by Shelly Frome
. . .
After mulling this over for a few minutes, Cobb glanced at the notes he’d taken from Josh’s visit yesterday, circled a few words, added a few more and stared off into space.
“I hope you realize this is still going all over the place. As you may recall, in my latest piece I focused on something specific and tangible, this private academy business. Raising tangle questions: ‘What’s this really gonna mean? What’s in store for us if we don’t watch out?’ All you got is what some young girl’s possibly got herself mixed up in.”
“Which could conceivably intersect with your specific and tangible preoccupation.”
“Now there’s a stretch.”
Teasing him, Cobb pointed to a manila envelope, pulled out the leading edge of a few printouts and stopped right there.
“Tell you what. Seeing that I am what you might call a persona non grata as far as our friend Lamar is concerned, I am gonna send you on a little errand. That way I might get something for my efforts on your behalf and wild goose chase, though I very much doubt it. In other words, what I got for you in this envelope is yours soon as you get back from his little chalet and tell me what, if anything, you find.”
At first, Josh didn’t know what to say. All he could come back with was, “Find out what, pray tell? I know nothing about him except for a cocky pose on an old photo and a recent poster. Plus a syrupy spiel on the radio, and that piece you wrote on the so-called backward glance.”
On his feet, back in lecture mode, coffee spoon in hand, Cobb began to wing it.
“Exactly. You see, Lamar is a fabrication. Came out of the woodwork. Played possum all these years, none of us gave him a chance in hell. Had some kind of consulting firm for fund raising and was finance director for the state GOP at one time. Rumor has it he had a hand in picking candidates to run for state office. Rumor also has it he’s got a bunch of cronies on the Council of Conservative Citizens. Then, out of the blue, he rides in on this populist anti-government wave. And with a media blitz and all the PR he squeaks in. How come? You peel away the slick down-home cozy horse-manure and what lies beneath?”
The more Cobb carried on, the less Josh understood what he was driving at.
“Okay,” Josh broke in, eyeing the envelope containing what might or might not be some vital leads, “here we go again, another tradeoff. You guys are all alike.”
“Are we now?”
At an impasse, too curious to back down--especially after maybe linking Dean’s campaign to Alice and Dewey’s set of troubles--Josh said, “Never mind, terrific. I go to Lamar Dean’s place. When? And what do I do when I get there? Needless to say I’ve got a delivery run to finish and a lot of other pressing issues, not to mention the girl’s continuing safety.”
It’s early, son. You go right now, got you an appointment. Be there in no time. You drive my old Falcon. That’s sure to get a rise out of him, put him off his guard, off his same-old, same-old talking points and out of his same-old same-old seersucker suits. Which is another thing. You will revert to your detached carefree style. If there’s one thing that’ll put off a born-and-bred Mississippian, it’s a glib Yankee. Or an intense involved Yankee. Glib, intense and involved can mean only one thing: you are up to something.”
“And what, may I ask, am I up to?”
“Nothing. Just passing through. A little intro. Given Lamar’s Christmas message that you happened to overhear, my giving serious thought to running a fair-minded profile in the next issue, and you being a fair-minded reporter whose specialty is common ground.”
“Speaking of a stretch, that surely takes the prize.”
“Not if you play it right. On assignment from me, looking to submit your findings to a number of news outlets on the Web.”
“Which you despise.”
“But, at my age, I have to go with the times or perish.”
“Fat chance. Okay, what do I look for? What do I have to bring back in order to get what’s in that envelope?”
“Anything. A slip of the tongue. Some casual observation. Some insight into his relationship with Grady Poe.”
“Who?”
Cobb turned abruptly, whipped out the old fraternity picture and jabbed a finger at the burly figure watching out for amiable young Lamar.
“Hold it. Let me try to understand this. Even though you think what I’ve blundered into is limited to the dubious problems of one little street girl, nevertheless you’ve whipped up some material for me.”
“Correct.”
