Southern Fried

by Cathy Pickens

  I paused, but he said nothing. His eyebrows knit together and he clenched his fingers into a knot.

  “Dawson Smith is poring over what’s left of your records—and the arson investigator indicated they had plenty to work with. I imagine he expects to find proof—probably in purchase invoices—of what materials you bought for the plant. Then he’ll compare those with the records of what got hauled off legally. Then he’ll compare that with what they find leeching into the soil and groundwater behind your plant.”

  Harrison Garnet shook his head, looking not like a belligerent businessman but a bewildered child. “I could tell them what’s in those barrels. Just some old rags. That’s ancient history. Why would that concern anybody today?”

  I have learned, from years of talking to people who want to keep things from me, that I can’t always tell when somebody’s lying. But if Harrison Garnet wasn’t telling the truth as he knew it, then he won the prize as the best liar I’ve ever seen.

  “What’s in those barrels?”

  “I told you. Rags. They’re the trash barrels we used to catch the rags they used to wipe glue. You know, when they fitted furniture pieces and such.”

  “But that glue is a hazardous material, Mr. Garnet.”

  “Hazardous? It’s glue. I guess if you ate it or took a bath in it or used it for eye wash, it’d be bad. But it’s just glue.”

  I could actually believe he was as naive as he sounded. He really didn’t have a clue.

  “The EPA and the state guys won’t see it that way, Mr. Garnet. They suspect it contains phthalate, an EPA priority pollutant. And maybe some other materials.” I didn’t mention my suspicions about Noodle’s little back-haul scheme. Maybe, just maybe it had nothing to do with Garnet’s property.

  “So what’s this phthalate stuff supposed to do to people?”

  “They don’t really know, though it causes tumors in lab rats.”

  He pursed his lips into an expression of mild disgust. “Why are they wasting time on this? Why not spend time with the really dangerous stuff? They cry wolf—everything’s dangerous, nothing’s safe. Avery, people worked with that glue day in and day out their whole lives with no problem. How can somebody come along now and say, Oh, that’s dangerous?”

  “Maybe they were harmed.”

  He snorted. “Life’s tough, Avery.” He patted his knees. The wheelchair wobbled a bit with the force of his movement. “Then you get to die. But before that, you get to listen to a lot of government research that tells you don’t drink coffee, don’t eat shellfish, don’t eat peanut butter. For God’s sake, you can’t even drink water anymore because it might have something in it.”

  The irony of his last example missed him completely. When he got really worked up, his voice developed a televangelist’s passion and lilt. He could offer to host one of those conservative antigovernment radio talk shows.

  But I believed him. He genuinely saw nothing wrong with burying a parking lot full of phthalate-loaded barrels.

  “You may be right, Mr. Garnet. But the government won’t see things that way.”

  “Well, tell me, Avery. Just how in the hell can they come on my place so many years later and tell me I can’t use my own property as I see fit? How can they come marching in like gahdam storm troopers and force me to pay through the nose to have barrels dug up? They use big words like remediation. But what they’re talking about is screwing me out of a business I’ve worked decades to build. It’s just glue, for God’s sake. Nobody saw anything wrong with what we did back then. What’s the big stink now? Damn barrels been there so long, there won’t be enough of ’em left to fool with.”

  I didn’t mention that phthalates degrade slowly, so there would be something left to dig up. Not to mention whatever else Noodle might have dumped there.

  “Mr. Garnet, you have no idea why Noodle would try to destroy your records—particularly the older records from the late sixties and early seventies, the ones in the bound journals?”

  “I told you. I have no idea. But I do know that I had nothing to do with it. And that Noodle fellow—if he tells the truth—will clear me. That’s all I know.” His face had flushed during his tirade and he held his hands in clenched fists.

  I didn’t volunteer that I knew why Noodle might want to destroy the records. As a waste hauler, he could be held liable and could do some more jail time.

  “Harrison.” Sylvie’s voice behind me caused both her husband and me to start. “Harrison, you’re getting yourself all worked up. You know that’s bad for you.”

