Combustible (A Boone Childress Novel) (6 page)

BOOK: Combustible (A Boone Childress Novel)
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The house looked like ground zero. There was nothing left except a brick fo
undation and a toppled chimney. This fire had burned fast, and it had burned hot.

Probably a waste of time,
Boone thought as he stepped over the crushed foundation to look around. A blast had blown a crater at least six feet deep into the center of what was once a crawlspace. A smaller hole, not as deep, overlapped it. Rubble and sand filled the holes. Mixed with the aroma of burnt plastic and wood, Boone noticed the slight odor of rotten eggs.

"This wasn't kids playing with matches," Boone said and took a long, searching look at the scene before widening the r
adius of his search and grabbing his backpack from the truck.

His path took him to a small creek nearby. The ground looked scorched in a few places near the edge of the
water. It was no more than one foot deep in the middle. During spring rains, it probably would look like a little river, though now it wasn't very impressive.

What's that? Boone thought after scanning the area.

He saw something resting in the wash and jumped down to retrieve it. It was a piece of metal, uniformly curved but jagged, and it was stuck in the mud. The area around it looked as if the metal had landed while still hot.

Boone carefully pried it free.
The piece was about the size of his palm and was covered in black residue. Boone scratched it with the knife blade on his multitool, removing some powder and carbon. It looked like a cast iron pipe, the kind once use for the toilet stack in old houses. Could this be the house's waste pipe?

Boone took a gallon-sized freezer bag out of one of the pockets in his backpack and put the metal piece inside.
He used a laundry marker to note the location where he had found it so that investigators could take a second look at the fire.

He checked his watch.
Where did all the time go? The case would have to wait, at least until he’d learned all about North Carolina’s farm bill during the Great Depression. All things being equal, Boone preferred being in a burning building to sitting through that lecture.

He was only a
half-mile down the road, when Cedar called his cell. “What’s up?” he said, trying to sound casual, not wanting to let on that when her name popped on ID, his stomach did a flip-flop.


Change of plans so I called to ask a little favor,” she said. “For Luigi.”

“Well
, if it’s for Luigi, I think so. Because if it were you, then we’d be equal, and I’d be off the hook for dinner.”

“Do you want to be off the hook?”

Oh no, she wasn’t going to catch him in that little trap. “I say what I mean, and mean what I say.”

“I’ll take that as a no, then.” She sounded relieved. “Could you take Luigi to meet his benefactor tonight? My coach called a
n emergency practice at the same time as his thing.”

“Be glad to,” he said and got the details. “If you can do something for me, since this sounds like I'm doing you a favor
, not Luigi.”

“What does this favor entail?”

“Not much, just a little trip to Stumpy Meeks’ house. I’ve got to get to NC History, but there’s an item I need from him. I’ll give you the address.”

“Like what?”

“A finger.”

“Any of his fingers in particular?”

“Not his. The one he keeps in his fridge.”

“Boone Childress,” she said with a tone mixed with disgust and fascination, “you’ve got some explaining to do.”

 

 

 

The new jewel in Bragg County Medical Center's crown was the Ethel Landis Children's Hospital, a state-of-the-art facility for the care of children from birth
through young adulthood. It boasted wings dedicated to birth and delivery, neonatal care, pediatrics, and teen health. And it was paid for by a capital campaign led by the Lethe Foundation, a philanthropic group created by the late Ethel Bayer Landis, wife of G.D. Landis and mother of Trey Landis.

As part of
the benefactor thing, Boone and Luigi passed the new wing on the way to the offices of that very foundation, which was located in a renovated building across the street from the hospital. One of the many ways that the Lethe Foundation supported area schools was to fund student exchanges with foreign countries. Ethel Landis was a world traveler, and she believed that the school children of Bragg County deserved to study other cultures. Since she couldn't fly the children to the countries, her foundation brought foreign students to Bragg County. Luigi was one of several recipients of an exchange grant, and protocol dictated that he visit his sponsor to formally give thanks.

"It would suck to be you right now," Boone said as they crossed from the street to the Lethe Foundation offices.

Luigi, who was dressed in a gray herringbone suit, shrugged. A gentle wind blew through his black hair, which he had tamed with a fine-toothed comb and a tube of hair gel. "It is expected," he said. "Thank you for accompanying me."

"
It's no problem."

Boone pulled the door open. The wind swept in, lifting a few sheets of paper off the receptionist's desk.
She snatched the papers, then slapped them on the desk and set a paperweight atop the pile.

"Sorry," Boone said.

"It's fine," she said through her teeth, which were perfectly straight and free of stains. Her brown hair was pinned up, and she peered at them over thick-framed reading glasses. "Do you have an appointment?"

Luigi stepped forward. He pulled a business card from a pocket and offered it with two hands while bowing. "My name is Ryuu Hasegawa. I have an appointment with Mr. George Deems Landis, III."

"That's Landis."

"Yes."

"You said Randis."

"Ah," Luigi said. "Forgive my pronunciation. My English is not so good."

What a witch, Boone thought. Her English wasn't so good, either.

She flipped the card over. The same information was written in Japanese on the back, and she spent a few seconds puzzling at the
kanji
before she replied. "I'll tell Mr. Trey you're here."

When she was out of earshot, Luigi whispered to Boone, "Who is this Trey?"

"The man you're supposed to meet. George Deems the Third. His nickname is Trey. It's sort of an idiom."

"Very confusing.
It sounds like an object for serving tea."

"True that," Boone said.