“And, as a tradeoff, you’re sending me on an equally dubious errand.”
Cobb finally confided he had some free time on his hands and was a little pissed at the dig Lamar Dean made for all to hear at Cobb’s expense. Second of all, he’d always wondered what went on behind the closed doors of Dean’s spanking new quarters. Number three, now that he’d raised the issue of the backward glance and all that it implied, he needed a jumpstart. His sources had dried up on him and management at The Star was getting anxious.
“Besides,” Cobb added with a mischievous wink, “I like your bent for storytelling and it’s only your neck we’re sticking out here.”
“Terrific. Always a catch. Why is that? Why?”
“Now now,” said Cobb wagging a finger.
“Okay okay. I just dropped in to say hello and take a few soundings.” Eyeing the manila envelope, getting more and more curious about its contents, Josh said, “If I play it right, we both have something to gain. If I don’t, it’s my loss.”
“That’s the ticket.”
Having sealed the deal, Josh got directions from Cobb, walked out with him to his vintage Ford Falcon, accepted the keys and told Cobb he’d make it short. He reminded him again he had last minute deliveries to make, then a safety check on Alice before heading back to Memphis to return the truck and collect his pay.
Cobb nodded and kept smiling as he reentered the building causing Josh to wonder. Was this ploy just a lark to irritate Lamar Dean? Or did Cobb believe there may actually be more to Josh’s notions than meets the eye?
. . .
As promised, Lamar Dean’s place was less than fifteen minutes south, right off the main drag on 278. High up on a rise, it looked like a copy of Tara inspired by a quick perusal of Gone With the Wind. In fact, it seemed to Josh that the builder must have envisioned erecting duplicates for any number of newly elected public figures. The entranceway consisted of six narrowing concrete steps leading up to an open-porch landing flanked by three two-story Grecian columns on either side of the front door. The columns, in turn, were flanked by two identical black-shuttered windows on either side, repeated exactly on the second-story veranda. The roof was perfectly flat with a fake cupola plunked down dead center.
The winding freshly paved drive, however, didn’t lead to the front entrance. Instead it fanned out at the top and circled back facing ample parking facilities for eight cars, each with its own overhead door. The garage itself mirrored the main house and was constructed of the same white stucco. All the garage doors were shut except for the one at the farthest end next to the stone walkway. Continuing on, the walkway cut neatly past the rear of the house and corkscrewed around freshly trimmed shrubbery and a standard-issue gazebo.
With his arms crossed, stationing himself just inside the open garage at the far end, stood the burly figure of Grady Poe. Though his buzz cut was now gray, his square features a bit haggard, and his baggy sweatshirt and fatigue pants not at all like the dress suit and tie he wore in the old fraternity photo, there was no mistaking that wary, stern set of his eyes.
The moment Josh cut the engine and got out, Poe was already on a palm-sized walkie-talkie announcing, “He’s here. Pulled up in Cobb’s Falcon. You know the one. Single-barrel carburetor, three-speed manual shift, left-winger’s economy car.”
“Aha, I knew it,” came the amused reply squawking over the built-in speaker. “He got a camera with him, note pad, little ol’ tiny tape recorder?”
Josh
shook his head and spread his hands in mock surrender.
“Nope,” Poe said, hitting the talk button. “Says he’s clean. How far out are you about now?”
“Oh, say less than a mile. Still deep inside the tree line.”
As the clipped exchange switched back and forth, it was impossible to tell who was in charge. It could easily have been Poe who would make the ultimate decision as to whether or not Lamar Dean would emerge from the woods.
“Well?” Dean asked, raising his voice. “What you think?”
“I don’t know,” Poe answered. “You could maybe spare fifteen minutes. Just to be sure.”
“Okay, I’ve seen enough for my taste. Suspensions are good. I like the ground clearance, 202 horsepower and knobby tires.”
“But does that really cut it? Is it just another Wrangler?”
“Exactly. By the way, how’s my sweetie holding up?”
