Prologue

It is often said that when life gives you lemons, make lemonade. I sat at my nearly empty desk, and considered how to best make some lemonade. I wasn't having much success. Right at that moment my life just sucked.

I'm Marc Rich, and until a few weeks ago I had a happy life. Okay, maybe not happy, but it was a comfortable life. I was married, and I was the director of corporate security for a large chain of department stores. At thirty-nine I had the world by the tail.

I use the past tense because my wife announced that she didn't love me and wanted out of our marriage. If that wasn't enough my company announced that it was merging with another, and I discovered that they came with their own security department. Oh, they indicated that they should be able to find something for me to do, but I wasn't buying it. I knew that as soon as they had picked my brain, I would be gone. All this came within the same two week period of time. Try to make lemonade out of that.

I started out in the Albright Company right after I got out of the Navy. After college I went into Uncle Sam's floating force and begun to do wondrous and interesting things. I worked in naval intelligence, and yes, I am aware that is considered an oxymoron.

Actually, there is a lot of intelligence in the military. Most of it is totally ignored by the brass, but it is there. I spent most of my time working in the CID. Criminal investigations department was a great training ground. During my four years doing that, I had been exposed to almost every crime there is.

After six years, I discovered I didn't want to make a career of the Navy. Actually I wouldn't have lasted very much longer anyway. I had foolishly believed that the U.S. government had hired me to think, but my superiors seemed to think otherwise. In fact on several occasions, I had been ordered to stop thinking. More importantly I discovered that I work best when left alone to do the job.

With this major difference in opinions, the Navy and I parted ways just as soon as my obligation was finished. I met Janie, and we got married.

If I had been paying attention I could have foreseen the matrimonial problems. Janie and I had not gotten along for over a year. Nothing big, I mean no fighting or anything like that. Not even harsh words; just the drifting apart in interests. She had risen from entry level to full senior partner in a very prestigious law firm. I think on some level we both saw it coming, but neither knew what to do about it until Janie figured it out.

So there in my office I sat, looking off into space and trying to formulate some plans. I had made arrangements to cash in my company stock. The experts advised me to hold on to the stock. They said it would only become more valuable as time went by. I said "sell the damned stuff. I don't want stock in a company that doesn't want me." What is it they say about pride going before a fall?

I had considered cashing in the 401k, but Janie told me that I would only get a bit more than half after taxes. While I thought Janie was crazy to cast me off, I still respected her advice. It's really hard to knock success, and she had succeeded very well. So anyway, I sat and pondered my future. The new security folks had all arrived, and I was all but ignored. I was left alone in my office to do a lot of pondering.

"Knock-knock," I heard a voice say. I looked up, annoyed that some lout would interrupt my contemplating. It was James Winslow, the third. "Mind if I come in?" he said with a huge grin.

"Can you not see that I am extremely busy?" I responded, matching his grin.

"Oh yeah," he said reaching out his hand. "I can see that all right. You, my man, are just covered up."

Jimmy Winslow, the third, is one of those people you can not forget. The bastard would show up every few years just to remind you of him. Jimmy and I served together in the Navy. I had not seen him in several years, but he hadn't changed all that much. Like me, a little thicker in some places, but he still had a head full of red hair. His forehead seemed to be a little longer than I remembered. I hadn't actually seen him but twice since Janie and I had gotten married. We had kept in contact by phone, fax, and e-mail, and I was surprised at how pleased I was to actually see him.

"Where on earth did you come from?" I asked taking his hand.

"I spring from the center of the universe and from places that mortals like you can only try to imagine." he said falling into a chair and putting his feet on my desk.

"Still full of crap, I see," I said. "Good that some things don't ever change. Get your dammed feet off my desk."

He smiled at me and ignored my order. "Why do you care? It won't be your desk for long. How they hanging, old buddy?"

I leaned back and put my feet on the desk, too. "Hanging low, sport," I answered. "Mighty low. How did you know?"

