Southern Poison (22 page)

Lindsey kissed Spud on the cheek. “Thanks, Spud. That’ll be fun. And, no thanks on the beverage, Doc. I’m meeting some friends.”

“Glad that you’re feeling better, Lindsey,” Holloman said. “Those stomach bugs can be pesky.”

With a wave, Lindsey disappeared. Ox and I declined Holloman’s offer for a drink, too, and once the man and his ad person were out of the bar, we treated ourselves. We both wanted a beer; we just didn’t want to drink it with him.

“What is up with that guy?” I said, enjoying the welcoming chill as a swallow of Amstel Light flowed down my gullet.

Ox shook his head. “Something bothers me about this whole Derma thing, but I can’t quite figure it out. I don’t know if it’s because Lindsey suddenly seems so grown up, and it makes me realize I’ve missed a lot of her life since the divorce. Or, if it’s because Holloman is a nut bag.”

“Maybe both?”

“Maybe. But Lindsey is having so much fun with the modeling, I hate to take it away from her. The spirits brought her to live with me, and I don’t want to do something that will chase her back to California.”

“I see your point, but I think every young woman needs—and wants—a strong, caring parent in her life. I know I did.”

Ox looked at me, his thoughts unreadable.

“Lindsey might get mad if she doesn’t get her way,” I said. “But ultimately, she’s going to appreciate that you care enough to be involved and watch out for her.”

He thought about that. “For now anyway, I’ll let her do the modeling, as long as her grades don’t drop.” We clinked Amstel bottles to Lindsey’s newfound fame and her next paycheck, which would fatten her college savings account even further, but as we drank, my thoughts were disquieted.

I’d done a quick background and credit check on Holloman’s company, but decided to look further, just for my own peace of mind.

As Ashton and
I walked through Airlie Gardens, sixty-plus acres of walking trails and landscaped, blooming grounds on the east side of Wilmington, I couldn’t remember ever being so infuriated. He led me to a small, ornate gazebo and we sat on the bench inside. A marker told me the structure was actually a chapel. I didn’t feel closer to God, but it did offer some shade. My body was damp with perspiration and if I was hot, I knew Ashton had to be suffering in his slacks and long sleeves. But the gardens were guaranteed privacy. I poured some bottled water onto a paper towel, wiped the sweat from my face, and waited for my handler to tell me why he’d knowingly endangered my life.

“John Mason was an agent for us back in the late 1990s. We recruited him from the law enforcement pool and, after he completed training, we put him to work in North Carolina for SBI, undercover, to root out what we thought was a cover-up of incoming weapons on charter fishing boats. SBI came up clean and I transferred
John to MOTSU in December of 2001, in a cooperative effort with Homeland Security after nine-eleven.”

I drank my remaining water and watched a hand-holding couple walk by. “He left SBI for MOTSU when his twin brother died.”

“Affirmative. But the timing was coincidental.”

I waited.

Ashton pulled a handkerchief from a pants pocket and wiped his face. “Almost immediately he wanted something better, more exciting, more dangerous. I chose to keep him in place at Sunny Point, but the more time that went by, the more persistent he became in putting in for transfers. Eventually, I let him go, after we realized he wasn’t agency material. But he’d been doing a fine job as far as MOTSU was concerned when he went to work for AJAT Security. Has been working at Sunny Point since. Well, until he resigned, that is.”

“How was he recruited?” I asked.

“That’s not relevant,” Ashton said, making me think that it could be very relevant. I’d have to enlist Soup’s help to get all the details, since my handler wouldn’t divulge them. Soup had broken into the SWEET system before, back when I was an active agent. I knew he could do it again.

“Have you been keeping tabs on him?”

“Of course, but nothing to the level that we would for an agent of your caliber,” Ashton answered. “John always got his reports in on time, he did exactly what we asked him to do, and we never had any problems with him.”

A black and purple butterfly landed on my knee, fluttered its wings briefly, and flew off. “Then why didn’t you grant his request to transfer to fieldwork, or whatever it is that he wanted?”

