Surest Poison, The Read Online Free PDF

what
you needed to be doing. Not sitting on a mountainside, living like a monk.”
She paused, as though wondering whether to go on.
    Sid stared at her without comment.
    “And, of course, there’s more,” she said,
shifting to a lighter tone. “You know I was once a Nashville cop.”
    “Right. Mike told me a bit about your wayward career.”
    “I guess it’s still in my blood. I’m
taking part vicariously in something I can’t afford to do on my own. I have
too much responsibility with the business. But I’d love to help you out on a
case if there’s something I could do.”
    “You’re serious.”
    “Absolutely.”
    “You’d need a PI license to stay out of
trouble.”
    “I’ll let you in on a little secret. I’ve
already put in for it and taken the test. I should be getting my license any
day now.”
    He leaned forward in his chair. “I’ll let you in on a little secret, Jaz. From what I’ve seen of this case so
far, I may need a whole lot of help.”
     
     
      
    5
     
     
     
    Up early the next day, decked out in gray sweat pants and a faded Yellowstone tee shirt,
Sid got back to his regular morning run through the neighborhood. He covered
four miles at a brisk pace, honing his powers of observation as he went. He
noted the black van in the gravel driveway, the ornamental birdbath beside
an oak tree, the red bicycle leaning against a fieldstone house, the large
white mailbox with a bashed-in side. Last night’s blustery wind had been
replaced by a less turbulent breeze that rustled the trees, tingeing the
chilled air with the scent of damp leaves. He watched the sunlight filter
through baring limbs and paint slanted yellow stripes on the pavement. This
was a special time of day that resonated with his love of the outdoors. He
filled his lungs with air and sweated like a boxer in the ring and adored
every minute of it.
    Back home he showered, dressed, and fixed
his usual breakfast of orange juice, instant oatmeal, cinnamon roll, and
black coffee. He switched on the TV, sat at the kitchen table, and thumbed
through the morning paper. When the phone rang, he walked to the counter and
answered it.
    “I’ve got a problem,” Jaz said. “A missing person.” Her voice betrayed a note of
anxiety.
    “Who’s missing?”
    “John and Marie’s
grandson, Bobby Wallace. He
didn’t come home last night.”
    She had told him about the couple, in
their late seventies, employees of the LeMieux family for more than thirty
years. Since Jaz was a youngster. They were Uncle John and Aunt Marie back
then. Time altered the way people addressed each other. Perceptions changed.
    Sid carried the portable phone to the
table. “Some guys make a habit of that.”
    “Not Bobby. He’s in his early thirties,
and he’s never done it before.”
    “Where does he live?”
    “Ashland City. He’s their son’s boy.”
    “How did you hear about it?”
    “His wife, Connie, called Marie. She was
frantic, didn’t know what to do.”
    “They have kids?”
    “A boy. Little Bob, they call him. He’s nine.”
    “Any way I can help?”
    “Maybe later. You have plenty to do now. I’ll get back to you after I run down there and
check on the situation.”
    Sid understood Jaz’s concern. The
Wallaces were like family. John handled maintenance, landscaping, whatever
the need called for around the eight-acre estate, while Marie did cooking
and cleaning chores and served as Jaz’s nanny in the early years. They had
lived in a smaller house behind the French Colonial mansion until after Mr.
LeMieux died. Jaz worked hard to come up with a convincing argument that it
was for her own benefit before they agreed to move in with her.
    After Sid had dressed for work, he called
Murray Estes, the former Cheatham County Chamber of Commerce executive. He
explained who he was and asked Estes if it would be possible to drop by and
chat for a few minutes about a business from the past in Ashland