Another Dead Republican (12 page)

“You don’t want to do it at a restaurant or the church?”

“Definitely not a church and no restaurant. I want to be in my own home. The kids will feel better here. I’ll feel better here. If it’s in my home, it will feel like the Grums have less control.”

I promised to get started on the calls. Veronica, mom, and dad headed for the funeral home.

Scott told me he watched the press conference streaming live on the Internet in the office. He left for the grocery store with the kids. He has a magic touch with children. I don’t know if it’s his fame, or maybe how tall he is, or his aura of gentle, firm command, but whatever it is, he has a natural affinity for putting children at ease. It sure worked with Veronica’s kids.

My brothers Lionel and Darryl stayed in charge of the steady stream of people and food. A few politicians were introduced to me. I didn’t recognize them or their names. I spent some time in the office making calls. When I finished them, I began setting up a spread sheet on the computer based on the financial data we’d found so far. I also dug back into the mess. We were barely a third of the way through with the boxes.

What I really wanted was a nap. But I was more worried about Veronica than I was my lack of sleep.

Scott walked in about three.

“The kids okay?” I asked.

“Holding together as best as possible. After we got back from the store, I set them up in the movie theater room watching a movie. We’ve got enough groceries for the moment. You want me to help you in here or go help Lionel and Darryl? There’s people starting to show up again.”

“I’m working on doing a computer summary of the balances of all the different accounts I’ve been able to find so far.” I showed him the screen.

He glanced at the columns of names of businesses and numbers. Doing the numbers required clear logic and organization not a lot of math skills. For that I had a calculator. Putting things in categories and time order seemed to fall naturally.

I said, “I’ve got a lot more of this to do. Darryl and Lionel are out there on their own.”

“I’ll check on the kids then go help them.”

I told him the news I got from Azure Grum.

Scott said, “Edgar was an incompetent shit. Stop the presses.”

“Somebody’s got to fill that role in society. Better him than us.” Scott left.

TWENTY-ONE

Wednesday 3:30 P.M.

I took a break from the office and joined Scott on duty at the front door. “Everything okay?” I asked.

He nodded. The bells chimed, and Scott opened the door to a tall, slender man with hair going slightly gray at the temples. I ushered him into the living room.

He stuck out his hand. “I’m Harold Avery.” Scott introduced me.

Avery said, “You’re the baseball player married to Veronica’s brother.” He looked at both of us. “I remember all the headlines when you got married. Congratulations, that takes balls.”

What do you say to that kind of thing? I’m glad you approve? As if I cared if he approved or existed. I said, “Thanks.”

He glanced toward the rest of the house and lowered his voice. “I was told Veronica was near the point of a breakdown. I’m her physician, her gynecologist.”

Breakdown? What the hell was going on here.

I said, “She’s at the funeral home making the arrangements. She’s upset and grieving as anyone would be at a time like this, and I’m not a physician, but I don’t think she’s near a breakdown. Who told you she was near a breakdown?”

“Mr. Grum called.”

“I’m not sure Mr. Grum is hitting on all his reality cylinders.”

He lowered his voice, “You got that right.”

I said, “You know the family?”

He looked toward the kitchen, where intermixed with genuine well-wishers were various Grums. He glanced around and nodded his head toward the outdoors. “Let’s step outside.”

We walked out the front door and to a side yard. We sat in the gazebo. We could still see the front door and who came and left. Plus we had a partial view of the mini-skateboard park, the backyard shed, and the covered out-door pool. The afternoon was cool and pleasant.

He said,
“Edgar hated his family.”

I said, “I didn’t know him that well.”

“We grew up together. The Grums live on the other side of this subdivision. My family lived next to them. I went to school with him for twelve years. We were best friends. His parents and my parents did a lot of social events together with that stupid woman’s social club.”

“Why is it stupid?” Scott asked.

“Best example? As kids both families would go to flower shows. Either his mom or mine were the head of the Women’s Heritage Society. It was one of their biggest fundraisers of the year. Still is. We were so bored.”

“But you were Edgar’s friend,” Scott said.

“For my part. When we were kids. Nowadays, not so much.”

“Any particular reason for that?” I asked.

“Yeah. Edgar was a jerk. You don’t always see that as clearly when you’re ten as when you’re twenty.
The real problem is the Grums are pigs. All of them.” He shook his head. “
His and my parents are still best friends. Both families have lived around here since before the Civil War. There were some intermarriages way back when. He and I are very distant cousins so I can’t really avoid Edgar.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, was there one particular incident that ended the friendship?”

“We were best friends. ‘Were’ is the operative word. The major break came when I went to med school at John Hopkins. There wasn’t a fight or anything. Calls didn’t get made.” He sighed. “Friendships end, but we hung out together all through grade school. I was even his roommate in college freshman year for a while.” He glanced around the yard. A man and a woman I didn’t know were knocking at the front door. Another car was pulling up. No one was remotely close to being in hearing distance.