“Not a stir so far.”
“Let’s hope.”
“On second thought,” Poe barked a little louder, “You throw Hannah into the mix . . . I mean, you never know, Lamar. You just don’t.”
“Understood. Be right there.”
Poe pocketed the walkie-talkie. Still no introduction, no greeting at all.
“So,” Poe said, not moving an inch out of the shadow of the overhang. “You a trucker, a deadbeat, a wanna-be reporter or what?”
When Josh didn’t bite even though he wondered where Poe was getting his information, Poe finally stepped forward. “Let’s put it simple and save us some time. What are you and Cobb really up to?”
“To tell you the truth, I’m only an errand boy. Mister Cobb figured you two would give me less of a hard time.”
“Oh, why is that?”
“Because I’m an outsider, nice guy and have no axe to grind.”
Smirking, Poe said, “Uh-huh. Nice try.”
Josh couldn’t help wondering how the game was going. So far he figured he was holding his own.
The sound of breaking glass from somewhere on the top floor of the house broke the impasse and immediately got Grady Poe’s attention. “Stay right there, Devlin, you hear? For now, this is as far as you get.”
It was only because the shuttered window overlooking the gazebo was open a crack that Josh was able to hear more disgruntled sounds from the lady upstairs. There was no doubt she was cursing, searching for a few choice words. Then silence. Then after a renewed surge of feeling, found something else to hurl and shatter.
Shortly after, up in what Josh took to be a master bedroom, Poe’s voice could be heard laying down the law, the lady answering back. With the apparent discovery of the partially open window, there was a slam and a great many more sounds too muffled to make out.
With nothing else to do, Josh walked all the way around to the edge of the façade and looked down and away, hoping to catch sight of Lamar Dean’s oncoming jeep. But there was nothing. Only the dark scudding clouds, man-made pond, freshly planted trees and groundcover and carefully graded slope leading to the murmur of highway traffic beyond.
By the time Josh walked back to the circular drive having decided there was absolutely no point in being part of some domestic dispute, Lamar Dean drove in, braked sharply and did a screeching U-turn. Almost immediately, Grady Poe returned and reluctantly took Dean’s place behind the wheel.
Seen in profile, Lamar Dean too hadn’t changed much since the old photo was taken. True, he was more paunchy, which his bulky safari jacket and lineup of puckered pockets only served to amplify. Likewise, the tufts of white hair at his temples highlighted his bald spot, and his boyishly clean shaven face was more jowly and lined. But there was that same eager expression on his face. Like someone who felt he could do anything and take it all back.
Glancing over at Josh and patting Poe on the shoulder Dean said, “Now, Grady, we should take a page from our friend Hunter and his emissary here. Check out the fuel economy both on the highway and in town. If it’s still got a jittery bouncy ride, all that road noise plus that iffy steering, what’s the point? Like you said, might as well keep my old one.”
Twisting around, motioning over toward Josh, Poe said, “But what about him? And Hannah? You absolutely sure about this?”
“If I can’t handle it, how am I ever gonna govern this whole state? Not to mention every man-made and natural disaster? I mean, puh-lease.”
Grady Poe offered once last “Are you sure about this, Lamar?” put the buff colored Wrangler in gear and took off down the drive.
Poe’s exit was followed by a practiced smile by Lamar Dean as he studied Josh directly. “He’s just looking out for me. As I learned a good while ago, you keep a right-hand man out in front. Then another deep in the woods to watch your back. Hey, aren’t you gonna write this down? I am offering free platitudes here.”
“I will keep it all in mind, sir.”
“Good man.”
Ambling over, Dean playfully kicked one of the Falcon’s tires. “Can you stand it? Some things do stand the test of time. Wouldn’t surprise me if these were the original whitewalls.”
Going along, Josh said, “Could be. First time I’ve ever seen or driven one.”
Picking up on the fact that Josh was still facing the file of garage doors, Dean patted one of his jacket pockets.