“A good agent is eager for action, Jersey.” Ashton wiped the area on his forehead where the hair had begun to recede. “But a great agent tempers that desire with caution. Maybe it was due to the death of his brother, but John asked for the most dangerous stuff we
could throw at him. Actually told another operative that he didn’t care if he lived or died.” He studied my eyes. “That’s the type of man who will not only get himself killed, but endanger others as well. I couldn’t chance it.”

“But you let him stay at the ammo dump?”

Ashton’s forehead moved up briefly. “Private citizen, just like you. And there was no reason not to. As I said, he’d done a fine job.”

The saving grace breeze died down to nothing and we got up to walk back toward his car.

“Dammit, Ash, you should have told me about John Mason before you put me on the roach coach. At the least, I think I deserved to know he is a former agent once you knew I’d had contact with him.” No wonder his background checks came out clean. It was the background that SWEET invented for the man, up until the point that he’d gone to work for AJAT Security.

“There was no reason to suspect him. We’ve had another agent working at MOTSU, undercover, for the entire time. Still there, in fact. Says that John was well adjusted, showed up for work on time, and did his job.”

Yeah, right. Well adjusted enough to want to kill people with explosives.

“Tell me about the incident on your boat, full details,” Ashton said.

I told him everything, right down to what I’d eaten for dinner, and how Ox had been keeping an eye on me without my knowledge.

“Oxendine is good,” Ashton mused. “We didn’t know he was watching you, either.”

“Good thing he was.” Ox’s people originally survived by melding into an environment of swampland and riverbanks, and it seemed as though he had inherited those skills. We reached the car and I climbed in, automatically aiming the air-conditioning jets at my face.

We sat in the car, air blasting. “You’re positive of the ID?” Ash-ton said.

I didn’t bother to respond.

“Did you see the hand?”

I sighed. “He wore gloves. The kind divers wear so they don’t get cut up by coral and such.”

“And you said his face was smeared with greasepaint?” Ashton persisted.

“Yes.”

“But you’re still sure the man in the water was John Mason.”

“Yes, Ashton, I’m positive,” I said flatly. “By the way, where is John now?”

“We’ve been unable to pick him up,” Ashton said. “His house has been listed for sale and as you know, he turned in a resignation letter to AJAT. But he isn’t living at the forwarding address he left.”

“And you’re still in doubt as to who is after me?”

He shifted into gear and pulled out. “Don’t make this personal, Jersey.”

“It’s very personal to me, Ashton. It’s my life you seem to be taking so lightly.” There had to be a good reason why he refused to accept the fact that John Mason was a SWEET agent turned bad. I needed to find out what it was.

When Chuck walked
into the lab, Peggy Lee dropped the sandwich she held and ran to meet him. She was even more ecstatic than usual to see her boyfriend—she had wonderful news. Peggy Lee was quite sure that she’d never before experienced a miracle, but knew that her current situation qualified.

“I’m so happy to see you,” she said, snuggling into his arms. “I’ve got something great to tell you.”

He laughed and let her kiss him. “You’ve met your weekly quotas?”

“Of course,” she told him. “Don’t I always? But it’s something else.”

He went to the refrigerator, where she kept cold drinks for him, and took out a can of seltzer water. “So what’s made you so happy? You’re almost glowing.”

Peggy Lee had thought about this moment and gone over and over it in her head. She’d rehearsed the words she’d use, how she would say it, and visualized how his eyes would light up with delight
when he heard. But now, in the pressure of the moment, she forgot her monologue and went with the short version.

“I’m pregnant,” she said, almost jumping up and down.

Chuck stopped in mid drink and, frowning, set his can down on a table, next to a row of glass vials. It was not the reaction she anticipated, and her enthusiasm level dissolved into confusion.

“How did this happen?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she said, wringing her hands. “Obviously it happened because we had sex. But I don’t know how I got pregnant. I’ve been sterile my whole life.”

Sitting on an oversized rolling desk chair, Chuck wondered whether the woman had tricked him into believing that she’d been born with defective eggs. Had she planned to get pregnant all along, hoping for child support, or better yet, a quick marriage proposal? Studying her hurt face for a full half a minute, he determined that she couldn’t have lied to him. She didn’t have a shrewd bone in her body. Brainy and book smart, sure. But way too naïve to have deceived him.

