Surest Poison, The (17 page)

“Then you must know I grew up in South
America. When I came back, my brother resented the fact that I had done so
well down there. And he wasn’t real happy that
neither
my Dad or
me had made any contact over the years. I planned to let
him take part in the business here after I took it over, but he didn’t want
anything to do with me.”

“Do you have any idea where he might be?”

“Nope.
He left about the time I bought Dixie Seals. He never said good-bye or good
riddance. One day he was here, the next day he was gone.”

Sid pulled out a business card and handed
it to him. “If you should get any inkling of where we might find him, I’d
appreciate your giving us a call. It’s very important.”

Decker looked at the card.
“Private investigator.
What did Tony do?”

“I’m not sure that he did anything, but
we’d like to talk to him.”

Sid thanked Decker and walked back to the
car with Jaz. She paused as she started backing out of the driveway and
looked at Sid.

“I don’t like that man,” she said. “I
watched him carefully as you talked. Something about the way he acted, a bit
too blasé for the circumstances. Other than ‘What did Tony do?’ he never
asked what we wanted with his brother, what sort of information we had for
him. I had the feeling he knew perfectly well what was going on right from
the start.”

Sid shrugged. “I didn’t read him quite
the way you did, but you may be right.”

“I think he knows a lot more than he
admitted. If he and his brother were all that estranged, how did he get
linked up with Bronson Fradkin?”

“Good point.”

“We need to keep a close eye on Mr. Trent
Decker. He gave my car a thorough going over the minute he stepped out. And
what was he doing with that ponytail, trying to look like a rock star or a
fugitive from Music Row?”

Sid noted the dour look on her face as
she spoke. He wondered if some of it stemmed from the way Decker had ignored
her during the conversation. Jaz was not a woman to be dismissed without
peril.

24

It was around
dusk, the sky stained with broad strokes of dark red by the fading sunset,
but light enough to make out most details on the ground. The black Lincoln
cruised up Franklin Road, pulled onto the shoulder, and stopped. With the
engine running, the driver stared across at the entrance to the LeMieux
estate. He sat there for several minutes, observing the gate and its
surroundings, including the picturesque old dry stone wall that ran along
the front of the property.

Moving on, he drove toward downtown,
swung onto the
interstate,
and headed north.
Twenty-five minutes later, he turned into the parking lot of the building
occupied by Chance Investigation Agency. Noting Sid’s car parked near the
building entrance, he drove past it and took Gallatin Road south to the
middle of the Madison business district. He turned onto Neelys Bend Road and
followed its curving path through a mixture of old and new houses, past a
rehab hospital and two schools. Following the directions provided by his
GPS, he turned toward the river on the street where Sid lived. The
detective’s was the last house on the block. A dull brown pickup truck with
two new rear tires sat in the driveway.

The Lincoln turned around at the corner,
paused briefly across from Sid Chance’s,
then
drove on.

Sid sat at his
desk
, wrapping up an on-line
missing person search. The fact that it was Sunday evening made no
difference. He had always been a workaholic. During his time in the woods,
he often worked from dawn till dusk,
then
read by
candlelight or an oil lantern. He finished the search and returned to his
notes on the Auto Parts Rehabbers’ case. Thinking back on Jaz’s experience
with Pete Rackard, he wondered if the auto repair shop owner might be the
best prospect for locating Tony Decker. They worked together at the Ashland
City plant for around three years. If he could find a way to put pressure on
Rackard, maybe he could shake something loose.

He called Bart Masterson.

“You still trying to get Jaz’s boy
straightened out?” Bart asked.

“We haven’t figured out the details of
his problem, but we’re working on it. Jaz brought him and his family over to
her house last night. I had to get back onto my Auto Parts Rehabbers case,
though. I’m staring at a short deadline. We found one of the top people, a
guy named Pete Rackard, did time for attempted murder before the company
came along. In prison, he was a cellmate of Tony Decker, who became the
company’s general manager.”

“Is he in trouble again?”

“Not that I know of.
I suspect he was involved in that chemical dump, though. I’d like to lean on
him to find out where Decker is. Can you check into whether he’s been
charged with anything recently?”

“Sure. Give me the info.”

Sid read him Rackard’s name, address and
Social Security number. “I’m heading home. You can call me there.”