The receptionist led them to an office at the end of the hallway. She knocked and waited. Boone surveyed the building. Plush carpeting. Maple paneling. Solid core doors. Several large contemporary paintings hung on the walls, including a tapestry by an artist that Boone recognized as Ivey Hayes, an African-American artist from Wilmington.

"They're from Mr. Trey's personal collection," the receptionist said. "
Quite the collector, isn't he? He wanted to be a painter, but the family business was his true calling. Still, his taste is impeccable."

To the left Boone noticed a door ajar. Inside,
the office was furnished with a quarter-sawn oak desk and a leather sofa. Parked near the windows was an electric wheelchair. A man with silver hair slept in the chair, his head tilted to the side and resting on a neck pillow. The nametag on the door read G.D. Landis, CEO Emeritus.

"Y'all can come in now," Trey Landis called from inside his office
.

The receptionist frowned at Boone and narrowed her eyes, as if to say, I've got my eye on you
.

"Ryo
bi!" Landis came around the ten-foot-long glass and marble desk to greet them. "Come in, come in."

Luigi bowed and offered another business card with two hands. Landis waved him off. "No formalities here, boys. Save the business stuff for when you're grown up. I don't believe I know you."
He stuck out a soft hand to Boone. "Trey Landis."

"Boone Childress."

"Not Mary Harriett's boy?"

"
Yes sir."

"Your mama's a damn fine vet. I was just in to see her the other week. My daddy's got this old cat he's had since before they invented sliced bread. If it wasn't for your mama, it would've been dead and buried years ago. Truth is, I should've had it put to sleep, but Da
ddy's so fond of it."

Luigi snuck a look at Boone. He said nothing, but his meaning was clear:
Help me
.

"What's that?"
Boone pointed at an expansive model set on a conference table in front of the windows, which looked out at the new hospital addition. People were milling around, along with a handful of reports with microphones. One of the Greenville stations was setting up for a remote broadcast. Boone had never seen so many outsiders in town before.

Landis stood beside the model. "This, boys, is the Sistine Chapel, the Mona Lisa, and the Last Supper all rolle
d into one. It's my masterpiece, Autumn Hall."

Boone was not as schooled in architecture as he was osteology, but he had
heard about Autumn Hall, a massive mixed-use development that was planned to skirt the new freeway extension the state was constructing.

"
Market it and they will come. That's my motto." Landis slapped them both on the back. "You're like me, Ryobi. Making your own way in the world, I admire that."

The receptionist knocked. "Time to go, Mr. Trey."

"You got Daddy all set?" he replied.

"His nurses have already transported him across the street."

"Thanks, Josie. I appreciate you." Landis turned his attention back to Luigi and Boone. "Boys, been good meeting you. Hate to run off, but I'm expected over to the hospital for a ribbon cutting. Take care now."

He shook hands with both of them again, and the receptionist showed them to the door.

"That was different," Boone said when they were clear of the building.

Luigi wiped his brow. "I am pleased you agree. Want to get a hot dog?"

He pointed to a row of tents set up on the hospital grounds. As part of the ceremony, they were giving away food and drinks.

Boone was never one to turn down free food. "
You could have four or five to last until supper, I guess."

"Yes," Luigi said. "That would be a good snack."

 

 

 

Between t
hem, Luigi and Boone devoured a half-dozen hot dogs, four cans of Coke, and one jumbo-sized dill pickle. Boone had the pickle. They finally had to stop when the vendors closed for the ceremony. The pair drifted toward the street, where they watched Trey Landis guide his father's wheelchair to the stage. The crowd applauded, and Landis waved while his father nodded.

George Deems Landis, known as
G.D. or Deems to his friends and God Damn to the men who had done business with him before he found religion, sat quietly on the platform. A shrunken, knotted hand rested on a sliver-handled cane. His suit was old and obviously tailored, but it was his shoes that gave him away. Boone saw that they were orthopedic slip-ons with flat soles. Old man shoes. He continued to nod through his son's short speech and the rest of the ceremony.

When the emcee finally called Landis' name to cut the ribbon, he tried to stand by himself. For a few seconds he teetered on the brink between standing and falling back to his wheelchair. Then his son had him by the elbow and lifted him up.
Trey half-dragged his father to the lectern. Boone wasn't sure if it was because the elder man was slow to walk or slow to step into the spotlight.

The emcee handed
G.D. a large plaque and shook the old man's hand. He whispered something to Trey, who took the plaque and lifted it up like an Olympic gold medal.

G.D.
frowned and waved for him to stop. "The important thing is the children this new cancer wing are going to help. Let's get this ribbon cutting over with and open the doors. There's young folks who need helping right now. Don't y'all think?"

G.D. did the cutting with a pair of oversized yellow scissors, and t
he crowd broke out into applause. Trey Landis dutifully helped his father into his chair and steered him off the platform. As he watched, Boone wondered what George Deems and Ethel Thayer Landis would think about their son building McMansions instead of hospitals.

"Don’t
ever ask me to do anything like this again," Cedar said as she walked up behind him and Luigi. She slapped a plastic container into Boone’s hands. True to her word, Cedar had pinch hit for Boone. She had driven out to Tin City to meet with Stumpy, where it had taken her less than a minute to procure the evidence.

Boone peeked inside, then quickly shut the lid. “
So how'd you get it away from Stumpy?"

"Negotiation
is my forte," she said with a straight face. “I threatened to dissect him like a rat.”

Subconsciously, Boone cupped a hand over his
jewels. “You weren’t serious, right?”

BOOK: Combustible (A Boone Childress Novel)
3.56Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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