Southern Fried

by Cathy Pickens

  “Hadn’t been here in quite some time,” she continued. “Stopped comin’.” She half turned to look across the lake, her profile to me. “Law, been some time. A decade or more, now that I think on it. This lake carries a deep mist.”

  The water lay clear and bright under the dimming sun. No mist that I could see.

  She kept looking across the lake to the darkened trees on the opposite shore. “Hear they found her.”

  I nodded, but she didn’t notice.

  “Maybe that’s what had things here clouded. Had to come see. A sad place, for sure.” She sighed. “I wisht I’d known. Something went akilter here, but who could’ve known.”

  What could I say to that?

  She turned. “You were there when they found her.” She didn’t ask; she told.

  I nodded. “By accident.”

  “This lake’s hidden other things. Things aren’t always as they seem. You see some things one day all clear. But you can’t know what they were like somewhere else, earlier, before you knew them. Or what they are where you can’t see. Places are like people. But all keep marks, of who they are, what they’ve been. I had to come.”

  I shivered. The air grew noticeably cooler as the sun peeked through on its way down behind the trees.

  She inhaled deeply, as if waking from a sleep. “Good to meet you, Avery Andrews. If there’s anything you need, you let me know. I’ll be here.” Her sack held carefully at her side, she disappeared into the trees at the side of the cabin.

  The next morning, shadowy memories of Dacus dreams clung like wisps to the edges of my brain. My dreams included Sadie Waynes. And my grandfather. And a guy I’d known in high school that I hadn’t thought about in years. Much to remember—and to learn—about this place I thought I knew, all swirling around in my head.

  I popped the top on a can of Coke, munched a half-dry bagel, and perched on the porch railing, watching the lake. For some reason, when autumn bares the limbs, I can’t quite remember what the trees look like in summer. Then, in summer, I can’t quite imagine the bare limbs.

  I didn’t hear the car pull up on the other side of the cabin. But Deputy Rudy Mellin let out a holler that carried well ahead of him.

  “Around here,” I yelled back. He appeared, the weeds beside the cabin brushing against his dark uniform pants.

  “A’vry. Why the hell you holed up up here? Hidin’ out from the law?” He har-harred and tugged his pants up around his doughnut-padded belly.

  “Not very well, apparently. You found me.”

  “Yep.” Rudy manages to hide his insecurities behind a blustery, macho self-confidence. Well, not hide, exactly. They stick out in myriad manifestations, including his leering drawl and a belt loaded with phallic-shaped cop stuff. But he’s a pretty good cop.

  “So what brings you up here? Care for a Co’Cola or something?”

  He wrinkled his bulbous nose at my choice of breakfast drinks, then settled one big boot on the porch step.

  “Got some preliminary information on that fire.” He leaned back against the railing so he could study the lake.

  “That’s good.” Though I couldn’t figure out why he’d tell me.

  “Not for somebody, it wadn’t.”

  I waited him out.

  “Yep.” He hitched up his pants and fished a toothpick out of his shirt pocket. “Not good for somebody.”

  I still didn’t respond, knowing he’d tell me more if I didn’t seem too anxious. He went on. “The state sent some fire investigators in from Columbia. The insurance company had a fella in, too. All the way from near Chicago.” He waggled his toothpick around. “They started sifting through things, soon as what was left cooled down enough.”

  “Makes sense they’d have to wait,” I said non-committally.

  “Yep. Found enough to convince ’em it’s arson.”

  “Arson?” Not such a surprise after L.J’s not-so-subtle hints about the accounting records.

  He nodded. “Yep. Somebody wanted that building to go. And maybe a bit more besides.” He paused. “They found a body.”

  I sat my Coke can on the porch railing. I didn’t want him to see the quiver in my hand. “Oh, dear Lord.”

  “Yep. In a little room in behind the offices. Haven’t ID’ed him yet. Whoever it was, he’s a reg’lar crispy critter now, all bowed up like he ’uz fightin’, the way they get.”

  Rudy probably wasn’t trying to disgust me as much as purge his memory of what he’d seen.