Jimmy didn't even pretend to not know what I was talking about. "Janie called me," he said waving his hand about. "She thought you needed someone of enormous intellect to discuss the issues with. Of course she though of me."

"Of course," I acknowledged. "Presumably it never crossed her mind to tend to her own business."

"Of course not," Jimmy replied laughing, "She's a woman. They never tend to just their own business. Seriously, Janie is worried. Maybe she doesn't love you any more, but that doesn't mean she doesn't like you. I, on the other hand, don't really like you, but I have this bizarre need to love you. Fraternally that is."

"That's a load off my mind. I wouldn't want to think you had gone queer on me. When did she call you?"

"Yesterday, well she had left a message a few days ago, but I just got it yesterday," he said bouncing to his feet. "Let's grab a bite of lunch. Can you get away?"

"I guess I can tear myself away," I said with a short laugh. "Not as if I'd be missed. So what took you so long to get here if you got the message a whole day ago?"

Jimmy took my arm and steered me toward the door. "I had a few loose ends to tie up first. Drinks or lunch?"

"Drinks first," I said. "Then if there is time, we'll consider food."

"I see you haven't misplaced your priorities." he said. "Lead on, sir." At the bar and grill we ordered a round of drinks.

"So, what is happening in your world?" Jimmy asked.

"You know perfectly well what's going on in my crappie world," I responded. "It sucks."

"Yeah, I guess it does. How long are you going to be working for you new masters?"

"I don't know." I said "Week, two weeks, maybe longer. I guess they'll shove me out as soon as they figure they have a good handle on the company's security."

"I have something that might interest you," he said slyly. "Are you interested in doing a little private investigation?"

"I doubt it," I replied. "I been away from the stoop and snoop business a long time. I don't have a current PI licenses."

"Well, the license is no problem and the pay's mighty good."

"Tell me about it," I said. Maybe just hearing about someone else's problem would take my mind off my own.

"The wife of Jay W. Grant has disappeared. Grant is a mover and shaker in the financial world. He is president and CEO of one of the nation's largest private banks. Grant is a close personal friend of presidents, past and present," he began, taking a notebook from his inside jacket pocket. "Mrs. Grant is actually the third Mrs. Grant and is considerably younger than the mister. Lori Anne Grant. You know the type, cheerleader and prom queen. Lori is twenty-nine and looks eighteen. The Grants just celebrated their second anniversary of what friends say was wedded bliss. No apparent reason for her to leave the comforts of their Jackson County, Tennessee home and no contact from her or anyone else about her disappearance. Hubby came home on Saturday from his golf game as usual and she was gone which, apparently, was unusual." He paused and took a sip of his drink and consulted his notebook again.

"From all reports she had been happy and there had been no discord within the Grant household. There are no children from this union, but there are two, a boy and a girl, from the second marriage and one from the first marriage. Alton Boyce Grant, the son from marriage number one, works with his father in the banking empire. He holds the title and presumably the pay of a senior vice president. Some have indicated that Alton Grant and Lori Grant didn't get along so well."

"The offspring from the second attempt, Anthony Grant, is a college student, he is twenty-two and Marlene, 'we call her Marty', is twenty. Marty doesn't have employment, but when daddy is a very rich man one shouldn't have to work. Rumor is that Alton Grant thinks highly of Anthony and poorly of Marty." Jimmy continued, "Alton has gainful employment and resents Marty who lives the good life and toils not. That's one theory, but maybe he just simply doesn't like the little bitch."

He paused and looked at me for a moment then continued. "Marty has had several confrontations with the law, but nothing that her considerable charm, or daddy's money couldn't get her out of. She runs with the young and the rich. Jay W. Grant would very much like to have his young wife back and he is willing, and eager to pay handsomely for that service. You interested?"

"How handsomely? And where on earth is Jackson County, Tennessee?"