I thought this was strange - as if we were members of the underground in 1942 Paris meeting in Pierre’s at the third pillar from the left, a cigarette dangling from one side of our mouths, speaking in harsh whispers, a waitress with a stiletto concealed in her bra. What did these people think was going to happen if they spoke the truth out loud? Then again, Edgar had been murdered so who knew what dangers lurked in these suburban Republican hearts?

“Did Veronica know you and he were once buddies?”

“I like Veronica. She is a saint to be married to him. We never discussed her marriage. She came to me for her once-a-year checkups. I was her doctor for the babies. As far as I could tell she was happy with him. Who was I to dump on her marriage?”

“Did he get along with his family?”

“Depended on the day, week, month, year. Sometimes he’d be angry with them. Sometimes he’d be running to them for money or protection. He did it when we were kids. My parents told me he did it as an adult.”

“What did he get angry about?”

“You know he was the youngest?”

“Yeah.”

“Everybody thought he was a yutz and a fuckup.”

“Was he?”

“Pretty much, but who likes it when your family tells you that?”

“His friends didn’t?”

“If he had friends, they were friends with his money, not with him. Or friends who wanted to be close to his family and their money. Governor Mallon is an excellent example of that.”

“How so?” I asked.

He leaned back in the uncomfortable white wrought-iron bench.

“They dated in college. She was a grasping pseudo-intellectual back then. Hasn’t changed much. She broke up with him when she found somebody with more connections and more money.”

“She didn’t mind that he was younger?”

“Does money have an age restriction?”

I smiled. “What turned people against him? Or what was the yutz factor all about?”

“The best example I can think of is Edgar’s deals.”

“Deals?”

“He always had a deal he was working. Always. He constantly tried to get people to invest in deals. That’s why he went into that investment banking. He was going to make deals. Huge, big, mega-buck, super profitable deals.” He sighed. “Like everything Edgar touched it turned to shit. He wanted me to invest a hundred thousand in a land deal in Texas. He justified people losing their money by saying it was okay that they lost their money because he lost twice as much as they did. He was awful at business, led his clients into making stupid investments, or he tried to get his friends to buy into stupid investments. He was a menace. That’s why he lost his job at that investment company. He was costing them clients and money.”

“It’s kind of sad.”

He nodded. “He always had his mom and dad to run to when he was stuck. And he did. The sadder parts were the little things.”

“Like what?”

“He didn’t have a lot of basic social skills.”

“That I noticed.”

“But he always had his parents to fall back on then and now as an adult. They gave him a job in the anti-recall campaign.”

“What was he doing for them?”

“I don’t know specifically what he did. Whatever it was he probably screwed it up.” He shook his head. “This county is a mess. You heard the nonsensical press conference the Governor had with poor Beulah Grum next to her?”

We nodded.

“I don’t like Mrs. Grum, but it was sad they made her stand up with the governor. She just lost her son. None of it made any sense. Even I know the election was stolen.”

“How so?” Scott asked.

“Arithmetic.”

“Arithmetic?”

“Yep. Totals don’t add up. Look at every county in the state. You get the average turnout for the election, nearly fifty percent. So the average turnout in Harrison County would be about a hundred thousand votes. Amazingly, in a few key precincts the turnout would have had to have been over seventy-five percent. It will be as far over that as they need it to be.”

Scott frowned. “They expected to get away with this? Can’t someone check?”

“So far they have gotten away with it. And who’s going to prosecute? The Republicans control every office in the county. Statewide they stripped the Secretary of State of all oversight of elections. The Attorney General in the state is a Republican.”

He pointed to a gentleman with swept back silver gray hair walking up to the front door. “See him?”

I nodded.

“Buster Fanning. He’ll stay about four minutes. He’s not here for Veronica. He’s here to be seen by the Grums. Once he realizes there are no major Grums, powerful, influential Grums, he’ll leave.”

The front door opened a few mintues later and, as predicted, Buster Fanning hurried down the walk.

“No one knows this stuff?” I asked.

“Someone probably knows the truth. I’ve never seen that someone come forward, and by this time the truth would be so twisted, it wouldn’t be recognized as the truth.” He stood up. We followed suit. “You’re right. It’s just sad. I know once when we were little we found this old fort about two miles from here. We rode our bikes. Someone had nailed stuff poorly together, used rope to tie stuff together. Edgar used an old knife to cut the ropes. Used the edge of the knife to rip out all the nails he could. He did all the destruction, and I admit I didn’t stop him. The cops were called. It was his word against the kid who built it. Some kid our age. Not in our social set. Not as rich as us. I backed up Edgar’s story. I still feel awful for that. The poor kid didn’t have much, just this crummy fort, and Edgar had to ruin it. And I lied for him. I was a shit. I’ve tried to be better.”

“Why are you telling us all this?”

“The last time I saw Edgar, he said there was something funny about this election.”