where an Asian Indian woman was straightening her stock of gum and singing along with the radio. She didn’t notice T.J. as she belted out the words of the country hit, “Lovin' you is like a hurricane in my heart. You're nothin' but a hurricane. A hurricane in my heart.”
When she finally glanced up, the woman was startled at the sight of T.J.
“I love this song,” the woman said a bit embarrassed.
T.J. handed her several coins.
“I wonder whatever happened to Twyla Starr,” the woman continued. “She vanished right after the song became a hit.”
“I understand she's no longer with us,” T.J. said.
“That’s very sad. She must not have been that old.”
“Forty-nine,” said T.J. “So, I've heard.”
The woman shook her head. “So young.”
T.J. nodded and grabbed a pack of mints.
A few minutes later, T.J. found himself standing in front of the ultra-modern Institute for Brain and Bioscience building. “This must be the place,” he said to himself as he removed his hat and entered the building.
Bunny was typing furiously on her computer when T.J. approached. “Good afternoon,” he said. “I'm T.J. Yates. I'm here to see Miss Starr.”
T.J.'s down-home charm temporarily memorized Bunny. When she was able to compose herself, Bunny said, “Ms. Starr. Not Miss.”
An awkward moment of silence went by as the two studied each other. Finally T.J. said, “Would you let Ms. Starr know I'm here?”
“She's very busy,” said Bunny.
T.J. held up a manila envelope. “I have some documents I need to speak with her about.”
Bunny reached her hand out to take the envelope but T.J. pulled back. “I'd really like to speak with Ms. Starr,” he said. “I made a trip all the way from Galesburg.”
“The birthplace of Carl Sandburg,” Bunny said. “The fog comes on little cat feet. It sits looking over harbor and city on silent haunches and then moves on.”
Bunny reddened with sudden embarrassment. “I'm studying English,” she said. “I’m a night student.”
T.J. grinned.
“I'll see what I can do for you.” Bunny gave him a quick smile then whispered into the intercom.
After what seemed like an eternity, T.J glanced at his watch for the thousandth time and sighed.
Finally, Lucinda graced him with her presence. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” she said.
“Are you really?” T.J. asked.
“No,” Lucinda snapped.
“I didn't think so.”
“What do you want, Mr. Yates?”
“Can we speak somewhere a bit more private?”
Lucinda was about to protest until she looked into T.J.'s determined eyes. “I only have a minute,” she said.
As Lucinda led T.J. into the rat breeding area, he was horrified by the sight of hundreds of caged rats. Then the little guillotine caught his attention. “I don't even what to know what that's for,” he remarked.
“And I was just getting ready to give you a demonstration,” Lucinda said.
“I came here to talk about your mom.”
Lucinda sighed.
T.J. continued, “There are certain issues with regards to her estate that I need to discuss with you.”
“I'll make sure her cats are all placed in good homes.”
“It's more complicated than that.”
“If you just leave the paperwork with me, I'll sign it and make whatever arrangements are necessary for the disposal of my mother's personal effects.” Lucinda straightened her lab coat and made a not-so-subtle motion for T.J. to leave.
T.J. smiled to himself. He shoved the manila envelope into Lucinda's hand then made a show of placing his cowboy hat on his head. “After you've read the will, if you have any questions, be sure to give me a holler,” he said then chuckled to himself as he exited.
Everything in Lucinda’s entire studio apartment was white. Clinical. Sterile. There was no evidence of life except for Lucinda herself, in a white sweat suit, lounging on her couch. She sipped a glass of Pinot noir, closed her eyes for a moment then took a deep breath. She grabbed the manila envelope from the coffee table, opened it then glanced at the contents. She took another sip of wine as she read the documents more closely—then spit the red liquid all over everything.
“A hundred million dollars,” she shouted.
A moment later, Lucinda was on her cell phone.
T.J. was sitting on a rocking chair, gazing at the night sky with Dakota curled up at his feet, when his cell phone rang.
“Took her longer than I thought,” he said to Dakota, who merely sighed.
He answered his cell. “This is T.J.”
“How in the world did my mother make a hundred million dollars?” Lucinda yelled into the phone.
T.J. said, “I guess you'll have to make your way down to Galesburg to find out,” and hung up on her.
Lucinda stared at her phone with a look of utter disbelief. No one had ever hung up on her before.
Back in the lab the following day, Reno began to sway as Lucinda piled stacks of files into his arms.
“You'll need to take measurements every day,” said Lucinda.
“I know,” Reno replied.
“Three times an hour,” Lucinda continued.
“I know,” Reno repeated.
Another file joined the stack weighing down Reno's arms.
“And don't forget to document every change, not matter how minute,” Lucinda said.
“I'm really sorry to hear about your mom.”
“We weren't close.”
“Galesburg is the birthplace of Carl Sandburg,” Reno said in an effort to change the subject. “They have a museum there, if you have time.”
“Could my mother have picked a worse time to die? I have my dissertation defense in less than a month and I'm still finalizing the analysis of my data. I'm going to drive down there, work out the details, make whatever arrangements are necessary then drive
