The Opium Equation

by Lisa Wysocky

He laughed again, and pushed past me toward the girl at the register. She reached again for the phone, but she soon relaxed her grip and chuckled at something Frog said.

  I didn’t have to ask Darcy about dinner. Our eyes connected and I knew that we both wanted out of there. She turned, weaving her way through the tables, and I was right behind her. When we got outside I looked back, but Frog was chatting amiably with the register girl. A few more steps brought us to my truck. I smiled a shaky smile at Darcy and, with great relief, reached out to unlock the passenger door.

  A long white hand reached from behind me and grabbed my wrist in a vice-like grip. Frog spun me around to face him.

  “Don’t you go telling no cops about me an’ Bubba. I don’t know nothin’ ’bout that ol’ lady’s murder an’ I ain’t gettin’ involved any more than I already am.”

  “What do you mean, anymore than you already are?”

  “Jus’ by bein’ a friend of Bubba’s I’m kinda involved, like. See?”

  No. What I saw was that Frog wasn’t telling all. But I wasn’t going to let him know that. Evidently he figured he had shut me up and he turned his attention to Darcy, leering in the mistaken belief that a missing front tooth was quite sexy. I reached around him to open the door and Darcy slid in gratefully.

  “Right now, we’re cool,” said Frog as I opened the door on my side. “But I hear you been talkin’ to the cops ’bout me, then I got a problem. An’ if I got a problem, then you got a problem. Stupid baby shit anyway, gettin’ hisself in trouble. I ain’t gonna let him bring me in on it, too.”

  19

  AFTER THE SCENE WITH FROG, DARCY didn’t feel up to driving, so I told her I’d have Jon pick her up in the morning and bring her to her car, which we left at Verna Mae’s. I knew full well that offering Jon’s services without asking him would give him one more reason to hate me. Sigh. We grabbed burgers at a nearby Wendy’s and took I-40 back to Nashville. No matter what the problem, life always looks better after eating a cheeseburger.

  Despite the underlying threat of violence during the encounter, I believed Frog’s story. I believed he saw Bubba on Monday at noon exactly where he said he saw him, going through the fence toward Fairbanks. That put Bubba very close to Glenda at what could have been near to the time she was killed.

  Maybe Carole was right. Maybe Bubba had seen something that scared him. Even worse, an ill-intended person may have seen Bubba. That person may even have taken Bubba and was now hiding him. I dreaded thinking of the alternative, which was infinitely more awful. But it all came back to why.

  Glenda had been killed for a reason. When I figured out the reason, I would find the killer. And with luck, the killer would know what happened to Bubba and would lead me to where Bubba was. Maybe.

  I took the 440 bypass around to Hillsboro Road and into Green Hills. I turned right just south of the shopping area and after a mile or so of left and right turns pulled into a long, paved drive that led to a faux antebellum home somewhat along the lines of Fairbanks.

  I knew from past trips to Darcy’s that no weed would ever dare poke its head up from the deeply mulched bushes along the drive. Wide stone paths connected the house to a few smaller outbuildings. I could see what I knew to be the gazebo and a tool shed from the glowing light of precisely spaced electric decorator lamps along the walkway.

  Mason was once again out of town and Darcy asked if I wanted to come in. Realizing she must be shaken from the nasty encounter with Frog, I agreed. As we neared the house, a huge Doberman got up from a mat on the porch and snarled.

  When Darcy said, “hush,” Keno recognized her voice and his vicious snarl immediately changed to yelps of joy as he ferociously wagged his stumpy rear end. We both gave the ancient guard dog lavish pats as we opened the door. These days his hearing was much better than his sight.

  Inside, the elegant home was spotless, no thanks to Darcy. Mason always hired good “help.” We smelled apples and cinnamon and Darcy made a beeline for the kitchen. There was a large pan of apple crisp cooling on the counter beside the oven, doubtless the courtesy of Mason’s latest cook. Yum! Even though I’d just downed a cheeseburger, I was still hungry. It was stress. I was sure of it. Maybe that’s why cops are never too far from a big, fat doughnut. All the carbs must keep the stress at bay.