  “What makes them think it’s arson?”

  He pulled the toothpick from his mouth. “Natural-gas pipe running to a space heater, low down to ’the ground, has been cut.”

  “Who’d cut a gas line and not expect to get blown sky high?”

  “Naw, not like that. A firebug’11 turn off the gas, saw a slash in the pipe low down in the room somewhere. Then he’ll set an igniter, something that’ll do the trick after he’s had time to leave and the room’s plenty full of gas. Then, kaboom.”

  “Who else you questioning on this? Besides L.J’s obligatory pass at Melvin Bertram, that is.”

  Rudy shrugged. “Looking at a couple of guys.”

  “Like who?” The memory of the flames and the choking smoke and the sounds flashed in my memory.

  Rudy spit out part of his toothpick and shrugged. “The good news, sheriff’s ’bout decided your boy likely didn’t have anything to do with it.”

  “My boy? Melvin Bertram?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Who else might I mean?”

  I didn’t volunteer that my only other client was Garnet Mills. That would likely dry up the faucet of information that stood before me mouthing a toothpick.

  “How much of the mill burned?”

  “Sprinklers did some water damage in part of the plant. Lucky they had those, though, what with all that wood and sawdust and who knows what. Mostly just the office area burned. Thing blew the roof up and it collapsed back into the building. It actually smothered some of the fire, they said.”

  “The office area, huh? So they’ll be able to get production up and running soon.”

  “Yep. I reckon. Get those fellas back to work, that’ll be good. I don’t reckon old man Garnet pays shit. Can’t believe that dump’s still in business, truth told.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Shit. You seen that place? When I got outta high school, they were barely paying minimum wage then. Some’a them guys worked there their whole lives, Bad when you can’t get a job in a textile mill and working at a place like Garnet is the best you can do.”

  The plant hadn’t looked all that prosperous. And neither had the folks working there.

  “I guess they’ll do an autopsy,” I said.

  “Yep. Glad I’m not the one taking it to Charleston. Watchin’ that’d put you off eatin’ barbecue for ’bout the whole rest of your life, I reckon.”

  “They finish processing the scene yet?” I asked to change the subject.

  He shook his head. “That insurance guy looks like he’s moved in to stay. I ’magine he’ll be around awhile, tryin’ to lock down a way to keep his company from havin’ to cough up any dough.”

  I nodded. I needed to call Harrison Garnet, the sooner, the better.

  “Rudy, I appreciate you coming all the way up here to tell me my client’s off the hook. Frankly, I couldn’t figure out why he was on it to begin with, but…” I shrugged.

  Rudy snorted. “Sooner or later, L.J’ll hang something on that a-hole. He might’ve gotten away with murder once, but that don’t mean L.J’s given up on him. He looks like one of her new permanent favorites.”

  “That’s harassment, Rudy.” I tried to keep a playful tone in my voice.

  “Yeah, well. Your boy’d be wise to pack his bag and head back to whatever hole he crawled into fifteen years ago. When L.J. takes an extreme dislike to somebody, it itn’t a pretty sight.”

  I nodded. So that’s what he’d driven up here to tell me. That, and to have somebody t
o share his mental pictures of the fire victim with—somebody who wouldn’t give him a bunch of macho-cop bullshit.

  “Can’t imagine why he’d want to hang around, Rudy. Can you?”

  “Nope.” He glanced across the lake as he turned toward his car. “Well. Need to head out. Take care of yourself, A’vry. Why the hell you stayin’ way off up here, anyway?”

  I shrugged. “Place needed some work. And I needed something to do.”

  “Shit,” Rudy snorted. “Hang around your office and create lawsuits outta thin air. Isn’t that what you lawyers usually do? You be careful up here,” he continued in a gentler tone. “Not too many folks around this time of year. Popular spot for kids lookin’ for easy drug money. Lotta break-ins.”

  Hard to believe there weren’t many people around, considering how many visitors I’d had this week. “Appreciate it, Rudy. I’ll be careful.”

