Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 04 - Vicksburg (4 page)

“JW?”

“The old man. John Wesley Edney. Real religious.
Straight-laced, in fact. Named after some Methodist preacher back in the 1800s”

“I thought he was called John”

“That’s what the kids called him. He preferred JW. Why I
can remember-”

A young clerk interrupted the owner, and before Doc
could take up his story where he left off, I spoke up. “The
family will probably ask you for appraisals on the vehicles.”

A grin played over his face. “Not to brag, but I’m the best
in town” He winked. “Only one, in fact”

I laughed. “I don’t know much about old cars. Ballpark
figure. What do you figure they’re worth?”

Doc suddenly became sly. “Hard to say.”

“I won’t hold you to it. We just need a ballpark figure.
Somewhere to start”

“Well, depending on several factors, you could probably get between fifteen and twenty-five thousand for the Ts, and
twenty-five up to fifty for the Birds.”

1whistled in genuine awe. “Not bad”

He grinned slyly. “Not bad at all.”

“Did you know him very well? I mean, Mr. Edney.”

“JW? Sure. He was one of my best customers and best
friends. We went to some car shows together. In fact, the last
one was at Lafayette, Louisiana just last Thursday and
Friday. We’d usually drive down and share a room. That’s
what we did this time.” He shook his head. “But all this is
sure a surprise, I tell you”

“A surprise? How’s that?” I tried to be nonchalant.

Doc eyed me curiously a moment, then explained. “JW
was a careful man. This morning’s newspaper said it was an
accident, but he wasn’t the kind to have an accident. He was
too cautious, too deliberate.” He shook his head. “Goes to
show you. You never can tell.”

“Just what did happen?”

With a shrug, he said, “Story that came out in the newspaper was that the cleaning solution caught fire. That was
something else that surprised me”

“Why is that?”

“Well, sir, JW usually cleaned parts with ACL cleaner
because it wasn’t very flammable. For some reason, the last
time he ordered cleaning fluid, he wanted naphtha. About a
month ago” He paused. “Well, he didn’t order it. Stewart,
the next to the oldest, did.” He shook his head. “That was a
surprise too” He paused and chuckled. “Seems like I seen a
lot of surprises lately.”

“Oh?”

Doc nodded emphatically. “Stewart and JW had a big
falling out some time back. They stopped talking to each
other, so naturally, I was surprised when Stewart ordered it.
But, I figured the two had made up, and JW just hadn’t said
anything about it.”

I nodded my understanding, and he continued. “Anyway,
the fire marshal said the fire started from a spark when JW was cleaning his fireplace tools.” He shook his head and
clicked his tongue. His brows knit in sadness. “He polished
those brass fireplace tools just like his cars”

A red flag popped up in front of me. Before he could continue, I broke in. “I’m sorry. I didn’t understand what you
said about the fireplace tools.”

His smooth forehead wrinkled slightly. “Huh? Oh, I said
that the fire marshal figured the fire started from a spark
when JW was cleaning his fireplace tools.”

“Brass tools? You’re sure?”

He nodded emphatically. “Yeah. Brass. JW claimed they
once belonged to Andy Jackson”

I frowned. “Jackson?”

“You know, the president. Old JW found them at a weekend flea market over near Monroe, Louisiana. Personally, I
figure some slick hustler fed him a smooth line.” He paused
and studied me. “You a friend of Jack’s?”

“Yeah. We live in the same apartment complex in Austin.”

“What’s Jack doing now? I haven’t seen him in … let’s
see … must be over twenty years. He was just out of high
school when he left.”

“He’s a school teacher.”

“Really?” The rotund storeowner raised his eyebrows.
“Would never have guessed that. What line of work are
you in?”

“Security,” I replied, preferring not to go into specifics.
“Jack broke his arm and couldn’t drive. So-” I shrugged.
“I’m just giving him a hand.”

“Well, when you see him, tell him to drop by. Be good to
see him-or any of JW’s kids for that matter.”

