of Carl Sandburg. “Boy, do I hate the country,” she said.
The Mini Cooper came to a stop outside an old shack of a building and Lucinda hopped out of the car. She glanced at the building's sign: T.J. Yates Attorney at Law. “This must be the place,” Lucinda grunted as she entered the office.
Lucinda immediately noticed Dakota lying on a pillow in the corner, snoring. “Some watchdog,” she remarked.
Dakota merely glanced up at her and sighed.
Lucinda noticed a bell sitting on the desk. She rang it. Nothing happened, so she rang it again.
“I'm out back,” a voice boomed.
Lucinda scanned the room and spotted an open back door. She exited on to a back porch, where she could see T.J. working on an old Chevy.
“Is this a law office or a body shop?” Lucinda asked sarcastically.
T.J. freed himself from the vehicle and stood. “Well, look who made it all the way to Galesburg.”
Lucinda folded her arms in front of her. “I don't have much time,” she said.
Grabbing a cloth, T.J. wiped the dirt from his hands. “You left city-time back in Chicago, Ms. Starr. You're on country time now. We do things a little different here in Galesburg. Can I offer you some sweet tea?”
“If you would just answer a few questions for me, then I'll be on my way.”
“I guess you didn't get a chance to read the entire document I left with you. Why don't we have a seat inside? Get out of the heat.”
The two walked back into T.J.’s office. T.J. made himself comfortable and rested his old boots on top of the weathered Mahogany desk.
While Lucinda wiggled uncomfortably in an old folding chair, Dakota ambled over and rested her head in Lucinda's lap. She gave the creature a look of utter disgust.
“Seems as though Dakota's taken a liking to you,” said T.J.
“Get it off of me,” Lucinda said as she tried to push Dakota from her lap.
“She doesn't care for many people. She must sense something special about you.”
Lucinda was not having much luck getting the dog off of her. “It's all gooey,” she complained. “Please get it off of me.”
T.J. clapped and Dakota glanced up at her master. “Okay, Girl,” T.J. said. “That's enough.”
Dakota gave Lucinda a long, sad look then lumbered back to her pillow. Sudden horror crossed Lucinda's face when she noticed that Dakota had left something in her lap. “What is that?”
“Bloodhound drool,” T.J. snickered. “It ain't gonna kill you.”
T.J. handed Lucinda some tissues and she wiped the drool from her lap. She made a point of sticking the wet tissues right in the middle of T.J.'s desk.
“I came here to find out about my mother's estate,” Lucinda said.
“I figured a hundred million would get your attention.”
“Would you mind telling me how my mother acquired all that money?”
“Hurricane in My Heart.”
“What?” Lucida wasn’t sure she heard him correctly.
T.J. turned on an old tape recorder and played the country hit. When the song finished, Lucinda shook her head in disbelief. “You've got to be kidding.”
“Your mother wrote the biggest selling country song in history,” said T.J. “She invested well and never spent a cent of it. The fortune will be yours when you fulfill the terms of your mom's will.”
“What terms?” A bit of nervousness crept into Lucinda’s otherwise stoic demeanor.
T.J. raised an eyebrow. “You really didn’t read the entire document I left with you.”
“The part where it said a hundred million dollars threw me a little bit.”
“Something actually threw you?” T.J. asked sarcastically. He grabbed his copy of the will, opened to the middle of the document and began to read aloud. “In order to inherit my estate, my daughter, Lucy Starr—”
T.J. gave Lucinda a sly grin then continued. “Must take me on one last trip. She must take my ashes from Chicago to Santa Monica along the famous Route 66 and make every stop I have designated along the way. Lucy has eight days from the reading of this will to complete the trip or she will forfeit all rights to my estate.”
One lone bead of sweat dripped down Lucinda’s forehead. “This isn't possible,” she said. “I don't have time for a trip. I don't have time to grab dinner on the way back to Chicago. I've got data to compile. I've got a dissertation to defend. How can I possibly take my mother's ashes on a trip across the country? Is she mad?”
“She's dead,” T.J. reminded her.
“This is insane!” Lucinda screeched, fast approaching a state of utter frenzy.
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