  As soon as Rudy backed his cruiser down the rutted track toward the road, I closed up the cabin and followed at a safe distance.

  The little store sat on the main road—a country store, not to be confused with anything like a convenience store. But it had proved plenty convenient for me, complete with everything from charcoal briquettes and wasp spray to Butterfingers.

  The guy who ran it—we’d never exchanged names—rarely met my eye. But he had begun offering a routine nod, a curt acknowledgment, whenever I came in. Which was probably as friendly as he ever got. He had run the store as long as I could remember, and he obviously didn’t give a flying flip about building repeat business on the basis of warm customer relations. I bought a Coke and got some change.

  The pay phone hung on the outside wall between the rust-crusted ice machine and the air compressor. Fortunately, it sat sheltered enough from any cars whizzing past on the two-lane road that I could carry on a reasonably intelligible conversation.

  Surprisingly, the Dacus phone book listed Harrison Garnet’s home number. A woman answered. “Mr. Garnet isn’t home right now. May I help you?”

  “Mrs. Garnet?” I hadn’t recognized the measured tones at first, until she started flattening her r’s. “This is Avery Andrews.”

  “A-va-ree,” she drawled but without any true welcome in her voice. “Harrison’s not here right now. He’s down at the plant, dealing with all those people about the fire.”

  “That’s why I called. Just to see if there was anything I could do to help. I—”

  “I’m sure Harrison will appreciate your concern.” Her drawl deepened in that dangerous way magnolia mouths have. “Especially since you’ve already been so much help.”

  “Mrs. Garnet, I—”

  “Avery, you must know exactly what you did. Things have gotten all out of hand now, and your cute little trick with that environmental boy has landed Harrison in considerable difficulty.”

  “What trick? And what—”

  “Avery, Harrison tells me everything about his business. He always has. We have that kind of marriage. And of course I feel deeply responsible since I was the one who suggested he contact you in the first place. Doing a favor for old family friends and all. And now this.”

  “Mrs. Garnet, I—”

  “Avery, you might protest with some people and have them believe it. What I can’t figure out was what you thought you would accomplish by ordering that little environmental fellow to leave. Were you just being cute? Or were you purposely trying to do Harrison harm?” She no longer even tried to disguise the venom in her voice.

  My blood boiled, but I had to acknowledge a tiny fear behind my anger. “Mrs. Garnet, I can assure you that terminating the interview with that inspector was, in my opinion, in the best interest of your husband’s company. If circumstances have changed because of the fire, I haven’t been informed. And I resent—”

  “All I know is that Harrison has been at the plant since early this morning. He’s got fire inspectors and insurance investigators, police officers, and who knows what crawling all over the place, asking him all sorts of questions. What with that death, this thing has just turned into a nightmare. And you, with your snippy attitude toward that inspector, have made them all suspicious. They’re looking for somebody to blame for all sorts of things, and by upsetting that fellow the other day, you practically drew arrows pointing them right to Harrison.”

  “Mrs. Garnet, I can assure you that was not my intent. No one could have foreseen that our discussion Wednesday with the inspector would have anything to do with this fire investigation. But I—”

  “Perhaps it would be best if you just stayed out of things now, Avery. You obviously didn’t know anything about what you were doing. I feel so responsible for what I’ve done to poor Harrison. His health just won’t take much of this. I thought I was helping him out by suggesting he call you. I should have listened to the stories I’d heard—”

  The phone felt hot against my ear. Rather than try to crawl through the phone to decapitate her, I gave her a clipped “Good-bye, Mrs. Garnet,” and hung up.

  I tried to calm myself with the thought that she must be distraught. Or grieving, trying to find somebody to blame. I’d counseled enough clients to recognize that sort of anger, and give her some benefit of the doubt.

  Deep inside, though, I feared her accusations might be striking a little close to home. What had happened?

  The canon of professional responsibility included something along the lines of “Thou hast a duty to refer cases thou hast no expertise to handle.” Had I screwed up? I mentally shook myself by the scruff of the neck. True, I’d never handled a regulatory inspection before. But I’d done my homework. And I’d handled dozens of lawsuit negotiations with big money on the table. Leaving the Calhoun Firm didn’t mean I’d lost my edge.