  She sauntered into the room, crisp-looking in a navy pantsuit with gold soutache braid scrolling the cuffs and lapels. Her honeyed voice sounded like she was greeting the pastor on Sunday morning. “Why don’t you go on back to the den? Avery and I have some unfinished business to discuss.”

  I had watched Harrison transform from an innocent, kindly older gentleman to a rabid antigovern-ment reactionary in a matter of moments. When Sylvie entered the room, he transformed yet again. His eyes narrowed and his lips tightened.

  But Sylvie didn’t notice the change. She crossed the room to where he sat and bent to release the brake lever on his wheelchair.

  “You run along now. Avery doesn’t need to be upsetting you.”

  He made no move to leave. And he didn’t look at her. Rather, he frowned at a patch of carpeting somewhere between his feet and mine.

  “Harrison—”

  “I’m not going anywhere, Sylvie.” His tone carried the subtle hardness of metal filings.

  “Harrison, you know how upset you’ve been—”

  “Sylvie, dammit. Avery and I are talking.”

  “And I couldn’t help but hear how overwrought you were getting. I could hear every word you said when I came in the back door. Avery, how you can come around here yet again stirring up trouble—”

  “Avery, I don’t know anything about this Dorrance fellow—or Noodle or whoever. But Sylvie might be able to tell you about him.” He stared at her with a fierce intensity. “Can’t you, Sylvie?”

  She jerked her hand from where it had rested on the handle of his wheelchair, almost as if it had burned her.

  “Harrison, whatever are you—”

  “Tell Avery, Sylvie. Tell her about the fellow who owned his own truck. The one you knew could give us such a good deal when we cleared out the warehouse storage. Tell her about those other barrels, too. Tell her, Sylvie.”

  The passion with which he’d attacked interfering government wastrels had vanished. His voice had calmed to a dangerous quiet.

  Sylvie didn’t move. She stared down at him in icy, mute anger.

  “I never did quite understand how you met him. Certainly not on one of your church social committees. Wasn’t he a cousin or something? I really didn’t pay much attention at the time.”

  Something furious flared in Sylvie’s eyes, then she seemed to collect herself. She turned and walked to a small Governor Winthrop secretary that sat under the far window.

  Harrison didn’t turn to watch her go. The tension firing between them was so intense, it made me feel shaken. Then I realized what Harrison now knew—that Sylvie, through Noodle, had burned down his plant, threatening the people he’d taken care of for years.

  Sylvie twisted the key in the top drawer of the secretary. Her back to us, she stood stiffly.

  “Are you looking for this?” Harrison asked, without facing her.

  Sylvie’s quick whirl as she spun to face Harrison drew my attention. At first, I didn’t see the gun resting in Harrison’s lap.

  “Harrison, give me the gun.” Sylvie’s honeyed tone returned, one that sounded like she was used to it getting her what she wanted.

  “You did it, didn’t you?”

  Sylvie just stood there, her arms stiffly at her sides. With her glittering gold braid and her tense stance, she looked like a slender toy soldier.

  “You did it, didn’t you,” he repeated, this time less a question than a statement.


  At first I couldn’t keep my eyes off the revolver Harrison held so calmly in his lap, so out of place in this elegant parlor. Then I couldn’t take my eyes off Sylvie. Emotions I couldn’t read passed across her face like cloud shadows across a mountainside.

  Then her thin lips parted, words hissing past the darkly lipsticked gash. “Yes. I killed the bitch.”

  With his left hand, Harrison twisted his chair a quarter turn toward her. His right hand held the gun, level and steady, pointing straight at her. His profile appeared calm, an old hunter comfortable with guns.

  I thought they’d forgotten about me until he spoke. Then I knew he’d needed an audience.

  “She did it, you know. She killed her. I’ve known ever since they found her car. I knew it was Lea. And I knew she’d done it.” He looked directly at Sylvie’s face for the first time.

  “All those years, I wondered. I knew you’d had something to do with her leaving. But I thought she’d just left town. I never dreamed—”

  The dam that had held Sylvie back broke. She shook with rage. “All you’ve ever done is dream. You pathetic, shriveled worm of a man. You’ve floated along, falling into that furniture business, falling into a land deal or two. You never could see more than two steps in front of your stupid face.”