"Fifty thousand up front plus reasonable expenses and another fifty grand when you find the wife. Jackson County is a neighboring county to Knoxville. It's where some of the better classes have their estates. You know--swimming pools, tennis courts, and horses for all. The only city to speak of is Grantville. Grantville is named in honor of Jay W.'s Grandfather who brought a bunch of old English money to the area. Opened the first bank there in nineteen ought something. Beautiful Hill County, moonshine whiskey, and all the country music a person could want."

"A hundred thousand dollars? That's ridiculous! He could buy a whole investigative company for that."

"You are thinking as if they are normal people. That's chump change to somebody as rich as Grant. He wants the best his money can buy."

"Maybe, but I have a couple of questions," I said giving him a close look. "What's in it for you and if this is such a great deal why don't you do it yourself? I'd say you're qualified. What's the rest of the story?"

He returned my gaze for a moment before he smiled at me. "I see you're still a skeptic. First of all, I still work for our beloved Uncle, so I couldn't do it, even if I wanted to. My boss asked me to find someone to do this job, and lucky for you, I got his orders and Janie's message all within the span of a few minutes. You just happen to be one lucky son of a bitch." He laughed. "God's truth, buddy. My boss, who shall remain nameless, has some sort of relationship with Jay W. Grant. Maybe business, maybe personal, I don't know. You have to remember that Jay W. Grant is a powerful man. Powerful men have powerful friends."

"Who do you work for these days?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

"A little known government agency," he said grinning at me. "I'm legitimate, ol' buddy. I can help you some if you need me. Hells bells, with your luck you'll probably find her within an hour or two after you get to Grantville."

"You said find the wife. Find and not return? Just locate her, right?"

"Well ... I guess some discretion would be needed here. I..."

"No ifs, ands, or buts," I said. "If I look for her, and hopefully find her I'll have no part in forcing her to return. If she left voluntarily then she can stay gone for all I care. That's got to be understood, and agreed on before I start."

"I don't see a problem. Nobody wants her kidnapped. So you'll take the job? You got to move quickly."

I didn't really need to think about it. I didn't have a whole lot going for me right then, so why not? Fifty grand for looking fifty more for finding some woman sounded real good to me. I had never been in that part of Tennessee so I was looking forward to doing something new in a new place.

"Sure," I said, finishing the drink. "Nothing holding me here anymore."

Things begun to move quickly. Jimmy made a call, and told me I had the job, and by two o'clock I was fifty thousand dollars richer. The funds had been wired to my checking account.

I drew out some expense money in cash and travelers checks and made my travel arrangements. I then went back to my old office. I cleaned out all my personal effects without encountering any problems. In fact, no one paid any attention to me.

I finished carrying the things out to my car, and went back to see the boss man. He seemed relieved when I told him I was going to take some of my vacation, and get away for a few days. I wondered just how long it would take them to figure out that I had no intention of returning to work.

ONE--WEDNESDAY

I flew to Knoxville the next morning and was then taken by a private helicopter to the Grant estate. The chopper trip was only a few minutes flying time, and the scenery was breathtaking. The pilot landed the large helicopter smoothly, and I was met by a man in a golf cart who took me to the house where I met Jay W. Grant himself. We met on a patio at the back of the monstrous house. It was a beautiful high spring day. The temperature was low eighties and the humidity low.

I would guess Jay W. Grant to be about sixty-five, but in excellent physical shape. He was dressed casually, but expensively. He had silver white hair and stood about five foot five or six inches tall.

He sprung toward me holding out his hand. "Mister Rich," he said. "I am glad you have arrived. Did you have a nice flight?" His handshake was firm and dry. I like that in a person. Cold wet lifeless handshakes give me the willies.

"Yes sir, I did," I replied. "Nice place you have here."

Jay W. waved his hand to signify that it was all nothing. He indicated a seat at the bar and we sat. "What will you have?" he asked, nodding his head toward the large black man who stood behind the bar.

