Behind the Bonehouse by Sally Wright Read Free Book Online Page A

asking him to take the formulas for Alan’s fungicidal products and manufacture them in Canada.
    Carl claimed he’d developed them, which is so far from the truth it makes me crazy. But the larger issue, obviously, is it’s clearly criminal behavior.
    Alan and Bob are both hopping mad, but Alan thinks it’s the treachery that’s upset Bob most.
    I’m not all that surprised with Carl, but I didn’t expect it of Butch.
    Friday, August 9th, 1963
    Carl Seeger laid the heavy black metal receiver back in its oval cradle, telling himself again that Art Lawrence had a large territory and traveled most of the week, so it shouldn’t be surprising that he hadn’t returned his calls.
    Carl stood behind the desk in his study, holding his smoke-colored Siamese cat in the crook of his left arm, stroking her back and listening to his wife put dishes away in the kitchen. He set Cassandra down on the old brown rug and lit a Lucky while he stared across the street toward the honey-colored stone house where Elinor Nevilleson was watering her roses and surveying her neighbors’ houses as though she were responsible for decorum and civility, as well as all lawns and gardens.
    Carl was planning what to say to her the next time she complained about Cassandra “defecating” in her perennials—when Bob Harrison’s long black Chrysler turned into his drive.
    Then he saw Harrison wasn’t alone. His blond-headed stork of an attorney had unfolded his reed-like legs and was climbing out of the car, when Carl said, “Damn!” and crushed his Lucky in the plastic ashtray on his desk.
Garner Honeycutt. In a fine blue suit. Stickpin in his tie. Honeycutt, Honeycutt and Whipple. Coddlers of the rich. Defenders of the predators who prey on people like me!
    That explains why Art hasn’t called. The little turd’s talked to Bob! But it’s still his word against mine and Butch’s, so it’s far from over yet.
    Bob Harrison had set a tape recorder on a side table in the living room, and was plugging it into the wall, when Jane Seeger walked in from the kitchen drying her hands on her apron.
    â€œHey, Bob. How are you? I didn’t know you were coming over. Garner. My! I haven’t seen you since you came into the UK library and made me drag out every volume of local history since 1826.”
    Garner smiled, and said, “You always did exaggerate, Janie. It’s good to see you too.” Then he looked at Carl Seeger, and Garner’s long narrow face turned to chiseled stone.
    Bob said, “I apologize for not calling ahead, Jane. But this is a business situation that Carl and I need to talk about away from the office.”
    Jane studied her husband, her intelligent eyes probing his, her wavy brown hair damp along her forehead where she smoothed it back with one hand, before she untied her apron. “I’d like to hear what you have to say, Bob, if it’s all right with you.”
    Carl shook his head, before he said, “Bob wouldn’t have come here if it wasn’t a sensitive matter. Though I, for one, don’t know what that could be.”
    Jane looked at Bob and Garner, her plain pleasant face still and concentrated, as she sat at one end of the sofa. “No, Carl, I have a good idea it does affect me, and if they have no objection, I’d very much like to hear what Bob and Garner have to say. Why’ve you brought a tape recorder?”
    Bob watched Jane for half a minute before he finally spoke. “I think maybe you
ought
to hear both sides of the story.” He took hold of one of the controls, then glanced over at Carl. “You may want to sit too. This will take several minutes.”
    Carl crossed the room and stood by the fireplace, then rested an elbow on the white painted mantelpiece, after he’d lit a Lucky.
    The tape played, while Bob and Garner stared at Carl, Garner sitting in a chair on the other side of the