37: A Thomas Ironcutter Novel

by David Achord

  “Claire was Ms. Braxton’s grandmother,” I said. “I wonder why she was so fixated on Penelope in particular? It must be because of Chester Bond. There’s some kind of connection there she wants us to find, but she’s not telling us.”

  Anna ran a hand through her hair. “Yeah, and we don’t have jack-shit on him. Our report is going to look weak if we don’t find out more about Chester.” She paused and sighed. “Let’s get out of here.”

  We gathered up our stuff and walked to the parking lot. A couple of young men gave Anna the once over as we walked past; she pretended not to notice.

  “I want to drive,” she said once we got to the car.

  I handed her the keys and soon we were peeling rubber out of the parking lot. I wondered if she did it to impress those two men.

  “I love this car,” she exclaimed.

  “Yeah, well if you get pulled over by a local cop, it’s on you.”

  She giggled like a schoolgirl as she sped down the road. As soon as she entered the on-ramp to the interstate, she gunned it. The throaty growl of the exhaust was almost like a dare and in no time she had it up to a hundred.

  “The exit is up ahead, slow it down,” I chided.

  “This car is the shit,” she exclaimed with a girlish grin as she cut across three lanes and exited the interstate. She finally decided to slow for the red light, and then she glanced over at me, noting the disapproving expression on my face.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Oh, nothing,” I said.

  “No, tell me,” she insisted.

  “I just think you should be more ladylike with your language, that’s all.”

  “Oh, Thomas,” she drawled and gunned it when the light turned green.

  “You are who you are,” I said. “But, if you’re going to hang around Ms. Braxton and her highbrow cronies, you should work on your savior faire.”

  “Savior faire, acting appropriately in social situations. You’ve used that phrase on me before,” she said.

  “I have?”

  “Yes.”

  I had no response, so sat in silence while she weaved through traffic and arrived at Mick’s Place in record time. When Anna parked, she looked over at me.

  “You wanted to come here, right?”

  “Sure. Now let her idle a minute or two. You rode her pretty hard.”

  She gave a mischievous grin. “I bet all the women tell you that.”

  I gave her the eye but couldn’t keep it in and laughed. I watched the temperature gauge as she fished a brush out of her purse and began straightening her hair. She’d let it grow long over the winter, but recently got about four inches chopped off and highlights added. Now, her sorrel brown hair had that sun-kissed look. She was a beautiful young woman.

  “Say, where’s William been lately?” I asked.

  Her grin vanished and for a micro-second, I saw a flash of pain.

  “Nowhere,” she replied, jammed her brush back into her purse, and shut the car off.

  It was obvious something was bothering her but I didn’t push it. She’d tell me when she was ready. We walked in and the bar was crowded with the regulars. We said hello to everyone and bellied up to the bar.

  “What are you two drinking this evening?” Mick asked.

  “Nashville Lager for me,” I said.

  Mick nodded and looked at Anna. She seemed preoccupied about something and Mick had to ask her again.

  “What? Oh, no. I’m not in the mood for beer. I’ll be right back.”

  And with that, she bounced off of the stool and was peeling out of the parking lot a moment later.

  “What’d you do, dumbass?” Mick asked as he set my beer in front of me, implying I’d committed some kind of egregious act. I answered with a shrug and wondered if I was going to be Ubering home later.

  But, not to worry, she zoomed back into the parking lot ten minutes later. Exiting the Mustang, she breezed in the door with purposeful steps, carrying a bottle hidden in a brown paper bag and something else in a Delta Express plastic bag. She set them both on the bar in front of Mick. He looked in the bags and nodded thoughtfully. He then set them both under the bar out of eyesight of nosy people who might be inclined to snitch to the ABC.

  “How do you want it?” he asked.

  “How do you think?” she retorted.

  Mick smirked, filled a glass with ice, and held it under the counter as he poured the unknown contents. After a moment, he emerged with what looked like a cosmopolitan; vodka and cranberry juice. Anna took it with a nod of thanks. She saw me looking and waved the glass at me.