"Bit early for me," I said, smiling in what I hoped was non-condemning manner. I could see what appeared to be the remains of a bloody Mary in front of him. The bartender interested me. He was a good six inches over six feet and built like a tank. His jacket was just a bit too snug, and I could see the tell-tale bulge of a weapon under his right shoulder. I wasn't unduly surprised that a powerful and wealthy man would have a bodyguard. I suspected that there were others scattered about the place.

"It's too dammed early for anybody," Jay W. Snapped, "but this mess has caused me considerable vexation. Are you ready to commence your inquires?"

I commenced. I asked Jay W. a lot of questions about his missing wife. Some of them were down right personal, but he never hesitated. When I asked intimate questions about him and his wife I noticed that the barman quietly retreated to a place where he couldn't overhear, but could still see us.

I talked with Grant for over an hour and he seemed totally mystified as to why his wife had left. He explained that the only problem he had encountered was his wife association with an old school chum.

When I left the Grant estate it was nearly ten o'clock. Jay W had kindly furnished me with a rental vehicle. I was driving a new Jeep of some type. It was clean and fancy with all the bells and buttons and nothing like the little Willis workhorse that started the Jeep line. I decided to visit Grantville and check-out the natives.

Grantville, Tennessee was a typical small mid-Southern town. The census report I had dug up listed the county population as something just under one hundred thousand and the city population listed as twenty five thousand. Parked along the street were a wide variety of vehicles. Old and new cars in a fairly even mixture along with the mandatory allotment of pick-up trucks. Quiet and peaceful would be good descriptive words of first impressions.

It seemed to me to be a good idea to pay a call on the sheriff and the chief of police. I had been assured by my friend Jimmy and again by Mister Grant that I could expect a lot of assistance from the local law enforcement folks.

I decided to call on the Chief of the Police first, mainly because I spotted the police departments sign before I saw the Justice Center sign. The police station was in a red brick building that had apparently been designed by someone without a trace of imagination. It appeared to me that someone had a lot of ugly red brick and decided to build something. If fact, the outside was simply ugly. The inside was just as ugly as the outside, and it was also dirty and smelled terrible.

"Good morning," I said to the young man sitting at a desk. The man and desk were behind a glass partition. "Is the chief of police in?"

The uniformed man looked at me a moment before answering. "Who are you?" he asked, not getting up from the desk. During my tenure with the Navy I had often had to deal with civilian police. Some were great and some weren't worth much.

"I'm someone who would like to see the chief of police if he's in," I answered putting a smile that I didn't feel on my face. "Is he available?" Some police officers ask questions simply because they feel it's expected of them. Some just because they're nosey. The lanky man stared at me for a full minute before he indulged me to make the effort to find out. He reached for the phone on the desk in slow motion.

"Chief," he said into the phone, "some turkey is out here wanting' to see you." He paused listening to whatever was being said on the phone. He was apparently paying close attention because his lips moved as he listened. He nodded once, then again, and hung up. "Chief said he was tied up. You can have a seat and maybe he'll get around to you later," he said leaning back in the chair dismissing me from whatever part of his mind was functioning. I was disinclined to wait.

'Well,' I said to myself, leaving the police station, 'so much for all the local help."

I decided to leave my rental car parked and walk to the justice center. I reasoned the walk would be good for me. I looked around the town and had a sudden flash back to the old TV program. Mayberry, U.S.A. If Barney had walked out of the Blue Plate Café I wouldn't have been shocked.

There was a barber shop and I almost crossed the street to see if Floyd was there. I saw a bank, post office, a grocery, a feed and seed store, a pool hall, a drug store, a hardware store and a lot of what I assumed were offices of one kind or another. On down the street I could see other business that I couldn't identify. I remembered passing a shopping mall on the way into town so most of the shopping was going on somewhere other than downtown Grantville. I had seen that a lot, working for a department store chain. Shopping malls simply sucked the life out of small towns. I angled across the street toward the justice center.

The justice center was a newer building and from the signs outside, housed the jail, court rooms, prosecutor's office as well as the sheriff's office. The jail apparently was on the second floor if the tiny barred windows were any clue. Rooms for various courts were also inside.

