Read Surest Poison, The for Free Online Page B

who called?”
    “No. I suspect it was all a ruse, but I
have no idea why.”
    “No obvious enemies? What about problems
with the marriage?”
    “I checked all that out. He was a hard
worker, well liked. A nice young guy. I first met
him several years ago when he came to visit his grandparents.”
    “Okay, Jaz. Let me know if there’s
anything I can do. I need to head out that way to meet with Wade
Harrington.”
     
    The detailed directions provided by Bailey, Riddle and Smith took Sid through an area of
wooded hills and flat valleys where determined farmers squeezed in the
occasional cornfield or stretch of pasture. Jagged outcroppings of Middle
Tennessee limestone reared their knobby heads along the roadside. He located
HarrCo a few miles away on a narrow lane with no houses in sight. There was
no shortage of activity, however. Cars and trucks, mostly pickups, lined one
side of the road. A ragtag crowd carrying homemade signs protesting the TCE
spill milled about a chain link fence that surrounded the property. It had
the look of an early rehearsal for a labor dispute. Two sheriff’s patrol
cars sat in the parking area. Uniformed deputies stood at the gate, keeping
order.
    Sid drove slowly through the protestors,
advising the officer that he was here on business. A new brick office
structure had been tacked onto the front of the old plant, which was built
of metal and concrete blocks. Though painted in the recent past, it
resembled an aging parent to the modern office wing.
    Sid parked in a visitor slot and walked
inside. Samples of various-sized shipping cartons sat on display around the
small reception area. Framed pictures of Cheatham County historic sites
decorated the walls, including a shot of the Harpeth Narrows, location of
one of the oldest manmade tunnels in the U.S. Slaves hewed it out of a
limestone bluff in the early 1800’s to make a shortcut in the Harpeth River
that powered an iron forge. After a brief glance at the photos, Sid
approached a young woman absorbed in a stack of papers on her desk.
    “Looks like you may be in the midst of
something big,” he said. “Mind if I disturb you?”
    She looked up and smiled. “I was just
trying to get caught up after watching all that noisy mess out front. What
can I do for you?”
    He handed her a business card. “Sidney Chance to see Mr. Harrington. Arnold
Bailey sent me.”
    She took the card into an adjacent
office, then came back and ushered him in. A stocky young man in a shirt and
tie, sleeves rolled up at the cuffs, rose from the desk. A family photo that
included his wife and small son sat beside a plastic pencil holder with a
child’s drawing pasted around it. Wade Harrington had the ruddy, windblown
look of an outdoorsman, something Sid appreciated. An attractive arrangement
of wildlife prints covered one wall.
    “Mr. Bailey told me about you,”
Harrington said, holding out his hand. “I’d sure like to see the last of
those country folks with all their signs out front. I hope you can find
who’s responsible for this. Be awful nice to get everybody off my back.”
    He had a slow Southern drawl that did
minor surgery on words like “ever’body.”
    Sid shook his hand. “A lot of those
country folks probably buy products shipped in your boxes, Mr. Harrington.”
    He started to protest, then seemed to think better of it. “I guess
you’re right. I can’t blame them.”
    “I’ll do my best to put the blame where
it belongs,” Sid said. He took a seat and looked across at Harrington. “I
noticed in the county records that you bought this place from Henry Keglar.”
    “That’s right. It was around ten years
ago.”
    “Had you heard that he lives in
Lewisville, goes by the nickname Hank?”
    “I know nothing about him except that he
did live in Lewisville.”
    “Did you deal with him in person?”
    “I’m not sure.”
    “He’s a huge man,” Sid said. “You would
have remembered