  And I shouldn’t trust Sylvie Garnet’s take on things. After all, she might not have fully understood her husband, while he shared the intimate details of his business dealings over a breakfast of pink grapefruit halves.

  I leaned against the side of the ice machine, letting the slight hum of its compressor massage my back. I needed to change out of my jeans and Red Adair sweatshirt before I drove down the mountain to see Harrison Garnet.

  Eight

  The scene around Garnet Mills looked like the movie set for a disaster film. The wan winter sun couldn’t penetrate the blackened area that had been the office. But sunlight glinted off the red and chrome fire truck and the fire marshal’s wagon and off the bald head of Harrison Garnet, who sat at the center of the aimless activity.

  Nobody seemed to be doing anything. They stood in small clumps or stirred around like the last autumn leaves in a weak breeze, apparently waiting on something or someone inside the charred hull of the building. In a flash of déjà vu, I transported back to Luna Lake and the directionless urgency of the lake search.

  Two men stood with Harrison Garnet, their backs to me as I approached. One, in a uniform shirt with epaulets, talked down to Harrison Garnet in his wheelchair. The other slumped off to the side.

  I hung back, not wanting to intrude. Mr. Garnet saw me out of the corner of his eye, but gave not even a wave of acknowledgment.

  The epauletted one abandoned Garnet as two men in soot-streaked coveralls, carrying flashlights and a camera, walked out the now-missing front entrance. I watched as they conferred. One of the men in coveralls talked as much with his hands as he did with his mouth.

  Left sitting alone, Garnet maneuvered a half turn, nodding me over.

  “Avery.” He extended his hand and shook mine.

  “Mr. Garnet, I’m sorry. About the fire. “This felt as awkward as a funeral. What should I say? I wasn’t sure how much they’d told him yet about their arson suspicions. Rudy probably hadn’t come by to gossip with him.

  “It’s hard to take it all in,” he said, glancing back at the charred hole in the front of his building. “It’s hard to even remember what it looked like before, or even that a door stood there. And windows and desks.”

  The man in epaulets returned, s
aving me from having to respond.

  “Mr. Garnet, the fellas will be here awhile longer, double-checking everything and finishing the photographs. They’ve found evidence of arson.” His tone carried an undercurrent of accusation.

  Harrison Garnet ignored any undercurrent. “Mr. Simms, I’d like you to meet Avery Andrews.” He sounded like the membership chairman at a country club brunch. “Avery does some legal work for me.”

  Simms acknowledged me with a slight nod, but neither of us offered to shake hands.

  “Exactly what is this evidence your boys found?” Harrison nodded toward the guys in streaked coveralls as they returned to the shadows of the dripping, dark building.

  “I’d be happy to show you, but it’s hard to get back in there.” Simms glanced at Garnet’s wheel-chair. “Maybe your attorney would like a firsthand look.”

  “Certainly.” Harrison volunteered for me. “Perhaps you could give me a Reader’s Digest version first?”

  “A small natural gas-fueled space heater located at the front of the office area looks to be the point of origin.”

  Garnet nodded.

  “The pipe leading into the heater came through the wall and ran along the baseboard for a distance of approximately eighteen inches and linked into the heater. Following a common method, the bug turned off the gas, sawed a slit in the pipe, then turned the gas back on.”

  I had a whole new appreciation for Rudy Mellin as a source of inside information.

  “While the room filled with gas, rising and filling the room from the top, he apparently proceeded to decorate the office area with an accelerant. Probably used some kind of sprayer, since we haven’t found any pooling pattern. Then he set his initiating device, designed to blow things after his departure. A nicely planned job. Not the most sophisticated thing I’ve ever seen, but certainly not something a junior high kid came up with in a wet dream.”

  He paused, studying Garnet. Garnet seemed oblivious to the attention Simms was giving him. He just stared into the black cavern in front of him.

  “So someone definitely set this fire. Deliberately,” Harrison said, his voice hollow.