A Flicker of Doubt - Tim Myers [7]
Markum asked softly, “And if she was, I’m willing to bet you’re wondering why she didn’t call you before she did anything, aren’t you?”
‘That’s not the point I’m telling you, Becka hated pills.”
“So you’re going to look into tins yourself,” Markum said.
“I’ve got to. What choice do I have?”
Gary Cragg, an attorney with his office close to Markum’s, poked his head out his door. “Do you two mind? I’m trying to work.”
“Sorry,” I said, “We’ll keep it down.”
“Better yet, we’ll take it outside,” Markum said.
That seemed to mollify the attorney. As we walked down the hallway, I told Markum, “I thought you might like to help me do some digging, but I guess I was wrong.”
He put a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Now what in the world gave you that impression? Let’s go”
“But you don’t agree with me.”
Markum said, “You knew her better than I did. I learned a long time ago to trust my gut, Harrison. If it feels wrong to you, the least we can do is look into it”
“What makes you trust my gut?”
He laughed. “You’re all we’ve got right now.”
We walked downstairs and I said, “Do you want to grab some lunch at Millie’s before we go?”
He said, “Do you really want to subject yourself to Twenty Questions? I know she means well, but Millie won’t let up until she finds out what we’re up to.”
“You’re right. So where should we eat?”
As we walked to the back alley where my two trucks were parked—one bought and one inherited—he said, “If you trust me, I’ve got just the place.”
“Let’s go,” I said.
As I drove us in Belle’s Ford to Markum’s restaurant choice, I told him about Runion’s visit.
“One tiling’s for sure. He’s not bluffing,” Markum said. “I’d believe that guy was capable of doing anything. There’s no doubt in mind that he’d sell his grandmother’s burial plot if he could make a buck doing it”
“But what can we do about it? I tried calling Cyrus, but he didn’t answer his telephone.”
Markum said, ‘I don’t know the man. Do you feel comfortable visiting him at his home?”
“Sure, I’ve been to his place a few times. He’s pretty much a recluse, but he’ll talk to me.”
Markum nodded. “Okay then. First we eat, then we talk to your friend. After that we start digging into Becka’s life.”
“It sounds like a plan to me.”
Markum directed me to-a place that was not much more than a shack on the outskirts of Micah’s Ridge.
There were two dozen cars parked in front, pulled up on the grass, since there was no parking at all. There wasn’t even a sign, though I saw a faded red T-shirt hanging from a nearby tree.
“Where are we?” I asked.
“Grover Blake, the smartest man I’ve ever met, lives here. He sells barbeque out of his backyard.”
I got out of the truck reluctantly, following Markum’s lead. “Is it legal?”
He laughed. “Harrison, look at these cars. This one belongs to the mayor,” he said, pointing to a shiny new BMW. It was from the mayor’s car lot. I knew he didn’t make enough serving the town to afford to own it on his meager salary. “You think he’s going to shut Grover down? Come on.”
I followed him to a string of picnic tables and saw some of the most influential people in Micah’s Ridge eating barbeque sandwiches and drinking Cokes out of glass bottles. Markum pointed to the lone empty table and said, ‘Take a seat I’ll be right back.”
I tried not to stare at the people around me, but it fascinated me to know that this outdoor restaurant existed not eleven miles from my apartment and I’d never heard the slightest whisper about it Markum came back with two big sandwiches wrapped in brown butcher paper in one hand and a pair of Cokes in the other, along with a thick stack of napkins.
I took the drink from him and said, “What if I don’t like Coke?”
“Well, Grover’s got a spigot at the side of the house.”
“Coke’s great,” I said. The smell from the sandwich was amazing. “What’s in this?”
“Just barbeque on a buttered bun. No pickles, no slaw,