  “Did you get him to help you?” Harrison’s voice stayed as steady as his gun hand. “Did you get Cousin Dorrance to help you? Or did you take care of Lea all by yourself?”

  Sylvie’s hands clenched so tightly her nails had to be cutting into her palms. She stood rigid, leaning forward slightly, her eyes blazing. “That little slut? I certainly didn’t need any help handling her.” She spit the words at her husband.

  “Sit down, Sylvie.” He calmly waved the gun, indicating a chair to her left, the companion to mine.

  Sylvie didn’t move. She shook with rage, her eyes darted. I hoped he knew he might have to use that gun.

  “Sylvie, I said sit.” He enunciated the last word as if to a wrongheaded puppy in training class.

  His voice stayed calm. But Sylvie saw something in his face. The man she’d treated like a worm had turned. Recognition flashed in her eyes and she moved woodenly to the chair. She sat stiffly on the edge, her hands clenched in her lap.

  “So you didn’t need your cousin Dorrance’s help with Lea. Why did he burn the office? Was that your idea?”

  “You idiot. Those government inspectors are going to hang you by your toenails. And you don’t even have sense enough to see it coming. Those records needed to be destroyed. And Dorrance said he could take care of it, that he knew all about it. Half-wit.”

  “He’s your cousin, dear.” Harrison said. And he quickly got the effect I suspect he wanted.

  “He’s not my cousin,” she spit. “He’s daddy’s cousin’s nephew. Hardly—”

  “I know. I know. Not really quite on the family tree. But some acorns just don’t get scattered as far as one might like, do they?”

  The quiet taunt in his voice acted like a gasoline mist on her fury. But she stayed in her chair.

  “You’re a fine one to talk.” She leaned forward, her hands on the arms of the chair. “Do you have any idea what a fool that little slut played you for? What were you thinking? That she loved you?” The shrillness in her voice gave love a particularly loathsome sound. “What a fool. And no bigger one than an old one.”

  Harrison’s face, in profile, remained calm. “Oh, I had no illusions about what kept Lea Hopkins around. But I didn’t have to worry about looking like a fool to anybody in this town. That’d already happened. When I married you.”

  A vein pulsed in Sylvie’s neck. But she sat still, her head held regally on her stiff neck.

  He pursed his lips, then quietly said, “But I certainly didn’t know that she and Harry …” His voice trailed off.

  “Do you want to know what happened?” Sylvie cocked her head slightly, a teasing tone in her voice. “To little Lea? I’ll tell you. She wasn’t the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree. I sure hope she was good at something besides thinking. She didn’t realize it wasn’t you in the car until she’d climbed in and closed the door. She had the good grace to be startled, maybe even a little embarrassed. But I put her quickly at ease. Offered her a warm toddy from my thermos to calm her. Told her we needed to have a friendly chat. Between two women with something in common.”

  My fingers went ice-cold as I watched her. Her drawl deepened and a tiny smile played at the corner of her mouth. It scared me to think how easy it would be to fall for the gracious, charming act she could put on.

  “As soon as she started wheezing, she knew what had happened. She tried to explain to me about her fruit allergies. I helped her back to her car so we could look for her antihistamine injection, and assured her she could save her breath. No need to explain.” Sylvie’s teeth glistened frighteningly against her burgundy lipstick. “I told her I already knew all about her dreadful allergy.”

  I bit the inside of my lip to keep my teeth from chattering. Something about the derisive calm in her voice made her replay one of the scariest things I’d ever witnessed.

  “She leaned into the backseat, fumbling in her handbag. A simple shove and she collapsed onto the floorboard. She’d parked her car in the absolute best possible place. All I had to do was turn the key, push the door lock, and pull the gearshift before I shut the front door.”

  She watched Harrison’s face. From where she sat, she could see him better than I could. Her story must have been having the desired effect, because she continued.

  “I couldn’t see her. I thought she might climb up into the seat so I could wave good-bye to her through the back window, but,” she shrugged dramatically, “she didn’t. The car did take an inordinately long time to sink. It floated like a boat a good ways out, then just sat there.”

