Saving Cecil (12 page)

I dug around in my tote for my measuring tape, then looked for a rock to anchor one end so I could take accurate measurements. That was when I made another find, a heart wrenching one. Under the dry leaves skirting the edge of the pit lay an Estwing rock pick. The initials C-A-B were burned into its simulated wooden handle. Clinton A. Baker?

Exhilaration with the enormous scientific find, and sadness, fought to control my thoughts, but there was no time for that now. I pushed on, dropping a rock on one end of the tape. The reptile measured thirteen feet, six and one half inches. Since it was larger by two feet than the 1500-pounder found at the brick company, I imagined this big boy would have weighed closer to 1800 pounds, maybe a ton. I placed the pick, initials up, at varying spots on the skeleton and took a slew of photos. Before stowing it in my tote, I ran my fingers over the initials again.

I knew others might need more proof as to who actually discovered the fossil. For me, the pick was all the evidence I needed that it was Clinton. Sometimes you just have to let your heart be your guide. Vowing then and there to make saving Cecil for posterity the crowning achievement of Clinton's young life, thus insuring his place in North Carolina history as one of its greatest fossil hunters, I gave the reptile one last admiring look and covered him back up.

When I came to the corner with the broken twine, I added a note beside my measurements to bring more twine when I returned. Then, just to be on the safe side, I pulled some Carolina creeper vines from a nearby pine tree and laid them over the tarp. Us Indiana Jones types have to take every precaution.

On my way out, I was careful not to ruffle a leaf on the branches that hid the fork in the trail. Then I headed back to work. At least I was going to, but stopped after only a few feet. The proximity of the hog operation and the clay pit was really bugging me. Maybe if I went back, I might find some convincing evidence that there was a connection between the two.

You know how it is when you don't know what you're looking for, you just know you'll recognize it when you see it? Well, that's why I went back. One more sneak peek and I might just get lucky and see that truck again, get some tag numbers. Maybe see someone feeding the hogs, do some real detective work. Chris wasn't the only one with savvy in that area.

This time,
before advancing on the pens, I checked the wind, noting I'd need to make a correction in my approach. The north side of the clearing would be downwind. This worked out well because, according to the aerial; it offered better cover than the south side. Then I pulled some masking tape from my tote—I kept everything in there—and taped Tulip's tags to her collar. No sense taking chances with unnecessary noise. Then, quietly, stealthily even, we made our way to the opposite side of the pens to see what we
could see.

I found a good vantage point, unfortunately there was still no sign of anyone, so I sat down to wait. Tulip fidgeted behind me. “What are you doing?” I whispered and looked over my shoulder to see for myself. She was plundering around in the underbrush, but she seemed content, so I turned back to my stakeout. I was just wishing I'd brought a snack when I heard the sound of a truck engine.

The dark green Toyota truck pulled up. Just as I opened my field notebook to scribble the tag numbers, I heard Tulip thrashing about behind me again. “Quiet!” I whispered, craning my neck to see the truck, which was now blocked by a small limb. Frustrated, I rose to a find a better line of sight.

That's when I lost all sight and everything went black.

TWELVE

Caw! Caw! Caw! A
couple of noisy blue jays fussed somewhere nearby. Try as I might, however, I couldn't seem to perform the simple task of opening my eyes to see them. And my head felt like it was about to explode. What was up with that? I knew I was still outside since I felt dry leaves at my fingertips. I was also leaning against something. Tulip stirred beside me.

Summoning all my strength, I lifted my arm—though it felt made of lead—and reached out. Tulip's bony head slipped lovingly under my palm. One thing, at least, was right with the world.

From close beside me came a deep, familiar voice. “Dere she is, girl! She coming around, now!” This was followed by a whimper and a tail thumping. Damn! I just
had
to get my eyes open! Then the chill of a cold, wet cloth on my forehead—apparently the stimulus my brain cells were waiting on—startled my eyelids into opening.

The smiling face of Luther Green floated before me.

“What happened?” I croaked, trying to push myself to my feet.

“Now don't go getting too rowdy, Miz Cooper,” Luther said. “You must've fainted or something. I was just about to call the rescue squad. Then I thought maybe you just coming down with the flu or … didn't eat no lunch.”

“Fainted?” I struggled to replay the last things I remembered. I was watching the hog operation, hoping someone would show up … . In a flash, reality dawned and I took in my surroundings. Damn, I was sitting smack in the middle of the hog operation, leaning against the shed. Yet, strangely, Luther Green didn't seem to mind that I was here.

I glanced to the pens directly in front of me, then pushed shakily to my feet, all the while keeping Luther in my sight.

“You getting a little color, now, Miz Cooper,” he said, steadying me with a firm hold on my elbow. Then he took a few steps back. “I swear if you ain't had a time of it lately. First you wreck your car, then old Boss gets you hemmed up, and now I find you down here by Mr. Lauderbach's hog pens, fainted dead away.” He chuckled like he was trying out for the part of Hoke in
Driving Miss Daisy.