  Darcy started assembling forks, plates, and napkins while I heated cocoa in the microwave. We plopped down in a pair of rocking chairs in front of an antique, but working, wood stove, our plates balanced on our knees, our drink mugs resting comfortably on the stone floor. There was not a word said between us until both plates and cups were empty and the cups newly refilled.

  “All in all, an interesting evening,” I began, lightly rubbing the heel of my scraped hand, which had begun to itch. “Not quite the evening I had in mind, but interesting all the same.” When there was no response from Darcy I added, “Mind if I ask about your get-up?”

  Darcy had not explained her sudden interest in high fashion. Very possibly that was because she’d had other thoughts on her mind, like how to get rid of a slimy, violent jerk.

  “Oh, this,” Darcy giggled and smoothed her skirt. “Daddy thinks I should dress more ladylike and had like a bunch of this stuff sent over from that frou-frou shop Glenda goes, ah … went … to in Belle Meade. Daddy and I got into a big fight before he left because I’ve had the stuff like since before Christmas and he found out the price tags were still on every piece. I just wanted to be able to tell him, you know, when he called, that I actually wore some of it. If,” she added quietly, “he calls.”

  “Listen, Darce. Why don’t you come home with me? Spend the night and wake up early with a ride on Petey?”

  “No, but thanks. Really. I’ve got a major history test tomorrow. Besides I’ve got a ten o’clock date tonight with my Greek god. Like that must be what, four in the morning over there? And, oh,” she squealed, her melancholy forgotten, “like I totally forgot to tell you what I found for you on the Internet. It’s too cool.”

  Darcy had indeed come up with a few things, like Carole, that were too cool.

  For starters, she found roughly the same information on the opium equation that Robert had. It still added up to laudanum. Then she found an old newspaper article from an historical archive that linked Col. Sam with large shipments of “agricultural items” from China during the 1860s. There was also a second article that linked the old man to bootlegging during the Civil War.

  “I don’t know about the China stuff,” I said, “but the bootlegging is interesting. I wonder if that’s what he was smuggling during the war. I don’t know anything about what the laws were back then. Alcohol manufacturing and sale in the 1860s. I imagine they were a lot different from what the laws are today. Do you think you can find out anything about that?”

  Darcy said she was sure that she could, and with her words, I realized I was exhausted. All I wanted to do was go home. With Hank performing security duty, maybe I could make my own kitchen seem as safe and cozy as this one.

  I walked to the front door reluctantly.

  “You’re not afraid Frog or anyone will bother you tonight, are you?”

  “Oh, Cat, no. Like I was really rattled when I got to Verna Mae’s tonight because that Deputy Giles pulled me out of class at school today. That creepy Robert Griggs told him I yelled at Glenda and he wanted to ask me about it.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “Exactly what I said to Glenda. That I called her a bitch and that I hoped she’d die a thousand deaths.” In spite of Darcy’s bravado, big fat tears welled in her eyes and began to roll down her cheeks. “I didn’t kill her, Cat. Really, I didn’t. I was so mad at her for being mean to you that right then I wanted to, but it’s not a thing I’d ever, like, really do.”

  Of course I knew that. But did Deputy Giles?

  “Then, like, there was that scene at Verna Mae’s,” she continued, snuffing and wiping her eyes. “But Daddy has made sure this place is secured tighter than Fort
Knox. There’s Keno. And Ruby, you know, the cook, has rooms over the garage. I’m cool with everything. I didn’t like invite him, you know. Frog. I got there early and he was just there. Like he recognized me, or was impressed with the clothes.” She giggled. It was a good sign. “Maybe Daddy isn’t so old and dumb after all. These clothes … they just might be useful sometimes. I’ll have to look at the others more closely.”

  Darcy gave me a hug and reassured me again that she would be fine. But I still worried about her on the way home. She was too young to face so much responsibility alone. I hoped she was up to it.

  River Road was shrouded with patchy fog. I carefully threaded my way through an “S” shaped curve roughly two miles from the county line and accelerated slightly as I hit the straight run that would lead me home. It was the tail end of a spooky stretch of road. A few miles back, and just to the right, was an Indian burial ground that was estimated to be about nine thousand years old.