“Let you know when I have something.”

Sid checked his watch and realized he was
running late for the show Jaz had alerted him about. It was on the Public TV
channel. The program titled “Poets of the Late Nineteenth Century” was in
progress when he arrived home. Walt Whitman and Emily Dickinson got the
first and foremost coverage, however, so he had missed none of the Lanier
story.

The segment began with shots of Macon,
Georgia where the poet was born in 1842. A natural musician, he learned to
play the flute, violin, organ, piano, and guitar about the time he learned
to read. Sid nodded, recalling his mother’s insistence that he master the
keyboard. He still had a piano but seldom went near it. At nineteen, young
Lanier enlisted in the Confederate Army, serving during the Civil War as a
scout and in the signal service. Another parallel, thought Sid.

From there, their paths diverged. After
working a few years in his father’s law office, Lanier abandoned the legal
profession to pursue music and literature. He settled in Baltimore, where he
played first flute in the Peabody Symphony Orchestra. He also concentrated
on his writing there, publishing his most celebrated poem, “The Symphony,”
in 1875. Sid was familiar with that one. It ended with Ellie Virginia’s
favorite line from Sidney Lanier:

“Music is Love in search of a word.”

The telephone ended Sid’s TV watching.

“Mr. Rackard is clean as far as Metro’s
concerned,” Bart said. “However, he’s been involved in a couple of scuffles
in Franklin.
One in 2003, another in 2005.
But no jail time.”

“Doesn’t sound like anything I can hold
over his head.”

“Sorry. If you can lure him to Nashville,
I’ll find something to bust him on.”

“Thanks. Jaz and I plan to pursue the
Lewisville angle tomorrow. Maybe we’ll hit on something down there.”

“That would make the Judge happy. He
thinks you’re some kind of miracle worker.”

Sid leaned back in the recliner. “I’m
afraid I’ve been a bit short on miracles lately.”

“Wouldn’t hurt to
find one to keep in your hip pocket.
Friend of mine from the next county tells me your old sheriff is riding
high.”

“He’s going to fall off his high horse
one of these days, and I’d like to be the one to give him the push. Take
care, Bart.”

Sid hung up the phone and walked into the
kitchen to fire up the coffee maker. Monday should be an interesting day.

25

Shortly before
nine the next morning, Jaz called Sid at his office.

“I just talked to my telephone man,” she
said. “He promised to get the information on Rackard’s Friday night calls
sometime today.”

“Great. Did you get Little Bob off to
school?”

“It was a hoot. He thought he was a
celebrity, having a uniformed escort. We told the school no one else was
authorized to pick him up.”

“What about Bobby? Did he go to work?”

“No. He called in and arranged to take a
few days of vacation. He’s still as sullen and agitated as an old wet hen,
but Marie fed him, and he’s gone out to work with John.”

“I’ve been thinking about your situation
there,” Sid said, his voice taking a serious turn. “We know the people who
threatened Bobby are keeping tabs on him. We have to assume they know you
brought him to your house. What if they should decide to come after him
there?”

“We’d know if they tried to come through
the gate.”

“What about a back entrance?”

“There isn’t any. The road behind us is
pretty far back. There’s a fence, and the lawn is full of trees.”

“What if they came in on foot?”

“The alarm system would warn us if
anybody attempted to break in.”

“Have you thought about hiring security
guards?”

“What for?”

“To patrol your
property.”

Jaz’s sigh sounded a note of agitation.
“Wouldn’t that be a bit of overkill? If they’re watching my house, they know
there haven’t been any police around for Bobby to talk to.”

Sid preferred to err on the side of
caution, but he decided to drop it for now. “Are you ready to head for
Lewisville?”

“Shouldn’t we call ahead to make sure
Fradkin isn’t in court?”

“They don’t hold court in Lewisville on
Mondays.”

“Okay. I’ll be ready by the time you get
here.”

It would be his first visit to the small
town since leaving in disgrace nearly four years ago. Disgrace might seem
too strong a word since the district attorney had vindicated him, dropping
all charges. He thought the term appropriate, though, since his reputation
had been tarnished almost beyond repair. People tended to focus on the
original headlines rather than the less dramatic story of his exoneration.
He had learned recently that a few old friends and supporters had wanted to
invite him back but couldn’t find him. This wound would take a long time to
heal. Today, however, the trip was all business.