I went into the building and quickly found the office of Sheriff of Jackson County. The outer office was immaculate. Several chairs were around two of the walls and a neat stack of magazines was on a table. The metal detector was cleverly built into the door way. I went up to the counter and a young uniformed woman jumped to her feet and rushed to the counter.

"May I help you, sir," she asked, smiling at me. Almost the exact opposite of the reception at the city police department.

"I wonder if I might see the sheriff if he is available," I said, returning her smile.

"I'll check and see if she is in," the smiling deputy said. She seemed to enjoy my reaction. I guess I was unable to hide the surprise I felt. Seemed to me somebody could have told me the sheriff was a woman. With all the information Jimmy had, he had to know that fact. It was typical Jimmy Winslow not to mention it. "May I tell her who you are?"

I told her and she nodded and disappeared through a door. A few minutes later another door opened into the reception room and the deputy came out holding the door open for me. "If you'll just follow me, sir."

I was shown into a nicely furnished office and was met by a stunning woman in uniform complete with side arm. The woman stood and held out her hand. "Good morning, sir," she said smiling at me. "I am Rachel Green."

Sheriff Green was a study in beauty. She was tall, nearly six feet tall and built like the proverbial outhouse. As I found out later she was only five-ten and a half. She just had a commanding appearance that made her look taller. She had dark red hair that seemed to shimmer and startling emerald green eyes.

"Good morning, Sheriff," I said, meeting her firm handshake. "I'm Marc Rich. I have been asked to assist in the disappearance of Jay W. Grant's wife. I wonder if I might talk with you for a moment or so."

"Yes sir," she said, her friendly smile fading a little. "I was told Jay W was bringing someone in. Have a seat." She spoke the name Jay W, Jay "Dub".

"Sheriff Green," I said "I know how I would feel if the situation were reversed, so I want you to know I'm not here to interfere with you, or your people. I want you to know I have every intention of working with your staff in this matter."

"Well, Mr. Rich I appreciate that attitude. Jay W is a very influential man around here and.... well," she hesitated. "I don't know how much you know about small town politics but..."

I interrupted her. "I imagine that politics are pretty much the same everywhere. You don't step on the toes that may be attached to the legs that lead to the butt you may need to kiss."

She laughed. "Exactly, Mr. Rich. If Mr. Grant decided to back a blue tick hound dog for sheriff then the dog would most likely get elected. So, how can I help?"

"Which department is working the case? City police or your department?"

She laughed again, "My department is working it. Let me be frank, Mister Rich, The city police department is a joke. Not a funny joke, but a joke none the less. There isn't a person in that department that could find his butt using both hands. Danny Reagan is the chief of police and has been for several years. I don't know how he keeps the job, but he does. It is common speculation that he knows where all the bodies are buried or has the photographs of something really scandalous." She paused a moment. "If there is an emergency within the city limits the 911 dispatcher just automatically calls us. I would guess if Danny is even in the office, he is hung-over or drunk."

I gave that bit of information some thought. "I guess that puts a burden on your department," I suggested.

"Yes, some," she admitted. "The city council recognizes the problem and they budget some money to me to cover the costs. I have two deputies who just cover the city. Have you had lunch?"

I wasn't ready for the sudden change of subject, and it took me a couple of seconds to catch up.

"No, I haven't had lunch yet. Can you recommend a place?"

"I can do better than that," she said getting to her feet. "I'll take you to a good place and buy your lunch."

Sheriff Rachel Green led me out the back door of the building to a white and green Ford Explorer. Being led by Sheriff Green was a visual treat. I made a mental bet that most men would count it an honor to be arrested by her.

The gold star emblem on the sides proudly proclaimed that the sporty SUV belonged to the Jackson County Sheriff. The light and sound bar on the top, in addition to the spot lights, the alley lights, the massive front grill work with cable hoist, made the vehicle seem very functional. I liked it because it seemed useful.