  When Walmart was trying to build their new store here, many Native Americans held protests on the site, as part of the burial ground was going to have to be relocated. They tied cloths of the four colors, red, yellow, black, and white, to trees along the roadside to represent the four directions of their Native beliefs, and held regular twenty-four hour vigils. Many Native people believe the spirit stays near the body and that it would be wrong to relocate the burial ground. And who’s to say they are not right?

  The powers that be in Nashville eventually decreed that the remains were so old they preceded the modern tribes, such as Creek and Cherokee; and because no direct descendant could be found, there would be no problem in relocating the burial ground and putting a Walmart in its place. I boycotted the store for a while. But I am weak and Walmart is convenient. Nevertheless, that stretch of road, on certain nights, to me seems very ominous.

  I saw the lights of the oncoming car and the bulky object in the road at the same time. On this stretch of highway there is no shoulder. To my right was a deep, swampy ditch; to my left was one lane with a car approaching fast, and further left beyond that was a wall of rock. Straight ahead was … well … something.

  I slammed on my brakes before I had time to think about it. The back end of the truck veered violently to the right and I corrected with a sharp right swing to the steering wheel. But not before the truck collided with whatever was in the road and ground to a screeching, shuddering halt.

  20

  I GOT OUT OF THE TRUCK cursing. I peered under the truck and cursed again. Wedged tightly up underneath the engine and extending back almost to the rear axle was a large, thick tree branch. At least it wasn’t Bubba. Until the actual words popped into my head, I didn’t realize that was what I’d been thinking. Vile tasting bile backed up in my throat, my stomach dropped down to my knees and my legs started shaking, obviously from the extra weight of my stomach.

  I sat down on the damp road in front of the truck. Not a very safe place, I admit, but my legs refused to take me anyplace else.

  I damned Goose Berry to hell and back. This was his doing. He lived near here on a house sitting on stilts on top of a flood plain. I don’t know how he got a permit to build where he did. Some said he didn’t bother with the permit. He just built. With his family, you just didn’t know. Just look at his beloved nephew, Frog. Come to think of it, I’d about had my fill of the Berry family tonight. As far as I was concerned, if you put them all together they were about as smart as a bag of hammers.

  Geographically, this was still Davidson County, and when it came to Goose, county officials should have known better. Ever since Goose built the house, he had a vendetta going with the county over the speed limit on the road in front of it. This was a flat, straight stretch posted at fifty miles per hour. But he thought it should be thirty-five. And when the county repeatedly ignored his complaints, he took matters into his own hands by placing tree branches, just the size of the one lodged under my truck, up and down the road.

  It was illegal, of course. And dangerous, too. The county had started with warnings, then fines and finally jail time. But Goose didn’t care. He was bound and determined that the speed limit be reduced. He claimed it was a noise problem, but his house was at least two hundred fifty feet off the road, so it couldn’t be that much of a problem. If he’d wanted complete silence, he should have chosen one of the lots over near the Cheatham Game Preserve. Quite a few of those land parcels were totally isolated and I’m sure there would be no problem of a speed limit on the old, bumpy, logging roads that led to many of the lots.

  I looked at my watch. Almost nine o’clock. It was pitch dark. Any garage would be closed by now and a tow truck would cost a fortune. But maybe Jon could come to my rescue. Maybe. I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket with trepidation. Sure enough, there were zero bars. Over the past few years I had tried every possible cell phone provider and none gave coverage in this spot. Together, the cliff and the swamp conspired to provide a communications black hole.

  I considered the dark road. I didn’t particularly feel like walking two miles home in the murky mist. But given the lack of any other viable option, I gathered my courage together, put one foot in front of the other, and started out. I decided that I really did need to break down and join AAA. Have I mentioned that I tend to be miserly at times? And old-fashioned? My grandma raised me not to want what I didn’t need, but my problem was that I often couldn’t tell the difference––or so Jon kept telling me. Well, now he would be happy. It looked as if I was finally going to spend some money whether I wanted to or not.

