Surest Poison, The (20 page)

Back in the foyer, she found Little Bob choking back tears and hanging onto
his mother’s pajamas. John and Bobby helped Marie toward the door.

“The firemen are here,” Jaz said. “Let’s get outside until we can see how
bad it is.”

The sound of sirens and billows of acrid smoke filled the cool night air.
Jaz and John Wallace hurried toward the side of the mansion as the fire
truck approached. The firemen played out snake-like hoses that writhed along
the driveway. A District Chief’s car followed not far behind.

Now that she had a moment to sort out her thoughts, Jaz realized the
possible source of the explosion. The little house had a gas water heater,
as well as a gas furnace. As soon as the firemen jumped out of the truck,
she hailed one of them.

“There was an explosion at the house in back and there’s a gas line running
to it,” she shouted.

“Was anyone inside?” the fireman asked.

“No,” Jaz said. “We were all in the main house.”

“I’ll radio word to have the gas company shut off the line.”

The District Chief ran up, decked out in his white fire hat. He moved around
to get a better look at the rear of the mansion. “Let’s get some water on
that big tree and along the back of this house before it gets involved,
too,” he yelled. “It’s hot as hell back there.”

Sid groped for
the telephone
on the nightstand. The red numbers on the clock showed 2:28 a.m. He pressed
the phone to his ear.

“Hello.”

“Sid,
it’s
Wick. There’s been an explosion and
fire at Jaz’s house. I just got the call on the radio.”

He came awake in an instant.
“An explosion?”

“Right.
It’s her address on Franklin Road. I’m
headed that way. I thought you’d want to know.”

Sid’s heart pounded, his thoughts racing.
Jaz’s house?
Was she hurt? He recalled the confrontations in Lewisville with Hank Keglar
and Bronson Fradkin, the veiled threat from Keglar as they were leaving.
What had he gotten her into?

“Thanks for calling, Wick,” he said. “I’m on my way as soon as I can get
dressed.”

He threw on his clothes, locked the house, dashed out to the garage. In less
than five minutes, he pulled out of the driveway. From Neelys Bend Road, he
took a shortcut to Old Hickory Boulevard, and sped over to I-65. Traffic was
light this time of morning. With five lanes funneling toward town, he drove
like a cop on an emergency call. He flipped open his phone and punched the
speed dial number for Jaz. After a few rings, it went to voice mail. He
thought about calling Wick’s cell phone but realized he didn’t have the
number in his contact list. He concentrated on keeping a sharp lookout for
blue lights. This was no time to get pulled over. Particularly by some
rookie who wouldn’t know Sidney Chance from Sydney Greenstreet. Come to
think of it, the guy wouldn’t know who Sydney Greenstreet was, either.

Images of destruction flitted across his mind, becoming more horrific the
closer he got to Franklin Road.
If this was some of Hank
Keglar’s doings . . . .

As the firemen
poured water
in back of the big house and onto the remains of the smaller one, flashing
blue lights raced up the driveway. A Metro officer with sergeant’s stripes
climbed out and rushed over to where Jaz and the others stood watching the
firefighters.

“Jaz, what happened?” he called.

She turned her head.
“Wick!”
She threw her arms
around him. “This is awful. The little house in back blew up.”

He hugged her,
then
looked around at the elderly
couple and the younger trio. “Is everybody okay?”

“Yes, thank God.” She gazed off at the flames and sighed.

Then she saw Marie with her head bowed, John’s arm around her shoulders. Jaz
moved over to where they stood and reached out to take the older woman’s
hand.

“It’s all right, Marie,” she said.

Marie shook her head as she looked around. “That was our home for the better
part of thirty years. A lot of memories just went up in smoke.”

Jaz sympathized with her. She felt the same way. Her father had been proud
of that little house. He made sure it was built well and furnished it with
the best appliances and furniture he could find.

She turned back to Wick and introduced him to the Wallaces.

“You must be the young fellow from Ashland City,” Wick said as he shook
Bobby’s hand.

Bobby darted a nervous glance at Jaz.

