aden checked the windshield. Nothing.

  “I got my eyes open,” she said.

  Does she? he wondered, standing on the sidewalk as she pulled away in her car.

  * * * * *

  The emergency Executive Committee meeting, called by Honor and Cliff outside of the usual second Tuesday of the month cycle, was to convene at Honor’s law office that Thursday at six pm. “Home court advantage,” Honor had joked the night before in a phone call to Lucinda to confirm.

  Bomi was there when Lucinda entered the office and stood as she approached the conference table.

  “Good evening,” he said, in that voice that was an instant balm to her.

  “Bomi. It’s really good to see you.”

  “You as well, Lucinda.” He shook both of her hands in his and smiled. “I’m so impressed with your work, especially now that I have gotten a solid look behind the scenes.” His smile seemed to both shelter and share the acknowledgement of hidden secrets.

  Honor’s brows elevated, serving to counterbalance her wry smile, which tempered some as Cliff strode in.

  “Heavens, you’ve cleaned yourself up for the occasion,” Honor quipped. Honor was the only one in the whole group who could get away with that kind of good-natured jab. Lucinda noted the typical surge of forced humor that erupts in committee meetings right before claws are unsheathed.

  “Taking the wife out after.” Cliff’s excuse for the charcoal gray suit. He nodded to Bomi and started a lap around the room. Honor shook her head. Cliff massaged his left thigh and then took a seat.

  Don Keegan arrived a minute ahead of Frank. Lucinda knew from Bomi that Don had reappeared a few weeks after Honor had trouble contacting him, claiming he’d needed his appendix removed. But Honor told Lucinda she had not been impressed with the way he was handling — or rather not probing — finance review in any kind of objective manner and had transferred that function to Bomi without a lot of fuss.

  Lucinda suspected that Cliff brought Don in with a wink-and-a-nod understanding to just bless everything put in front of him. Honor weeded out that kind of thing the second it sprang up. Cliff didn’t push back on this one because Honor provided extensive pro bono legal services to P-H that Cliff did not want P-H to pay for should he really piss her off for something that wasn’t that big a deal. His reign as Chair was over. Lucinda was immensely grateful that Honor kept her in the loop on the backstage machinations of the committee; otherwise, she couldn’t hope to influence it much at all. The other item she pondered was Honor’s confession that she and Cliff had fought loudly over Frank’s recent activities just this morning, something that had never happened before.

  The door opened once again and a blast of lily of the valley poured in ahead of June Fitch Sutton.

  “June!” Lucinda said. “Welcome back from Paris.”

  “Oh, merci,” she said, in a flat Boston accent. “You all look divine. Especially you, Cliff.”

  “You put on a suit, everyone has a fit. Are we all here yet?” He glanced impatiently at the wall clock.

  “Waiting on Raymond,” said Honor.

  “Not anymore,” Raymond Gage said, closing the door behind him. Honor introduced him to Bomi whom he hadn’t met yet. Raymond owned a string of wholesale seafood distributorships, his family roots going back almost as far on Cape Tilton as Honor’s ancestors. He was stuffed into a navy suit and wore a navy tie with little white lighthouses on it. His puffy facial skin appeared wind seared as if he’d just docked from inspecting the catch.

  Lucinda eyed Frank, who looked away toward Bomi.

  When they were all seated and ice water poured and passed, Honor said, “Thank you everyone
for making a special effort to be here this evening. Very important P-H business tonight. So let’s get going.”

  “Why is Lucinda here, anyway?” Cliff asked.

  “I was wondering that too,” Frank said. “These are closed meetings.”

  “Because she knows more about tonight’s main concern than all of us put together.” Honor pounded the table with a gavel, making June jump.

  “Mercy!” she said. “It’s been awhile since I’ve been to a special meeting. Are we a Congressional Committee now?” She laughed. No one joined her. She glanced nervously at the faces around her, then picked at something on her skirt hem and swiveled her pink sapphire cocktail ring to the vertical.

  Bomi started unloading a briefcase, the contents of which attracted Don Keegan’s attention.

  “Two things for tonight,” Honor announced. “Accounting discrepancies and CEO performance related to interim Strategic Plan targets.”

  Lucinda watched Frank push his chair back from the table. “I won’t have issue two discussed with staff present.”

  “Cool off, Frank,” Honor said. “Lucinda will be excused after the accounting discussion.”

  “Why isn’t this left to Finance Committee?” Frank asked.

  “They weren’t meeting regularly enough,” said Honor.

  Bomi looked up. “Independent oversight is essential, which is why we had to augment what the Finance Committee is doing.”

  “That makes no sense,” Frank snapped back. “That’s their role.”

  “Actually it does,” Bomi said. “If they don’t satisfy the requirements of this Committee, there’s always the state auditor to consult.” His soft voice dropped a bomb.

  Cliff’s and Don’s faces swiveled toward Bomi, while Frank ever so slightly loosened his tie. He sipped his water, trying to read Cliff’s reaction. Cliff was staring at Bomi’s papers on the table from two seats away.

  “Go ahead, Bomi. Take them one at a time,” Honor said, glancing down at her agenda.

  “There have been what appear to be undocumented payments to Warren Rindge in the amount of $40,000, four checks. If these were reimbursements for business expenses, there’s no documentation present.” Bomi made eye contact with Cliff.