  I wished Hank were here. It’s not that I am afraid of the dark. Okay, truthfully, dark places scare the bejesus out of me. And as long as I’m being honest, I still have a nightlight in my bedroom. I can trace my fear of the dark back to the time I spent alone in Chicago as a nine-year-old in a run-down apartment. At night, rats and mice would creep in and more than once I woke to the feel of a furry body scurrying over me. But that was a lifetime ago. No rodent would be out on a cold, rainy night like tonight. Or so I kept telling myself.

  As I walked, nothing stirred. The fog smelled like sand and rotten wood. Stray breezes sent showers of rain from the cliffs on my left. I stayed off the soft, narrow gravel shoulder and walked just inside the white line on the road’s edge. Eventually I stopped thinking about rats and congratulated myself for not sending the truck into the ditch. Now that would have been a mess. Dents and swamp muck all over. Of course there was the very real chance that someone would plow into the truck, even though I’d left the emergency flashers on.

  I’d gone about half a mile and pulled two more of Goose’s big branches off the road when I heard a car approaching from behind. Its headlights cast wide, shiny patches on the wet pavement, and its engine geared down as the driver saw me. Nervously, I stepped to the side of the road to let the car pass. But instead, the car slowed and as it slid alongside me, it came to a stop.

  My heart thudded into double time as the passenger door swung open and a voice from inside said, “You’d better get in.”

  The voice, I realized, belonged to Deputy Giles. And now that my wits were gathering themselves together, I saw the car had the official Cheatham County seal stamped on its side.

  “I saw the truck back there and called a report into Metro. Looks like Goose Berry is going to spend a few nights courtesy of Davidson County. You want me to call in a tow for your truck? Metro’s already got a car there. They’ll tow it to an impound lot if you don’t call in your own tow.”

  I nodded, and he picked up some papers from the passenger seat. As I got in with a mixture of curiosity and fear, Deputy Giles made the call. It was, I admit, the first time I’d taken a ride in a cop cruiser and I had half a mind the deputy was going to take me back into Nashville and lock me up with Goose. Maybe there was the teensiest inkling of guilt in the back of my mind. Maybe I realized deep down in my subconscious that my sudden interest in snooping wasn’t going to be met with open arms by the deputy.

  As t
he deputy rearranged his stack of paperwork, I noticed that the dash of the car and the space between the two front seats had a lot of serious-looking equipment attached to it. Each piece was equipped with its own set of blinking lights, hissing noises, and the occasional semi-understandable squawk from the dispatcher in Ashland City. It was quite intimidating.

  The deputy noticed my inspection. “Don’t let the lights fool ya. All I got in here is a radio link to the dispatcher, a phone, radar, a computer, and a regular AM/FM radio. The Metro cars have all the cool stuff.” His envy was obvious but I forgot higher technology when, to my relief, he nosed the car in the direction of the stable.

  “I didn’t know you ran a twenty-four hour traveler’s aid service. Out of county too. I’m impressed.” I tried to keep it light now that my heart had resumed beating normally.

  He shrugged and said, “Don’t be, Miz Enright. I’m just driving around thinking. The sheriff’s been giving me a lot of grief.”

  “I guess he wants to wrap this up. Make a quick arrest, huh.” I tried not to sound uneasy, but all of a sudden I remembered Glenda’s notebook was burning a hole in my coat pocket. I didn’t want to know what Sheriff Big Jim would think of that.

  The deputy nodded. “Yeah. The sheriff isn’t the most popular guy in town right now. With anyone on or off the force.” He paused. “How ’bout you? You look like you’ve had better days. You can tell me, now. Anyone been bothering you?”

  “Me? Why would anyone bother me?” I immediately thought of Frog and wondered if the deputy had talked with him since our very recent conversation at Verna Mae’s.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” he drawled. “Just thought maybe someone like Adam Dupree might be somewhat bothersome.”

  I looked at him in surprise. “Adam? No, not at all. Why would you think that?”

  “I heard you were tighter than two peas in a pod,” he said. “Neither of you mentioned it in your statements, so I wondered if it was a big secret––or if there was a reason you wouldn’t want it to be mentioned.”