“Yes,” she said, “he’s John and Marie’s grandson. His family is staying here
for a while.”

Wick gave a knowing nod. “Nobody was living in the house back there?”

“No. Not since John and Marie moved in with me several years ago. They keep
things going while I’m in and out. I don’t know why I bothered to spend
money maintaining that place. I guess so I’ll have somewhere to live if the
business goes bust and I lose the family home.”

“Miss Jasmine,” Marie said in a scolding voice.

“Get after her, ma’am,” Sergeant Stanley said with a chuckle.

“To tell the truth,” Jaz said, “that house had a lot of sentimental value.
I’ve used it as a guest house on several occasions the past few years. We
got it ready for Bobby in case he wanted to stay out there. We’re lucky
Marie talked him out of it.”

“That ought to teach you to listen to your grandma,” Marie said.

Bobby hung his head and shrugged.

“I heard on the radio that the Fire Department called for a gas line
shutoff,” Wick said. “Do they think the explosion was caused by a gas leak?”

“That’s a possibility,” Jaz said. “There was a gas water heater in the
basement. I remember reading about a case once where a basement filled with
gas until the pilot light of the water heater touched off an explosion.”

Wick rubbed his cheek, which showed a hint of whiskers in the light from the
vehicles and the still-glowing fire. “I haven’t had any experience with that
sort of thing, but I’d say that should do it.”

She looked back at the flames with a growing sense of uneasiness. Recalling
Sid’s concern yesterday over the threats to Bobby, she wondered if the
explosion might not have been accidental. There was also the menace in Hank
Keglar’s voice as they left the Long Branch Saloon. She realized this was
something she should have considered earlier. Evidently she’d been away from
the job too long to have regained all of her cop mentality.

When Sid raced
through the
open gate, he spotted Wick’s blue lights and the flashing red of the fire
engine. He saw flames dancing around the remains of the shattered structure
in back as he approached the house. The heavy smell of smoke almost made his
eyes water. He ran to the cluster of people watching from the edge of the
driveway.

When he was only a few feet away, Jaz turned and saw him. Her eyes opened
wide with surprise. She wore a white cotton robe, her hair tousled, but she
appeared unhurt. It was a beautiful sight.

Sid reached his arm around her shoulder, and she hugged him. “I imagined all
sorts of things on the way over here,” he said. “Are you okay?”

She looked up with moist eyes. “Yes. Thank God Bobby and his family were
staying in my house.”

“Wick told me there was an explosion.”

“It could have been a gas leak.”

“You didn’t hear anyone around?”

She looked up at him. “I know what you’re thinking.”

“I thought about Hank Keglar and Bronson Fradkin all the way over here.”

Before she could reply, Wick shouted, “Here
comes
the TV trash.”

Sid let go of Jaz as they turned and saw a white truck with a dish antenna
on top speeding up the driveway.

“If you don’t want the Wallaces bombarded with questions, you’d better get
them back in the house,” he said.

Bobby had already bolted toward the front door. Jaz told the others to go
inside with him. It was safe now. She darted a glance at Sid.

“I must look like the wrath of God. Not my best outfit for appearing on
television.”

“Want me to throw ‘em out?” Wick asked.

“No. I don’t think that would improve my image.”

“I’ll be glad to fend them off until you can change,” Sid said.

She gave him a tired grin. “Forget it. I’m not that vain.”

While the TV crew was making their way up from the truck, Sid walked over to
where the white-hatted fireman stood. He watched his men move their hoses to
cover the areas with the most remaining flames. Sid introduced himself.

The fireman had a sharp nose, bushy brows, and a determined chin. His dark
eyes followed his men like a mother hen watching her chicks. “It shouldn’t
take long to get the fire out. The investigators will have to let it cool
for a while before they can start looking for the cause.”

“Do you think it was a gas leak?” Sid asked.

“Sounds like it, but you’re never sure until you can get in and sift through
the debris. They’ll have to determine where the leak was located, if that’s
what it was.”