“Ah, don’t tell me. This is where you casually ask if I wouldn’t mind hitting the remote, thereby revealing the entire fleet behind the other seven stalls. That way Hunter can get back at my remark about non-conspicuous consumption. Am I right or am I right? Assuming, of course, that there is a fleet of limos residing there and they are all mine.”
“Sorry. Personally, I’m not that interested.”
Rubbing his upper lip, pretending to examine the Falcon more closely, Dean came back with, “Don’t tell me this is all legitimate. That Hunter Cobb is actually willing to consider common cause and fiscal responsibility? And he sent you because . . . ?”
“Like I told Grady Poe. I am a free spirit and have no axe to grind. Mister Cobb thought I might have a disarming effect.”
“Disarming, huh? I like it, I like it. Come on in.”
Down the paved walkway, mounting a capsule version of the main front steps, a quick entrance through another identical oak door and Josh found himself inside what felt like a hotel lobby.
Meandering around the oversized space, Dean pointed out the spiral staircase and gold-plated chandelier in the center with its simulated glowing candles and the brocaded drapery. Then the matching gilt-framed oil paintings of antebellum lawn parties and the like.
Striking a self-satisfied pose, making his voice echo, Dean said, “Now, you wonder, can we have an itty-bitty inkling of the truth? Some sly innuendo about where the funds came from for all this?”
Peering up at the staircase, taking in the sound of a running shower, Dean added, “Or a direct statement like, ‘Word has it your Hannah recently came into a fortune. Care to comment?’”
Having no idea what any of this could possibly lead to, Josh said, “Look, Mr. Dean, if you can give me something alluding to common cause, terrific. If not, it was nice meeting you and, I guess, that’s that.”
The jingle inside one of Dean’s lower pouch pockets broke off his playful fishing expedition. He retrieved the iPhone, tapped a button on the bottom of the screen, thought for a moment and motioned Josh over to an alcove further away from the central staircase. Unlocking a smaller oak door, he gave Josh a peek inside and said, “Like a taste soon as I return this call?”
“No thanks.”
“Or one of these fine smokes to take back with you? I hear you too caught the broadcast and since you insist this is what it’s all about, one of these exceptional cigars would surely do as an opener.”
To make it all the more enticing, he held up the box, tapped a forefinger on the upper right hand corner and made sure Josh noticed the seal.
“Early Christmas present, Josh. From someone who knows and appreciates the very best. Pure, ra
rified, aged Havanas. Give one to Hunter while you’re at it. Once y’all light up, guaranteed to chase your cares away.”
“I guess not. Thanks anyway.”
The fixed amused smile dimmed before Dean deflected with, “Well I’m certain we can find something to take back with you. Now if you’ll excuse me for a minute, I’ll be right with you.”
As Dean shut the door blocking any further view of his private den, Josh had no recourse but to wander about. But nothing much caught his attention. Passing beneath the gold-plated chandelier, he turned and glanced up, curious whether the sound of the running shower emanated from the master bedroom and site of the earlier commotion. He was also curious as to whether this might be the lady of the house’s custom, her way of cooling down right after venting her frustrations.
Presently, as if on cue, she made an entrance at the top of the stairway; barefoot, clad only in a terrycloth robe fastened by a loose Velcro strap. From this distance, with her high cheekbones, tall slender form and damp shoulder-length blond hair she could easily have been mistaken for another of those flighty Ole Miss debs. Just like any one of the gaggle at The Bottletree who seemed to take it for granted they’d wind up in surroundings exactly like this.
But a second glance told a different story. Her tight posture and the bruise on the left side of her face, which thick dabs of makeup did little to hide, clearly indicated that Hannah Dean was not at all snug in her element. This lady was looking for a way out.
“Well there now,” said Hannah, appraising the situation below. “I’d say Lamar’ll be stuck in his hidey-hole for at least a good ten minutes and you could use a little breakfast.”
“That’s okay,” Josh said, assuming she was only making small talk.
