A Shred of Truth Read Online Free PDF Page B

awakening. I logged on to my e-mail account and found a smattering of messages, including a response to my complaint about a recent eBay purchase, but that could wait. The ultimatum from AX was all that mattered.
    I moved the mouse, let the cursor hover.
    Click …
    The sender’s address was one of those encrypted accounts that requires no ID and makes it difficult to trace. My heart rate kicked up a few notches as I read the words once more.
    Chop, chop, Aramis. Your sins are the razor that will slice you deep. “The ax is already at the root of the trees, and every tree that doesnot produce good fruit will be cut down.” 4 p.m. Go to Cheekwood Gardens, the Fabergé exhibit. For the sake of your loved ones, I suggest cutting off all contact with your colored detective friend.
    Had he seen me talking to Meade? What was his objective here? My brother had mentioned the caller’s comments a few days ago, about something stolen. Was it connected? Or a false lead?
    I hit Print, and my ancient IBM printer snorted, brayed in protest, then sent dots galloping across the paper. The message was evidence, a glimpse into the mind of some sicko. Was that scripture he had quoted? I thought of Johnny bleeding under the statue. Anyone willing to slash his fellowman and torch a homeless woman was either severely lacking in moral fiber or …
    Or just seriously screwed up in the head.
    I dialed Johnny’s number, then Sammie’s. Left messages for both. Didn’t they ever answer their phones?
    My fingers tapped at the keyboard, shooting off a reply to the threatening e-mail. Contact the cops? I asked. No. I could deal with this one on my own. I’d get some solid answers, or I’d rip out someone’s throat.
    Call it a character flaw, but I don’t have it in me to play into fear trips. I have no problem defending those I love, and with a quick jaunt back to my place, I’d arm myself for the approaching rendezvous. Johnny Ray and I may have our differences, but he’s family.
    “Aramis? Knock, knock.”
    “Hey.” I stuffed the printout into my pocket. “Need help with the lunch rush?”
    “Pretty dead actually.”
    “Bet a lot of our business is over at the festival at Centennial Park. What’s going on?”
    Diesel glanced over his shoulder and punched at the doorframe. “Anna won’t quit with the mothering stuff.”
    I smiled. “She’s got a big heart, Diesel. She cares.”
    “Like I don’t get harped on enough already.”
    “She’s your shift supervisor, so work with her the best you can.”
    “If you say so.” He mumbled something unintelligible, then diverted my attention with a finger pointed at the monitor. “You seen how our urban legend’s doing?”
    “Let’s take a look.”
    With a quick Google search, we found links to the Wikipedia article, a genealogical site, even an editorial from a respected local newspaper. The legend had also been noted by Snopes.com with a yellow bullet to indicate “undetermined veracity.”
    “Hey, that’s better than a red bullet,” Diesel said.
    “Not bad so far, huh?”
    Within a few weeks, thousands would be spreading the rumor that one of the founders of the Ku Klux Klan, Civil War general Nathan Bedford Forrest, had been the product of a tryst between his dirt-poor white mother and a strapping young slave from a nearby plantation. The KKK’S secrecy would only muddy the waters regarding his bloodline.
    “Think we’ve got a winner,” I said.
    “Bones better give me an A.”
    “I’ll warn him to grade wisely,” I kidded.
    “He’s a blow-hard. This is between him and me.”
    Diesel’s intensity sounded an alarm in my head, but I saw no need to get involved. It was his life to lead, and I had my own blow-hard to warn off, with our introduction fast approaching.

    Cheekwood Botanical Gardens would close in less than an hour, which meant most of the Saturday visitors were wrapping up their self-guided tours of the massive estate. I paid the fee at the gate and drove