4 The Marathon Murders Read Online Free PDF Page A

and
Australia.”
    “Impressive. What were the cars
like?”
    She pushed a sheet toward me.
“Here’s a picture.”
    Photographed beside Nashville’s
full-size replica of the Athenian Parthenon in Centennial Park, the Marathon
was a sleek black touring car. With the top down, the flat, rectangular
adjustable windshield was slanted at a rakish angle above the steering wheel.
It had gas headlamps and two side oil lights. An online engine gave it a long
high hood you could lean against.
    “What did it sell for?” I asked.
    She flipped a few pages. “Based on
an Olympic theme, they had three models. The Champion sold for eighteen hundred
dollars as a seven-passenger touring car. The Winner was thirteen-fifty, the el
cheapo Runner, nine-fifty.”
    “A tad less than
my Jeep.”
    “About twenty
thousand cheaper than my little red Camry. I haven’t found the whole
story on what happened to the company, but there were mentions of mismanagement
that brought on lawsuits by suppliers.”
    “Did you find anything about the
current rehab?”
    She looked down at her notes. “A
fellow named Mike Geary bought the buildings and has been restoring them. He’s
rented suites to musicians, photographers, artists, and such. His office is in
the old Marathon administration building. He calls his development Marathon
Village.”
    My cell phone rang. I moved to a
corner beside the windows as I caught a disapproving glance from a librarian
behind the nearby counter.
    “I’ve found something that might be
interesting,” Kelli Kane said. Up to this point she hadn’t exhibited a great
deal of emotion, but I caught a touch of excitement in her voice now.
    “What do you have?”
    “A packet of
letters dating back to the nineteen teens and twenties. They appear to
be from my great-great-grandmother, Grace Liggett, to her sister in Texas. She
writes in a beautiful script. I haven’t read much yet, but she talks about
Sydney’s problems at work. Before I go any further, I thought I’d visit Grandpa
and ask him about them.”
    “Let us know what you turn up,” I
said and switched off the phone.
    I relayed the message to Jill, who
nodded as she gathered up the clipping book and stuck it back in its place on a
nearby shelf. “They have stuff on every local business you can imagine in these
volumes,” she said. “What did you find at the Chamber?”
    “The guy we need to talk to is out
of town. Incommunicado.” I explained the situation.
    “Bummer. Where does that leave us?”
    “I need to call Mrs. Nelson at
Allied Construction and see what she knows about Pierce Bradley’s next-of-kin.”
    “You make it sound like he’s no
longer with us.” She gathered up her note pad and pen, shoving them into her
large handbag.
    “Not necessarily. True, next-of-kin
is an old military expression with that connotation, but us civilians use it in a lot of contexts, too.”
    “Okay. Let’s get out of here so you
can call her without raising too many eyebrows.”
    When we got down to the garage, I checked
my call list and re-dialed Allied Construction. I asked the secretary if she
had heard anything from Pierce Bradley. She hadn’t. I asked what she knew of
Bradley’s family.
    “I’m not sure about his mother,”
she said, “but I think his father died recently. He has a sister in Hartsville.
She’s called here for him a couple of times.”
    “Do you have her name?”
    She asked me to hold while she
looked for it. A minute or two later she came back on. “It’s Patricia Cook.
That’s Mrs. A. B. Cook.”
    I shut off the phone. “We have a
name. I’ll bet it’s the Pat I found in his cell phone. Let’s head for the
office and check her out. Then we can hit the road to Trousdale County.”
    “Good. I’ve been worrying about
Bradley’s dog out back. If he’s not being cared for, you know something has
happened to Bradley.”
    We had just taken the I-40 exit to
Hermitage when the phone rang. Jill pulled it out of the small