Sid looked around as a TV light illuminated the area. He saw a reporter in a
turtleneck sweater pushing a microphone into Jaz’s face. He listened as she
explained how she had been wakened by the sound of an explosion. After that
the cameraman moved around to get shots of the fire. When the reporter came
over to interview the District Chief, Sid walked back to Jaz’s side.

“Good performance,” he said.

“Yeah, Emmy Award stuff.”

Wick Stanley wandered up after nosing around. “Whose car was parked back
there by the house?”

“Bobby Wallace’s,” Jaz said. “I saw it on its side when I first looked out
the window.”

“Yeah,” Wick said, “it’s pretty beat up. That was a powerful blast.”

“The case I mentioned earlier involved a lot bigger house and a full-size
basement. The explosion not only destroyed that house, it took out the one
next door, too.” She repeated for Sid the report she had read.

He looked back toward the flames. Though beaten down to a manageable level,
they still weaved about in a macabre dance. “I want to be convinced that
this was an accident. I intend to be here when the fire investigators come.”

31

The soft glow
of dawn tinted
the horizon as Sid arrived at his driveway. It had been a difficult night,
but he couldn’t decide whether to hit the bed or give up, shower, eat
breakfast, and go to the office. The alarm system indicated nothing was
amiss. Finding himself too keyed up to get back to sleep, he headed for the
shower. He took his time, soaking away the stress. The newspaper arrived as
he sat down to eat. When he finished his cinnamon roll, he lingered over the
sports section and a final cup of coffee. The phone rang as he was reading a
story about the Titan’s quarterback.

“I just saw you on TV,” Jack Post said. “They only identified Jaz, but I
recognized you. That was terrible about the fire at her place. They said
nobody was hurt.”

“That’s right. It involved the small house out in back where the Wallaces
used to live.”

“What caused the explosion?”

“They believe it was a gas leak. I plan to go over there when the fire
investigators come out.”

“Do you think it was something other than an accident?”

“I have my suspicions.”

“Do you have someone in mind?”

“I do.”

“Who?”

Sid grimaced. “Are you planning to write a story on this, Jack?”

The old reporter laughed. “No, but asking questions is in my blood.”

“Well, if you talk around too much, you may spill some of mine.”

“From what I’ve heard, you do pretty well on your own.”

“
Thanks,
buddy. You’re a real pal.”

Jack laughed again and said, “See you around. I was just about to head out
of town.”

Sid hung up the phone. He wasn’t ready for Jack’s brand of amusement.

It was too early for businesses to be open when he got to the office. He
booted his computer and checked his email. Nothing earth shattering there.
When the phone rang, he looked at the caller ID.
Bailey,
Riddle and Smith.
He lifted the phone.

“Arnie?”

“Good morning, Sid. That hearing for Wade Harrington is only about a week
off. I hope you have something for me.”

He must not have seen the morning news, Sid thought. He decided to leave
that alone and just give the lawyer a rundown on what he and Jaz had turned
up. That included information on the two corporations involved in the
ownership of Auto Parts Rehabbers.

“And they have a Nashville post office box?” Arnie asked.

“Right.
I’ll dig into it as soon as I can find my
source.”

“Well, you’d better come up with something soon or we’ll be facing more
trouble than a sack full of rattlers.”

And I’ll be the first one to get bitten, Sid thought.

At eight o’clock, he began sifting through his contacts with post office
connections. When he found the right man, he explained the problem.

“Unless it’s still an active account, it could take a lot of digging,” the
contact said. “I’m not sure how far back the records go. I’ll let you know
what I find.”

A little later in the morning, as Sid poured his third cup of coffee, Bart
Masterson called.

“Wick told me about the fire and explosion at Jaz’s house last night,” Bart
said. “How’s she doing?”

Sid set his cup on the desk. “She’s okay. I think she’s a little shaken by
the possibilities, though.”

“What possibilities?”

He reminded Bart of their visit to Lewisville. “I wouldn’t put it past Hank
Keglar to pull a trick like this.”

“Have the fire investigators taken a look at the scene yet?”

“No. They’ll come out a little later, when things have cooled off. I intend
to be there when they arrive.”