  “High in vitamin C. More nutritious than beer and less fattening. Plus, it’s good for the bladder.”

  “Yeah, okay,” I said, and made a mental note to temper my beer consumption because I had no doubt I was the one who would be driving home. Apparently, while I was thinking all of this, I had asked a question.

  “And, in answer to your question, no. I am not going out with William tonight. We are officially broken up.” She took a long drink before speaking again. “And since I don’t know how to be ladylike, not only am I officially single, I am damned single!”

  The last part was loud enough to be heard by the entire bar. Everyone turned toward her, especially Wally, who looked like someone had stuck a finger up his ass and pushed his magic button. I watched out of the corner of my eye as Wally stood and tried to discretely pull his britches out of his butt crack. Succeeding, sort of, he casually sauntered over. When Anna looked up, he gave a broad, lurid grin.

  “How are you two doing this evening?” he asked.

  “Not bad, Wally,” I replied. “How about yourself?”

  He barely acknowledged me and focused on Anna. “How are you, beautiful?”

  Anna responded by rolling her eyes and taking a big swallow. “Wally, Wally, Wally. The last time we spoke, you told me you were going to play golf on the old fart’s golf tour.”

  “The senior’s tour,” he corrected. “Yes, I was.”

  “And yet, you’re here. What happened, did you get cut already?” she asked.

  Mick howled in raucous laughter, as did several of the other patrons. Wally’s face was a strained smile and his cheeks started to redden.

  “I did not get cut,” he rejoined, heavily emphasizing the two words, ‘did not.’

  Anna snorted. “If you say so.” More laughter.

  Wally looked around in annoyance. “If all of you must know, I was ambushed by an old college rival.”

  Anna took a swallow of her drink, finishing it off. “Oh, this I’ve got to hear,” she said and pushed her glass toward Mick for a refill.

  Wally’s wolfish grin reappeared. It was a familiar expression. Mick gave me one of those looks. We knew he was about to launch into yet another fanciful yarn. Anna stared with mock expectation.

  “Well now, we had a contract all worked out. It was going to be a sweet deal. Seven figures,” he said with a wink. “But then, Callaway hired a new CFO, that’s a chief of financial operations for you people who have no business savvy.” He made pointed eye contact with a couple of patrons for emphasis.

  “So, what happened?” Mick asked with feigned interest.

  “This guy played golf for Michigan. Well, as you all know, I’m an Ohio State alumnus and the two universities are major rivals. Back during that time, I crushed him in every tournament the two of us competed in. He did not take it well and has apparently held a grudge, even after all of these years. When he heard of my pending contract, he squashed the whole deal and attempted to sign me for a considerably less sum. Purely out of spite, of course. I flatly refused and informed them I would not, could not perform under the revised terms.”

  “Couldn’t perform? I bet all the women say that about you,” Anna said.

  The regulars broke out in laughter again. Even some customers whom I’ve never seen before joined in. Anna smiled sweetly and took another long drink. The redness in Wally’s cheeks intensified, but he wasn’t re
ady to give up yet.

  “Well, for your information, I’m currently in negotiations with Titleist. Once the numbers are hashed out, I will be signing on with them and dropping Callaway like yesterday’s news.”

  Anna took another drink before speaking. “Allow me to quote the living legend, Mick O’Hara: it smells like horseshit to me.”

  This elicited another chorus of laughter. Wally’s smug smile was fixed in place, but his brain finally realized he was striking out. He turned and walked back to his barstool, his shoulders stooped and his tail between his legs. I shook my head. Why in the world Wally thought a beautiful twenty-something woman would be interested in his old, fat ass was beyond me.

  “So, what have you two been up to?” Mick asked.

  “Research,” Anna replied.

  She drained her glass and held it out for a refill. Mick dutifully obliged.