“You got it.” Then I remembered the little runabout. “By
the way, one of JW’s Model Ts is a 1925 Runabout. What do
you figure a good price would be on that?”

He arched an eyebrow. “For you?”

“It’s cute,” I replied.

A frown of concentration wrinkled his forehead. “Oh, I’d
guess fifteen, maybe eighteen. The only problem with that one is the gas tank leaks. As far as I know, JW never got
around to repairing it.”

“Well, they’re all nice looking cars” I glanced out the
window. “Lot of construction out there.”

“Yeah. Keeps things torn up. But we’re lucky on our
block. All the construction is complete.”

Before I could reply, three customers entered. Doc nodded to them. “Been good talking to you. Tell Jack I said hi”

“You bet. And you might put out the word about the old
cars.”

“Sure thing.”

I paused just outside the front door and looked up and
down the wet sidewalk, considering Doc’s last remark. All
the construction is complete on our block. Same remark
Isaac Wilson had made only minutes earlier.

If the construction was complete, then what was the hard
hat doing on the roof of the soon-to-be museum with a bag
of cement-in the rain?

I walked along the outside edge of the sidewalk back to
my pickup, all the while keeping a circumspect eye on the
parapets overhead. If another bag of concrete headed my
way, I wanted to see it coming.

Safely behind the wheel of the Silverado, I jotted the
essence of my conversation with Doc Raines on one of the
ubiquitous three by five cards I always carry. I learned long
ago that sometimes individuals say and remember different
things at different times. I’m reconciled to the fact I’m not
swift enough to keep everything in my head, so I rely on the
cards to help keep everyone honest and me thinking straight.

An added benefit of the cards is that I can rearrange them
in any manner, often permitting me to spot an angle or perception I had overlooked. Technology is good, but there are
times when pencil and paper work better.

I glanced up to see a bright red Dodge Ram 1500 pickup
rumbling my way. As it passed, I spotted the construction worker who had dropped the cement sitting behind the
wheel. The white logo on the side of the pickup was shaped
like a shield with the words “Rebel Trucking” in the middle
of the logo.

After the pickup disappeared up the street behind me, I
slipped the cards in my shirt pocket and peered through the
windshield, studying the restored buildings around me. As
both Doc Raines and Isaac Wilson had said, on this block,
all refurbishing did appear to be complete. The adjoining
block was still under construction. I studied the pile of powdery cement on the sidewalk. By now, the drizzle had soaked
the cement, and tiny, gray rivulets ran off the sidewalk into
the gutter.

I asked the question of myself again. If all the construction had been completed on this block, then why was the
construction worker on the roof with a bag of cement in the
rain? And, why didn’t he clean up the mess he’d made with
the cement? I looked back up at the empty parapet. Then I
thought back over Doc’s remarks about the fireplace tools.

After a few seconds, I muttered, “Jack, what have you got
me into?”

Pulling up in front of the late John Wesley Edney’s home,
I spotted Stewart next to the new Lincoln, gesticulating
wildly at the attorney behind the wheel. He shot me a murderous look.

As I mounted the steps onto the porch, I heard shouting
and cursing behind the closed door. That’s when I noticed
that instead of a doorbell, the old mansion had a bell pull.
Grinning at the novelty, I sharply jerked on the brass knob,
and from inside came the ringing of a bell. I opened the
door slowly and stuck my head inside. “Am I interrupting
anything?”

Jack, WR, and Annebelle turned to stare at me. Jack
waved me in with his emu feather. “Nothing except a family squabble.”

I figured my smartest reply was silence.

WR snorted. He ran his thick fingers through his thinning
black hair. “I wouldn’t call it a squabble. War’s a better
word”

Annebelle stepped forward and jabbed a finger at him.
Her lips stretched tight over her bared teeth. “You heard the
will. I told you John put me back in.” She folded her arms
over her chest and glared at him. “And there’s nothing you
can do about it.”