He picked up Jaz and headed down I-65 to
Columbia. There they took a state highway west through rolling farmland, now
bare of crops. A few miles beyond the two-lane memorial highway that tracked
the historic route of the 1800s trail known as the Natchez Trace, clusters
of homes began to appear. A little farther on they saw a Lewisville welcome
sign, followed by one of billboard proportions that proclaimed:

“Support Law & Order.
Re-Elect Sheriff Zachary.”

“Is that your old nemesis?” Jaz asked.

“Yep, looks like Zack is back.”

Beyond the grounds of a new high school,
older houses lined the highway. That soon gave way to commercial buildings,
the usual dotting of fast food restaurants and service stations, and, at the
center of town, a typical square housing the old red brick courthouse. A
statue of the famed explorer, Meriwether Lewis, stood on a pedestal in front
of the building.

“Where was your office?” Jaz asked.

“In the City Hall.
It’s just up the street off the square.”

He circled the courthouse and pointed out
a couple of white patrol cars parked on the side street.

“Where do we start?” she asked.

“One of my oldest friends runs a
restaurant down in the next block. It’s almost lunchtime. Let’s stop in
there and get a reading on the community’s pulse.”

He found a spot in front of a real estate
office with a two-hour parking sign beside it and pulled in.

“Can you get a parking ticket fixed
around here?” Jaz asked with a grin.

“If you’re a friend
of Sheriff Zack.
I think he
owns the current police chief.”

Behind a big sign proclaiming City Café,
the restaurant had a dining area floored with white tile squares and a lunch
counter at one side. As soon as they walked in, a chubby woman with Shirley
Temple curls ran out from behind the cash register and threw her arms around
Sid.

“Chief Chance,” she shouted, “where in
the world have you been? I don’t believe you’ve changed a bit, except for
the beard, of course. I’m used to those, though.”

Sid hugged her and untangled himself.
“You haven’t changed either, Maribeth.” He leaned back and gave her the
once-over. “Except maybe you’ve gotten a little bit prettier.”

“Pshaw. You’re still as full of it as
ever. Who is this with you? You’re not married?”

“No. This is my business associate, Miss
Jasmine LeMieux. Jaz, meet Maribeth Lewis.”

Smiling, Jaz stuck her hand out. “They
must have named the town for you.”

The woman shook hands and straightened
her apron. “Did Sid teach you how to lay it on?”

“Where’s Jeff, Maribeth?” he asked. “I
need to talk to him.”

“He’s back in the kitchen. Let me get you
a table and I’ll go tell him you’re here. What a treat seeing you again.”

“How about putting us somewhere over
there near the wall,” he said. “I don’t want to attract any attention.”

She turned to Jaz as they started across
the room. “This man attracts attention like sugar attracts flies. I know
what he means, though.” Her smile dimmed a bit. “Things haven’t gotten any
better in this town since you left, Sid.”

After they were seated, she shuffled off
to the kitchen, and Jaz looked up. “What do you suppose she meant by things
haven’t gotten any better?”

“My guess is the old courthouse bunch is
still ruling the roost and stirring up trouble.”

The lunchtime crowd was just beginning to
gather. Sid kept an eye out for anyone he might know. While Jaz looked over
the menu, a man with rust-colored hair and short beard to match came out of
the kitchen, pulled off a white apron and folded it as he walked to their
table. Sid jumped up as soon as he saw him.

“Jeff, you old devil.
You’re looking great.” He gave his friend a hug and turned him toward the
table. “Jeff Lewis, Jaz LeMieux. She’s a business associate and a very
special friend. And, yes, Jaz, he’s the one they named the town after.
Meriwether was a long lost cousin who happened to cash in his chips along
the Trace.”

“I’m sure you know better than to believe
anything this guy says.” Lewis grinned. He reached over to pat Sid’s arm.
“Boy, it’s good to see you. I sure wish you were still around here.”

Sid dropped into his chair. “Join us if
you have a minute, Jeff. I’m interested in Maribeth’s comment that not much
has changed since I left.”

“I can’t stay long. They’ll start backing
up the orders.” He took the chair beside Sid. “As for the situation around
Lewisville, I’d say things have changed a little bit, but not for the
better.”