  She smiled, her hands folded calmly in her lap, her feet crossed at the ankles.

  “I must admit, I had a few dreadful moments of doubt about what I’d done. What if the wretched thing floated and refused to sink? But,” she sighed, “finally. The front end began to tip under the water. And it slipped completely out of sight.”

  Her hands fluttered, men settled. “I must say I was surprised that nobody ever found her. I thought surely, that first summer or two, somebody would find her car. Imagine missing a car that big in that little bitty ol’ mud hole.”

  I felt as though I must be shaking all over. But Harrison Garnet sat rock solid, his profile toward me, the revolver aimed directly at his wife.

  “I never would touch fish that came out of that lake. Did you ever notice that?” She smiled. With a jolt, I was struck that she and I had had the same thought. I remembered scaring myself half to death as I lay in the johnboat, staring at the moon.

  “Avery,” Harrison said without turning toward me. “There’s a phone in the hallway. Would you call the sheriff? Sylvie, stay put.”

  His no-nonsense tone stilled her reflexive movement. But it didn’t still the fire in her eyes. She clutched the arms of the chair, calculating her next play.

  “Harrison, have you lost your mind? What would you gain by that? Avery here’s not going to talk to anybody, are you, darling? Why, Avery’ll be so glad to have a full-time job again, so people will stop talking about what happened to her in Columbia—”

  “Avery, get the phone.”

  “Harrison, you know I made all that up. I just said it to see if I could hurt you. Like you hurt me so much all those years ago with that dreadful little affair. I’ve tried to forgive you, Harrison. But it hurt so much. I’m sorry. It all just bubbled up in that frightful, awful lie I just told. Nobody in their right mind would believe I would do any such thing. Why, what kind of monster would I have to be?”

  “Avery?”

  I stood slowly, keeping my hand on the chair as I backed around it. I kept my eyes focused on her, whether because I didn’t believe what I saw or because I was afraid to turn my back on her, I couldn’t quite say.


  As I moved, the venom returned to Sylvie’s voice. “You idiot. Think how this is going to look. You’ll be ruined. And for what? Think, Harrison. For God’s sake.”

  From the hallway, I could hear Harrison begin to speak. “Sylvie, I truly wish I could roll you off into the lake.” He sounded weary. “I wish you had the chance to claw at the door handle as you watch your watery casket settle into the mud. How long do you think it took?”

  After my earlier bad experiences with the sheriff’s dispatchers, I was pleasantly surprised when my call transferred directly to L J. As I talked to L.J., I could see Harrison Garnet’s back, his bald head shiny, his shoulders steady. But I couldn’t see Sylvie until I crossed the hallway back into the parlor.

  Apparently Sylvie had opted to play the teary-eyed wronged one.

  “Harrison, you wouldn’t actually shoot me, would you? After all you put me through. Can you imagine how fearful I was—of what that girl might do to you? Of what she might do to us—and little Harry just getting started out on his own, his political career so young and fragile. I just snapped, Harrison. It was as if I’d just been struck crazy. I—” She sniffed daintily, her hand to her mouth, her eyes glistening.

  “Of course I would shoot you, Sylvie. And much worse. You know I would. So you won’t give me an excuse.” He actually sounded as though he regretted that she wouldn’t.

  He continued. “I have something much worse hi mind for you. A nice, nasty, prolonged trial. Right here in Dacus. Imagine, the Dacus DAR regent, Garden Club president, and mother of a state gubernatorial candidate on trial for a sordid and bizarre murder. Tabloid TV will love that You’ll probably make all the talk shows and the grocery checkout lines. Like that Texas cheerleader’s mom who tried to kill her daughter’s rival. Avery, you reckon those Court TV folks’ll come to Dacus for the trial?”

  He didn’t turn to face me, but Sylvie shot me a venomous glare. Neither of them expected an answer.

  L.J. got to the house faster than I’d expected. Of course, the Law Enforcement Center’s only a few blocks away. By the time I opened the front door for L.J. and two deputies, Sylvie was screaming, looking like a candidate for the psycho ward.