WR shook his head and looked at me, his eyes revealing
his frustration. His jowls flopped when he shook his head
and spoke to Jack. “I don’t understand it. John said nothing
to me or Stewart. And he always did.” He crossed the room
to the cherrywood sideboard between the two French doors
on the outside wall. He grabbed a fifth of Jim Beam bourbon
from the several bottles of liquor and splashed some into a
glass. He downed it in one gulp and poured another. He
glared over his shoulder at Annebelle. “How’d you know he
made a new will?”

A smug grin ticked up one side of her lips. “None of your
business, but for your information, he called me on the
twenty-fourth just after lunch. He was going to meet with his
attorney.”

He shook his head. “I don’t understand none of this.”

Her voice laced with sarcasm, she sneered, “Obviously,
he didn’t tell you everything, WR. That’s probably one of
the reasons he made Goggins executor instead of one of us.”

He stared fiercely at her. “So you say.”

She snarled at him. “Yeah, so I do say. Did he tell you he
was leaving us that property south of town?” Before WR
could reply, Annebelle answered her own question. “No, he
didn’t. You and Stewart were as surprised as me when
Goggins read that provision in the will. You can’t deny that”

He shot Jack a fleeting glance, at the same time as running
his tongue between his bottom lip and gums, the same nervous habit as Jack. He sneered. “That swampland? It’s practically worthless. John had a chance to unload it on some
sucker several years ago and didn’t do it.”-

Don’t ask how I knew, but WR was lying, maybe not
about the fact JW didn’t unload it on some sucker, but that
the land was worthless. I would have bet my life savings that
he was lying, all $683 1 had in the bank.

At that moment, Stewart slammed the door open. His
round face was dark with anger. Beads of water glistened on
his bald head. Cursing, he strode directly to the sideboard
and downed several gulps directly from a bottle of Johnny Walker Red scotch, spilling some on the pink silk shirt
stretched over his ample belly.

He glared at Annebelle. “I don’t know how you did it,
you-” He spit out a few words that my grandfather would
have taken a club to me if I’d said them to a woman. “But, I
can tell you one thing, I’m not taking this lying down. I’ll
drag you to court if I have to”

With a smirk on her face, Annebelle plopped down in one
of the richly upholstered wingbacks with the ornate rose
wood trim. It groaned under her weight. “Take your best shot”

Stewart sputtered and stammered. He looked at WR.
“Well, aren’t you going to say something?”

The older brother barked. “What do you want me to say?”
He glared at Annebelle. “You want me to say she outfoxed
us? Okay, she outfoxed us. I don’t know how, but she did.”

“I didn’t outfox anyone. John just came to his senses,
that’s all.”

Jack spoke up. “Listen to me, all of you” Before any of
the three could object, he continued. “First, I’ll admit I don’t
deserve a full share like the rest of you”

Stewart pointed at his sister. “She sure don’t deserve a full
share.”

Jack waved his hand. “Hold on, hold on. I’m not arguing
any of that. All I’m saying is that bashing each other won’t
help. We’re family. We’re all that’s left now. Let’s talk about
this sensibly. I haven’t been around much, but-”

WR sneered. “You finally said something right”

Ignoring his older brother’s sarcasm, Jack continued.
“But, if you don’t think I deserve what John left me, tell me
what you think I deserve”

His last remark silenced his brothers.

I was impressed with Jack’s plea, his sincerity, although I
did have to suppress a smile as I watched him standing there
with his arm awkwardly fixed in a cast at shoulder level.

Annebelle spoke up. “None of that, Jack. You take what
the old man left you”

Reluctantly, Stewart agreed. “Yeah, but-” He struggled to find the right words, but when they didn’t come, he
shrugged.

Jack glanced at me. I nodded to the adjoining dining
room. This family melee was driving me crazy. I cleared my
throat. “If someone would point me to the kitchen,” I said,
addressing the four of them, “I could use a drink of water.”

WR nodded to the sideboard. In a gruff voice, he said,
“Here’s whiskey if you want some.”