Sheriff Green expertly drove us to a small café just outside the city limits. The place was small, but appeared to be clean. The menu indicated the customer base was mostly working class people. Meat and potato, which just happens to my favorite kind of meal. I ordered the country fried steak and gravy. The menu gave me a choice of country veggies. I chose potatoes and pinto beans with cornbread. It was wonderful.

During the meal the lovely sheriff and I made small talk. It wasn't until after the desert that Sheriff Green pulled off the gloves.

"So tell me, Mister Rich, what qualifies you to investigate a missing person case?" she asked. Her hard cold green eyes were the only indication that she wasn't a happy camper. The tone was more or less neutral, but the emerald eyes were glittering with barely suppressed rage.

"Oh, I'm qualified," I answered, careful not to sound defensive. "I was in Naval Intelligence for some time, and then with the Navy's criminal investigations people for several years, and then I was head of security for a large department store chain until recently. I've kept up with what's happening in the industry. I guess the best qualifier would be that Mr. Grant wants me to investigate." It seemed a good time to remind her that I was here on her turf with the blessings of a very powerful person.

Two identical red spots had appeared on her cheeks. Sheriff Rachel Green was about to work herself in to full blown fury.

"May I ask you a question?" I didn't wait for permission. "What qualifies you to be sheriff?" The red spots now covered her whole face. "Come on, Sheriff, it can't be all that common," I continued before she could respond. "You are young, extremely good looking and apparently intelligent. I don't believe I have ever met a sheriff I could say all three things about."

Rachel Green stared at me for a full minute before she suddenly smiled, then laughed out loud. "All right," she said still laughing. "Touché, Mister Rich. I'll answer your question. I graduated from the State Law Enforcement academy, first in my class, thank you. I worked as a deputy sheriff for three years, and I have a file full of commendations. I ran for the office when my husband was killed in the line of duty and I won."

"I'm sorry to hear about your husband," I said. "How did that happen?"

"Found shot to death beside his car out in the county. We never found the killer." she answered as a matter of fact.

"Hell, I'm sorry," I said. "Was he...?"

"Harold Green was the Sheriff," she interrupted. "I was appointed to fill out his term and then I ran for, and was elected to the office. Harold was gunned down four years ago."

"Never found out who killed him, huh? That sucks," I said shaking my head. "Sheriff Green, what I said in your office is the truth. I'm not here to make you or anybody look bad. Apparently Mister Grant wanted a fresh approach to this ... disappearance, if that's what it is. What's your take on it?"

"Jay W came home from his Saturday morning golf game to find Lori missing. He called in a report later that same day. Call came in at five ten P.M." she answered.

"Why did he wait? What time did he discover she was gone?"

"He was home shortly after one o'clock," the sheriff said. "When I questioned him he said he though she may have gone shopping or something."

"Was there a car missing?"

She shook her head, "No. Jay W said he checked the cars and they all were accounted for. They have several."

"Yes, I know. I was out there this morning," I said. "Did he check the cars out immediately?"

"He said he did" she answered. These were some of the same questions I had asked Jay W. Grant that morning. I guess I wanted to see if Rachel Green would tell me the truth. So far she was right on the money.

"I wonder how he thought she could have gone somewhere," I said watching her face.

"I asked him that," she said with no apparent guile showing.

"And he said..." I prompted.

Sheriff Green looked at me strangely for a moment. "He really didn't answer the question."

I got pretty much the same run-around that morning, but I hadn't let him off. I had gotten the answer. Jay W. Grant was aware that his wife was running around with an old girlfriend and fellow ex-cheerleader. Jay W. didn't approve of this renewal of friendship, but Lori had continued to see this person on the sly. Jay W. Grant had identified the woman as Beth Hatmaker. He had also shown me the private investigator's report on Beth Hatmaker. I wasn't sure I wanted to share this with the sheriff right at that moment. On the other hand, it might be good to let her see I was on the ball. I pondered this for a moment and the idea of looking good in Rachel Green's pretty green eyes won.