  “What kind of research?” he asked as he slid the glass over, but then pointed at it. “And slow down on that second one or I’ll cut you off.”

  Anna smirked and grabbed the glass. “I’ve been hired to trace the family history of a prominent Nashville family.”

  “Oh, yeah? Have you made any progress?” Mick asked.

  “Some,” she said. “But there are some issues.”

  “Like what?” Mick asked.

  “Did you know there was a big battle in Franklin?” Anna asked.

  “Back during the Civil War, sure,” Mick answered. He then pointed. “In fact, a couple of days later, they had another battle right over there where the interstate is now. If we were sitting here back in 1864, we probably could’ve watched the whole thing.”

  Anna took a long drink. “Yeah, well, I didn’t know about it. It just goes to show you how stupid I am.”

  Mick looked surprised and then glanced at me. “I don’t think you’re stupid,” he said.

  “Oh, but I am,” she retorted. “I don’t know anything about the French and I don’t know anything about the Civil War.”

  Mick glanced at me again. I shrugged, not knowing what the hell she was talking about. Anna made a sarcastic face.

  “I bet William’s an expert,” she said, mostly to herself.

  I was now getting an inkling of her current displeasure with William. I wanted to ask her about it, but there were too many nosy people in here listening, Mick being one of them, and her personal issues were nobody’s business.

  “How many of you fuckers, I mean, how many of you gentlemen are war experts?” she asked loudly enough so the whole bar could hear.

  I groaned inwardly when I heard a bar stool squeak and the occupant stood. He had a broad grin on his face as he began sauntering over in much the same way Wally had done five minutes previous.

  “Here we go,” I muttered under my breath.

  “This’ll be good,” Mick added.

  It was going to be something alright. Ebbie was yet another regular; an old fart who was full of himself and liked everyone to know it. In his seventies, he was stick thin, looking like slabs of old bologna had been glued onto his skeleton. When he was a younger man, he was over six feet tall with a head full of brown hair. Now, he was slightly stoop-shouldered and mostly bald, but he had enormously furry eyebrows and enough hair growing out of his ears to knit a baby’s blanket.

  “Good afternoon, young lady,” Ebbie said with a haughty air. “I believe I heard you asking if anyone here knew about the war between the states.”

  Anna stared in drunken amusement. “Would that be you?”

  Ebbie smiled. “As Thomas can attest, I am a world-renowned expert of American History. If you have a question on the topic, I will undoubtedly have the answer.”

  Anna stared a moment longer at him before fixing her gaze on me.

  “Anna, this is Professor Ebenezer Farquhar, but everybody calls him Ebbie. Currently, he is professor emeritus at Belmont University. And, yes. He is probably one of the top-rated authorities of American History.”

  Anna focused back on Ebbie and burst out in laughter. “Ebenezer Farquhar? What kind of name is that? Did your parents hate you or something?”

  The bar patrons once again roared in laughter. Ebbie blushed, but he managed to maintain his composure.

  “I was named after my great grandfather, but please call me Ebbie.” He offered a smaller, hopeful smile, to which Anna returned.

  “Alright, Ebbie, I do have a history question. It has to do with the city of Franklin during the war.”

  “Ask away,” Ebbie said, his smile growing.

  “Alright, here goes. Who is Chester Bond?”

  Ebbie’s smile turned to confusion. “Excuse me?”

  “Who is Chester Bond?” Anna repeated.

  Ebbie’s confusion deepened. He looked to me for some kind of help. I shrugged.

  “Chester was a Confederate soldier who apparently came from Williamson County,” I added.

  “He fought for the south,” Anna added needlessly. Her words were slurring now. “He was listed as being born in Williamson County and he enlisted in 1861. I need to know what happened to him.”

  Ebbie frowned and shrugged. His smile had disappeared. “I’m sure I wouldn’t know.”

  Anna made a mock pouting expression. “Oh, Ebbie, you were so close to getting a blowjob, but you blew it, no pun intended.” She then burst out in an uncontrollable giggle at her own joke.