“Mr. Lauderbach's?” I squeaked. “These are Mr. Lauderbach's hogs? He's crossbreeding wild and domestic hogs! Why on earth would he do that? Isn't that illegal or something?” Luther looked at me like I'd sprouted another set of ears. “And by the way, I didn't faint. I'm not a fainter!” I said, blinking, still trying to clear my head.

Unfortunately, I'd had some past experience with being chloroformed and the splitting headache I was suffering now said I'd been treated to it again. Only the last time someone tried to knock me out with that crap, I'd had the good fortune of getting the upper hand. I must be slipping.

“Crossbreeding hogs?” Luther said incredulously. “What do you mean, crossbreeding hogs? You sure you alright, Miz Cooper? You musta hit your head when you fainted. You sure I don't need to call the rescue squad?”

“No! I'm not alright! But I don't need the rescue squad and I know the difference between wild hogs and domestic ones. It's quite startling, you know? If you don't believe me, check out this big brute over here!” I said, pointing as I wobbled to the first pen. Luther followed politely beside me.

“See!” I said without looking in the pen. Luther climbed up a few of the split rails and peered down. “What am I 'posed to be looking at?” he asked.

What?
I, too, climbed up the rails and looked down into the pen. It was empty. I jumped down, moved to the next pen, and looked in. A few yearling domestic hogs returned my gaze. I trotted to the next pen. It contained the same large domestic sow I'd seen before. Then I went to the next two. They were empty. There was not a feral hog in sight.

I pulled at my bottom lip and tried to figure out what was going on. Obviously, someone was trying to hide the feral hogs and the crossbreeds. But how had they done it? I looked at the sun and tried to guess how much time had gone by since mid-morning when I'd first started my surveillance.

Luther, who had been standing patiently beside me, now moved in front of me and leaned casually against the rails. “You know what I think?” he said kindly, offering me the damp cloth. “I think you just like Dorothy in
The Wizard of Oz.
When you fainted, you must've had one of them dreams. The kind that feels so real, you can't tell it from being awake! Yep,” he said, smiling at his own profundity. “I bet that's just what happened.”

An overwhelming desire to get clear of the hog pens and Luther came over me. I needed time to think without someone trying to convince me I was “only dreaming.” Still, I wasn't getting a vibe that Luther was a danger to me. Looking at Tulip, she wasn't getting a vibe either. At least she wasn't growling or looking anxious. No way she'd let the person who'd disabled me get close to me again, so I asked him, “Are you saying you just found me leaning against the shed?”

“Yessum.”

“And these,” I said, pointing to the hogs, “are Mr. Lauderbach's hogs?”

“Yessum.”

“Why are they so far from the farm?” I stepped back over to the shed. Luther followed.

“Well, now … they's hogs, you know, Miz Cooper, and Miz Lauderbach, she don't like the smell none too good.”

“Uh-huh. And are you the … ehh, hog manager for the Lauderbachs as well as the dairy manager?”

“Yessum.”

I stooped for my tote, heaped against the shed, and slung it over my shoulder. “Maybe you're right,” I said, rubbing my forehead. “Perhaps I am coming down with something.”

“Sure enough, you probably is,” Luther said, guiding me to his old Chevy F-150 pickup. “Let me give you a ride back to your car. You best go home and rest.”

Despite Luther's urgings, I persuaded him that I could make the walk back to the wellsite on my own steam. I thanked him for his help—it was getting to be a regular thing—and Tulip and I set off.

W
hile the walk helped clear my brain, I was still at a loss to know what was really going on at the Lauderbach farm. But, by the time I saw the derrick stretching to the sky and started across the last pasture, I had taken stock of what I did know regarding the hog opera
tion.

First, it was no dream. Second, the man in the green Toyota and Luther were definitely involved. And lastly, whoever gassed me clearly didn't want to go so far as to kill me—or I'd be dead. Still, being gassed was not something I intended to take lightly. I stomped up the steps to the doghouse, knowing something else too.

The person or persons who'd gassed me had to know I wouldn't believe Luther's “you had a dream” spiel. They were working on the premise that the ordeal, as unpleasant and confusing as it was, would cause me to steer clear of their operation for the rest of my contract time on the farm. They were wrong. But before I did any more searching for answers, it was time to do something I should have done as soon as I'd wrecked my Jeep.

I'd promised Bud that in our new relationship, I wouldn't keep things to myself. That I would stop trying to do everything on my own and, most especially, that I wouldn't involve myself in anything that would normally be done by the police. Lately, I'd blatantly disregarded all those promises. Right now, while I could still explain—well, to some degree anyway—why I hadn't adhered to our new rules, I planned to rectify the situation.

I pulled my iPhone from my pocket and a bottled water from my mini fridge—I can multitask—and flopped down at my desk. “Afternoon, babe,” Bud said. “How come you left so early this morning? I was hoping to have a cup of coffee and discuss what's been going on while I was gone.”

“Sorry,” I said. “I'd have liked that, too, but I needed to take care of some things here. I do want to talk about what's been going on while you were in Greece. Are you going to be at my house for dinner tonight?”

“Actually, I was going to take care of things at my place. I've got some paperwork to catch up. But if it's important, I'll be there. Want me to call the kids to come too? Are you unhappy about the wedding plans … again?”