Chuck finished his seltzer water and motioned her to sit on his lap. “Come here, Peggy Lee.”

She did, and tried not to cry.

“You surprised me, is all. You being pregnant is the last thing I’d ever have expected, especially after you told me you can’t have children,” he soothed. “Had I known there was even a chance, you’d have gone on the pill.”

“But, don’t you see? This is … well, it’s a miracle. The fact that a baby is actually growing inside me, right now. The doctors said I’d never be able to conceive.”

Last week, when she woke up to throw up for the second morning in a row, she’d gone to a walk-in clinic, thinking she had a virus. And when that doctor told her she was pregnant, she immediately made an appointment with Daisy Obstetrics&Gynecology
to confirm the diagnosis. The doctor who examined her quickly agreed that she was indeed with child, and after reviewing Peggy Lee’s medical history, was as astounded as she’d been. A fertility specialist, he ordered some special tests and he planned to personally oversee every stage of the pregnancy, he’d told her. Once the baby was born, he was going to submit an article to the American Medical Association’s journal.

Chuck took Peggy’s face in his hand and gently angled it so she had to look at him. “I’m happy that you’re able to get pregnant, Peggy, if that’s what it takes to make you feel more secure about being a woman. But a baby simply doesn’t fit into my plans right now. Or your plans.
Our
plans.”

Struggling to keep in the tears, she could only nod.

“We’ll make an appointment for you to get it taken care of, first thing next week. All right?”

Getting off his lap, she flashed back to just days ago, when she’d watched from the beach on Bald Head Island as the young couple exchanged their vows with plans to spend a lifetime together. It was the same day the specialist confirmed her pregnancy, and witnessing the wedding ceremony, she’d felt her cheeks grow wet with tears of joy. She wondered if the bride, Janie, hoped to have a child with her new husband. And when the explosion happened just minutes later, knocking her to the sand, she’d instinctively put her arms around a still-flat belly to protect her baby. She didn’t want to abort it. She didn’t want to lose Chuck, either. Miserable, she stared into space, wondering why nothing could ever go right in her life.

“All right?” he repeated, louder.

Peggy Lee nodded.

He stood. “Good, then, let’s get to work. I’ve got a lot of information for you, and believe it or not, we have to up production again. We’re almost there, Peggy. The initial phase of Project Anti-sis is almost there.”

The chemist barely listened as her boss told her to alter the formula, tripling the amount of active ingredient. She should have protested, citing the negative side effects it would cause. She should have told him that a reformulation at this point might compromise the project. But lost deep inside herself, she didn’t bother.

“Spud, you can’t
keep depositing your trash at the Block,” I told my father. He’d paid a towing company with a flatbed to haul his burnt alligator sculpture to my bar and deposit it outside, next to the impaled Chrysler. “I’m sure we’re violating a city ordinance of one sort or another.”

“You can’t violate any rules with art, for crying out loud,” he said and his walking cane punched the ground with each syllable. “Besides, a photographer is coming to get photos of my new sculpture for the cover story. And Sally the magazine lady is coming again to interview Lindsey about Derma-Zing.”

I asked Spud what he planned to do with the gator afterward and he said something about selling it to the highest bidder. Ever the optimist.

“Hey, glad to find you both here,” Dirk said, walking up. “I’m pleased to announce that the department is not going to press any charges against you, Spud, for the gun club fire. Nobody could find
anything on the books to address the incident, other than disorderly conduct, and I talked the chief out of that one.”

“Thanks, Dirk,” I said since my father didn’t.

“You’re welcome.”

We sat at the end of the bar. Ox served me and Spud a draught, gave Dirk an ice water, and delivered a basket of grouper bites with hush puppies. Dirk loaded the fish with Tabasco and dug in. “Owner of the shooting range is fine with that, as long as you pay to repair the clubhouse. Damages come to”—he pulled a sheet of paper from his breast pocket—”twelve thousand, four hundred dollars.”

Spud’s mouth worked for a minute before any sound came out. “What? Are they insane? Twelve thousand dollars?”

“Twelve thousand and four hundred,” Dirk repeated, enjoying the moment. “The building had wood shingle siding. If the firefighters hadn’t arrived so quickly, you’d have burned it to the ground.”