1 Picking Lemons

1 Picking Lemons by J.T. Toman Page B

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Authors: J.T. Toman
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the...passing...of Edmund is affecting your…” Walter paused, searching for the right word, “mental equilibrium.”
    C.J. snorted with laughter. A few other chuckles and snickers were also heard.
    Walter glared the room back into silence. “I am here to discuss the options available to you to ensure your… wellbeing. Um. I am going to make available someone for you to talk to...and a...a...dog.”
    The room stared back at Walter.
    Finally C.J. broke the silence. “Walt,” she said casually, “I don’t need a shrink or a puppy, for that matter, to help me deal with the fact that I don’t have to work with our beloved Edmund anymore. I shed that tear at the celebration party I threw. What I do need help with is how you expect me to be a happy, productive, clucky chicken in this darling little hen house when I know that the fox is still lurking amongst us.”
    Murmurs of assent broke out among the room. A few people banged on the d esks to show their support. A “Here, here!” came from a junior faculty at the back, who promptly slid down in his seat from the shame of being so bold.
    Charles, sensing something exciting was finally happening by the attitudes of those around him, the fist banging and the look on Walter’s face, turned on his hearing aids. If there was gossip on the agenda, he didn’t want to miss it. Mildred loved a good , department gossip story. He asked his neighbor loudly, so loudly the entire room could hear, “Hey, what’s this? What’s the fuss?”
    Before his neighbor could answer, C.J. called out from across the room. “I’m causing the fuss, Charles. I want to know if one of us is the murderer. It would make it so much more enjoyable to come to faculty meetings, don’t you think, if you weren’t worried about being strangled?”
    A few faculty laughed. Others started to glance around the room, sizing up their fellow workers as potential stranglers. More than one was condemned.
    Charles, his tongue loos ened by his fivesie, replied with great enthusiasm, “It’s the money, my dear C.J. Follow the money and you’ll find your strangler. Happens all the time, people killing for money. There was that Lizzie Borden, though she got away with it. And look at those Menendez brothers out in California. Couldn’t wait a week to start spending their parents’ money on flashy cars and clothes which made it all rather obvious. Brains the size of peas, if you ask me. Our Lord and Creator, for whatever reason, blessed Edmund with a rather sizeable fortune. You should be asking, ‘Who benefitted from the will?’”
    Walter smiled. As Edmund’s quest for power and control rivaled his own, the two men had worked together as well as two bull elephants in musth. He was going to enjoy this announcement. “Thanks for raising that, Charles,” Walter said generously. “The issue of Edmund’s will is our final agenda item today. Edmund left his fortune to…himself.”
    Jefferson looked p ale. “Does he want to be frozen and brought back to life?”
    “Thank G od, no,” Water reassured him. “Though I am sure the idea crossed his mind. But I think even Edmund realized that in 50 years, or 100, or whenever they brought him back, he would no longer be the leading researcher in his field, and that would be unbearable. No. But I have spoken to his wife, Lisa, today, and interestingly, his will doesn’t leave a penny to her, but instead sets up the Edmund DeBeyer Memorial Foundation. The foundation’s mission is to preserve his intellectual legacy, rather than his body.”
    C.J. interjected. “Well, his wife might not have had a motive to kill him while he was alive. But she sure has a motive to kill him now that he’s dead.”
    Walter continued, ignoring C.J., “The foundation will set up a library, featuring Edmund’s works and others who cite Edmund’s work. There is also to be a research foundation for promising scholars who will continue to further Edmund’s research. The scholars

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