Surest Poison, The by Chester D. Campbell Page A

on many occasions
during his time in Lewisville. A grotesque hunk of
humanity—make that inhumanity—Keglar was the godfather of the town’s
unruly element. Below that he made an entry about Tony Decker, the ex-con
who had managed the company. Decker was an intriguing question mark, either polite and cordial or brusque and
uncooperative, depending on who you asked. Pete Rackard? Sid looked up from
his notes and wondered if Jaz had returned home yet.
    He picked up the phone and called her
cell number. When it went to voice mail, he knew she was still at her Board
meeting.
     
    Jaz got the
message on her Bluetooth headset
an hour later after leaving downtown. She decided to wait and return Sid’s
call when she got home. She wanted to check on Rackard first. Driving out
I-65, she took the Brentwood exit and turned to the north on Franklin Road.
This was a fashionable area that housed business leaders as well as
up-and-comers. It had once been home to country music legends like Hank
Williams and Eddy Arnold. She slowed as she approached the stone entrance
that bore what she called, with tongue lodged firmly in cheek, the LeMieux
coat-of-arms. It was a stonecutter’s impressionistic version of an
eighteen-wheeler with “LM” on the trailer. She flashed an infra-red beam at
the sensor, and the heavy wrought iron gate rumbled open.
    Jazz navigated the winding driveway lined
with stately oaks and maples and saw John Wallace riding up on a small
tractor with a trailer in tow. Large and stocky, with muscular arms and an
almost expressionless face reminiscent of a figure chiseled on a
mountainside, he had always impressed Jaz as a man at peace with his
surroundings. She parked in front of the house, got out, and waited for him
to turn off the engine, which raised a din rivaling that of a jackhammer.
    “What have you been gathering?” Jaz
asked.
    “Getting some dead
limbs out of the way, Miss Jasmine. That was a pretty strong wind the other night. Oh, there was a man stopped
by asking about you around lunchtime.”
    “At the gate?”
    “Yes, ma’am. I answered when he buzzed the house.”
    “What did he want?”
    “I suppose he just wanted to know if you
were here. That’s all he asked. I said who should I say is calling, but I guess he’d already pulled away.”
    “Did you notice what kind of car he
drove?”
    “No, ma’am. You could check the tape and find out.”
    A motion-detecting surveillance camera
kept track of visitors. She wouldn’t have thought much about it except for
what had happened to Sid. Still, she could think of no reason for anyone to
connect her to his investigation. He hadn’t mentioned her name while
Harrington’s office was bugged.
    She thanked John and went inside. After
calling to Marie in the kitchen to say she was home, she went to her office.
Pete Rackard was her first priority.
    It didn’t take long to track him down.
She called Sid’s office to give him the information.
    “Chance Investigation Agency,” he
answered.
    “Ah, I got the CIA,” she said.
    “Funny.” His voice lacked any hint of
humor.
    “Just checking in. I’m back from the Scar Wars.”
    “That bad?”
    “I exaggerate. Except for a few
disagreements with the chief financial officer and the director of
marketing, I thought everything went as smooth as a well-tuned engine.”
    “Nice to hear.”
    “What did you learn today?” she asked.
    Sid filled her in on his interviews in
Ashland City and his talk with Hershel Owens. “Have you had a chance to
check on Pete Rackard?”
    “I have. Very
interesting fellow. Item number one, he was Tony Decker’s cellmate in
prison. After several minor brushes with the law, he was sent up for beating
a man half to death in a fight outside a bar. Item two, he grew up on a farm near Lewisville. He worked as an auto mechanic there.”
    “Item three?”
    “He now runs an auto repair shop in
Franklin.”
    That put him in