"Do you know a woman named Beth Hatmaker?" I asked.

"Sure everybody knows Beth or at least knows about her. Why?" Rachael asked.

"Apparently Lori Grant and Beth Hatmaker are friends and, according to Mr. Grant, were close. Mr. Grant thought that maybe Lori was with her old girl friend."

Rachel was silent for a moment, appearing to think about the information I had given her. "Mister Rich," she said. "I don't doubt that you were told that but..." she paused again.

"But, what?" I prompted.

"That just doesn't make sense; Beth Hatmaker just isn't the sort of person Lori would run around with now. Beth doesn't enjoy a good reputation in this county. I haven't been able to prove it, but I think Beth Hatmaker is involved with selling drugs. Maybe with some other illegal activities." Rachel continued, "Did Jay W say where he got his information?"

"Yeah, from a PI by the name of Harry Kaminski. He showed me the report. The private investigator followed Lori on several occasions. Sometimes Lori went to the Hatmaker residence and other times Beth came to the Grant's house. On one or two occasions they met for lunch at a place called the China Garden." I have a fairly good memory for details, and frankly I was showing off.

"I'm impressed, Mister Rich" the sheriff said, smiling her dimpled smile. Apparently my ploy was working.

"I wish you would call me Marc. Mister sounds so formal." I said. "Anyway, according to the PI's report, Lori and Beth were big buddies. Why are you skeptical?" I waited to see if she saw the glaring inconsistency.

"How does someone disappear if they are being watched?" she asked. "Sounds like a real great PI."

She was pretty sharp and had seen the conflict. "Well, apparently all that happened several weeks ago. The PI had been taken off the case. Mister Grant thought he had stopped the relationship between his wife and Beth Hatmaker."

Rachel Green looked off into some inner space for a moment. "I suppose it could be possible," she said after a while. "Lori and Beth were close growing up and all through school. They came from similar backgrounds, went to the same church. Typical small community things. On the cheering squad, competed for Miss, you name it, dated the same boys and went off to college together."

"You sound like you know them well. Did you go to school with them?"

She laughed loudly, "Yeah right," she said still laughing. "Thanks for the compliment, but I'm several years older then they are. No, Marc, like I said before, everybody knows everybody in this town." She laughed again, "Grantville has grown, but we've managed to keep some of the small town mentality. Everybody minds everybody's business." She paused again for a moment. "I still have some trouble with the two of them together now. Beth took the low road and Lori married Jay W. Grant. Worlds apart, Marc. No sir, I don't buy it!"

"You could be right," I conceded, "The only thing I have to go on is the PI's report that Grant showed me. Do you know the PI? Harry Kaminski?"

She shook her head. "No, I never heard of him. He's not local or I would."

"I don't remember if there was an address for the investigator on the report or not." I made a mental note to look at that report again.

We had long since finished lunch and we were neither one apparently in a hurry to leave. The sorting and feeling-out process was still on-going. I instinctively trust attractive women. I am aware it's a character fault, and I have had it demonstrated on several occasions that neither appearance nor gender has anything to do with honesty.

I was a newly divorced middle aged man, and I was very attracted to this woman. I watched her closely as we dined and talked. Her whole face was animated. This person, I decided could never be a good bluffer. We reached a point where it seemed silly to linger there so we left the café. The sheriff dropped me off at my rental car and waved as she drove off. I watched her go. The sheriff of Jackson County was something else!

I spent the rest of the day looking around the city and then ventured out into the county asking questions as I went. Jackson County is a beautiful place. A lot of nice homes, but still mostly farm land and undeveloped woodland. I got lost twice, but managed to find my motel by dark. The only thing that seemed consistent in the answers I got was that the Grant family was very well known. Most of the people I talked with didn't actually say it in words, but I think one would have to be pretty stupid to miss what wasn't said. The Grants were generally either disliked or feared, or both.