“No. No kids. And I'm not unhappy about the wedding. I need to talk to you alone.”

“Ooo. Mysterious. I like that. What time?”

“Sixish,” I said. Then, after checking my watch, I made my next call.

In Mozambique, six hours ahead of me, it was around nine o'clock. My dad's phone rang and rang until it went to his voicemail. I wondered if he'd seen it was me calling and decided not to answer, or if he was really busy, maybe having a little late supper. As his message played I got a catch in my throat just hearing it. Nothing to do but leave him one too. I'd already left four over as many weeks, but they'd been about my wanting him at the wedding. This one was way more important.

His message ended and I said, “Dad, it's me. I had a conversation with Sheriff Clyde Stuckey a couple days ago and he said you and Buster Gilroy and Johnny Lee are planning something to overturn your conviction … ” I paused. “Call me back … please. Let me know what's going on.” I tapped my chin with the phone and waited, hoping I'd hear right back from him. When it was plain he wasn't going to make an immediate return call, I placed my last call before getting back to the work.

Watson answered after the first ring. “Cleo! I'm afraid to ask. Did you find the skeleton? What was it? Something from the Lepidosauromorpha group? Tanystropheidae, perhaps?”

“Nope.”

“One of the Archosauria group, then?”

“You're getting warm,” I laughed. “It's a rauisuchian!”

“Christ! I can't believe it! We've hit the jackpot. Is … is it all there?”

“Yep! As far as I can tell, anyway. Part of it is still encased in the red rock. I've made copious photos. Trust me, it's everything we hoped for and more.”

“Tell me everything!” he said breathlessly. I did, describing the rauisuchian to him in abundant detail. Just as I finished, Jackie opened the door and gave me a look like he had a question. I indicated I'd be right there just as Watson was asking another question.

“What about the landowners? Have you notified them yet?”

“Not yet. I'll do that as soon as I take care of a … small issue I've discovered near the clay pit.”

“Oh my god, what?”

“I can't go into it now. Apparently I'm needed at the well, but just know I'll get to the bottom of whatever it is and speak to the Lauderbach's about Cecil before you get here.”

“Who's Cecil?” he asked. I laughed and explained my nickname. Being brought up on the originals of Bennie and Cecil, not the reruns like I had, he understood right away. “Cecil it is, then! Can't wait to meet him!”

We signed off and I slapped on my hard hat. It was time for me to find Jackie and collect the day's samples like I'd planned on doing right after my short expedition this morning. Being chloroformed into unconsciousness had knocked a serious hole in my day. Just then a low rumble of thunder rolled across the sky.

I went outside and searched the site for Jackie. He was checking one of the pits for signs of leakage. He smiled at my approach. “You been busy this morning?”

“Sort of,” I dodged. “Just a few things I wanted to check on about Lauderbach #2. Maps show a couple of diabase dikes in the area and I wanted to physically locate them. If they're too close, we'd have to move #2 yet again.”

“Everything okay?”

“I think so. It took me a while to locate them and then make sure there weren't any others cutting across our drainage field.” In truth, I'd already done this, but I certainly didn't want him to know what I'd really been doing. I changed the subject. “I see from the sample bags, you're making good progress. I'll run them and confirm where we are formation-wise. What's the depth?”

“A little over 1550 feet,” he said as thunder pealed again. He studied the sky.

“If that storm is what it looks like, just a rain squall and no lightning, we won't shut down. We should be making the turn at about 1750 feet.” I gave him the thumbs-up and returned to the doghouse to run the samples.

Hours later, I didn't like what they were telling me. They were saying that we were coming up on a baked zone caused by the intrusion of a diabase dike, one that didn't show up on any of our maps. Depending on the angle at which we hit it, it could damage our bit. That, I knew, wouldn't make Overmire, Greenlite's head geologist and designer of the well, happy at all. I went to report my findings to Jackie.

“I was afraid of that,” Jackie said when I told him what I'd found. “Everything was going too good. Something was bound to happen.”

“Well, you never know,” I said optimistically. “We may hit it at more of a perpendicular angle and punch right through it, or … ”

“Yeah,” Jackie laughed. “It's the
or
we gotta worry about. But thanks for the heads-up. If the derrick starts shaking and bucking, at least we'll know what's up.”

“You bet,” I said. “I'm getting ready to send a daily report to Overmire. I'll let you know about the dike.”

It was a little after six o'clock by the time I'd completed my call to Overmire. He didn't seem too worried, telling me to grind on and hope nothing happened. Suited me. We signed off and, after I passed on his suggestions to Jackie, I gathered my things to book it for home. I still had to make the dinner I'd promised Bud. “Tulip!” I called.

No Tulip.

Then I had a thought. I'd been leaving the door to the minivan open while on site. Tulip reveled in its vast carpeted interior and plush, fluffy seats. “There you are,” I said, finding her stretched out on the backseat. She sat up, yawned like a Serengeti lioness, then hopped out. “I swear you're getting spoiled,” I told her. “But you might as well climb back in. It's time to go home.”