  Ebbie was flustered. His face had turned a nice shade of crimson, much like Wally’s had. He then patted me on the shoulder, as if to say, she’s all yours, and then slinked back to his seat. Anna smiled at me sweetly and polished off her drink.

  We left at eight. Although it was still early, Anna was starting to slur her words and when she’d hopped off of her bar stool to visit the lady’s room, she lost her balance and fell on her ass. I waited for her to go to the restroom before telling Mick to cut her off.

  “Okay, I think it’s time to go home,” I said when she’d returned.

  She looked at me in confusion. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, I’m pretty tired.”

  “Are you okay to drive?” she asked.

  “I’m fine,” I answered. If she had been paying attention, she would have known I’d only had two beers. She acquiesced and allowed me to guide her to the passenger door where I gently assisted her in sitting.

  “You’re going to feel like hell tomorrow,” I remarked once I’d gotten in and started the Mustang.

  “Yeah, well, so what?” she retorted.

  I couldn’t decide what the best course of action was at this point but decided to be nosy. “So, what happened between you and William?”

  She pulled her head back in the window and turned to face me. She looked like a hot mess; her eyes were bloodshot and her hair was all tangled.

  “Let me tell you what that so-and-so did to me. So, we go to a party that some of his friends hosted, and it’s all of his law school buddies and their stuck-up, snotty wives.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “Yeah, and like they made a point of talking all about the prestigious colleges they went to, even though none of them work.”

  “Um-hmm,” I said as I drove. She kept talking.

  “So, they figured out I haven’t been to college and it became something of a cruel little game to them. They acted all nice and started talking about stuff like Greek philosophy or French literature. You know, crap that doesn’t matter in the real world, and then they’d ask my opinion about something like, what do you think of Voltaire’s position on the Catholic Church?”

  She reached into her purse and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. I thought she’d been trying to quit, but alcohol often ruins good judgment and self-discipline. She lighted up and blew out a lung full of smoke.

  “And then they brought up my previous employment and that’s when it got even nastier. Do you know what William was doing while this passive-aggressive crap was taking place? Nothing. Not a damn thing. All he did was stand there, looking embarrassed because
his girlfriend is so stupid and used to be a stripper.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Have you talked to him about it?”

  She gave a disgusted scoff; the way women do when a man screws up.

  “I tried, but he thinks he didn’t do anything wrong.” She turned and stared out of the passenger window, as if something out there in the night held an answer for her.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. At some point, I’m sure he’ll understand why that upset you.”

  “No. I’m done with him,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper.

  I glanced over. She was still staring out and I couldn’t see her face. She reached up and wiped her face, which made me wonder if she was crying. She made it as far as my driveway before puking. I gave silent thanks she didn’t do it in my car.

  Chapter 17

  I was sitting at the table enjoying a couple of buttered biscuits with my coffee when Anna emerged from her bedroom. She was wearing an oversized bathrobe and moved noticeably slower than normal. I guess I must have been smirking or something because she stared at me threateningly with puffy eyes and held up a finger.

  “Not a word.”

  “I was merely going to say there is fresh-squeezed lemonade in the fridge and some ibuprofen sitting on the counter for you.”

  She nodded with pained gratefulness and washed down the pills before sitting at the table with me.

  “Try out a buttered biscuit; it’ll settle your stomach.”

  She groaned. “I can’t eat anything right now.”

  “A long hot shower then. We have an appointment at ten.”

  She looked at me in confusion. “What kind of appointment?”

  “With Doctor Holly Gross at the medical examiner’s office,” I said.

  “Why?”

  “Because they are possibly in possession of the remains of the late Chester Bond.”

  Anna’s eyes widened and she began stammering. “Wait, what? How?”

  I opened my laptop and turned it so she could see the screen, which had an old news article featured. The headline read: Treasure Hunters Find Skeletal Remains.