Cemetery Road

“Which is?” asked the old man.

“Marshall McEwan. Marshall’s not his old man, okay? He’s spent the last twenty-five years in Washington, digging up scandals that shake the Capitol Building. Major Defense Department stuff. He’s supposed to be writing a book about racism while he’s here, but he was investigating Trump’s Russian financial dealings when he came home to take care of his father. Azure Dragon and the paper mill are bush-league for him. Do not kid yourselves. Whatever rocket scientist decided to kill Buck Ferris has got Marshall after his ass now. You’d better get ready for some shit to hit the fan.”

Beau Holland leaned back in his chair, his usual smirk pulling at his mouth. “McEwan’s a friend of yours, isn’t he? Can’t you get him to ease off on the muckraking? At least for a week?”

Paul leaned forward. “Is that a joke? Buck Ferris was almost a father to him. Marshall went all the way to Eagle Scout because of Buck.”

“Sounds like sentimental bullshit,” said Holland.

“Yeah? See how sentimental you feel when Marshall shoves a proctoscope up your butt on CNN. He’s got the cell number of every anchor and producer for every major network in D.C. and New York.” Paul looked to the head of the table. “Claude, you want to have the club’s finances broken down on Meet the Press? McEwan can put you there.”

Buckman shifted in his seat.

“If Marshall smells foul play,” Paul said, “he’ll sink his teeth into this case and shake it like a pit bull. He won’t let go. If there’s anything to find, he’ll find it.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” said Tommy Russo.

“There’s nothing for him to find,” Blake Donnelly asserted. “Hell, I liked Buck a lot. But if he ran up on some bad characters and got himself killed, that’s nothing to do with us. Maybe he walked up on a drug deal out at Lafitte’s Den.”

“He didn’t die at that cave,” Paul said irritably. “Marshall told me that in the tent. Somebody staged things to look that way.” He looked around the table, giving the younger members a searching glance.

“What’s your problem?” Beau snapped. “You got something to say to me?”

Paul smiled, knowing he’d gotten to Holland. “Whoever was dumb enough to kill Buck Ferris put everybody in this room at risk, and every element of the Azure Dragon deal as well.”

“Hey,” Holland said angrily. “It’s not your place to pass judgment on anything a member might do.”

Max Matheson leaned forward and cast his eyes down the table at Holland. “Are you saying you killed Ferris?”

Holland glared at Paul’s father, which was not something people with good sense generally did. But Beau had always been an arrogant son of a bitch.

“I’m saying if anybody in this room did kill Buck Ferris,” Holland replied, “then it’s none of Paul’s business. Until he’s a full voting member, our decisions are above his pay grade.”

Paul turned up his left hand and gestured at Holland, as if to say, You guys see why I’m worried?

Claude Buckman spoke in a tone that brooked no argument. “This group approved no decision to remove Mr. Ferris, however inconvenient his activities had become. And no individual member is empowered to make such a decision alone, except in extreme emergency. Is that understood by all present?”

A few nods signaled general agreement around the table.

Tommy Russo, the only man in the room without a Southern accent, said, “We know Ferris was digging out at the mill site, right?”

“He was,” Wyatt Cash confirmed. “I placed cellular game cameras out there that recorded him.”

“And if he found bones, that could have stopped construction?”

“No question,” said Arthur Pine. “We’d have had to cancel the groundbreaking.”

Russo tilted his head to one side and stuck out his bottom lip, as though gauging the amount of life left in a dog that had been run over. “Hard to see how that guy getting dead is a bad thing.”

Senator Sumner sighed in distaste and looked at his watch.

“A delay like that could have caused the Chinese to pull up stakes and go to Alabama,” Holland pointed out. “We’re not dealing with International Paper or Walmart here. Azure Dragon doesn’t tolerate mistakes. They hit a bump in the road, they find a different road.”

“Somewhere people know how to flatten bumps?” Paul asked.

Russo chuckled.

“Is there anything else?” Donnelly asked. “I’ve got a foursome of investors waiting on me out at Belle Rose.”

“Paul’s point is well-taken,” Buckman said. “If anyone has information about Dr. Ferris’s death that I need to know, I expect you to come to me. And if anyone has any influence over Mr. McEwan or his father, now is the time to use it to get him to soft-pedal this story. Or at least keep it separate from anything to do with the mill. Duncan McEwan always treated us fairly over the years.”

“Duncan’s got nothing to do with editorial content now,” Paul told them. “Don’t kid yourself. Marshall decides what goes in that newspaper.”

“Let’s buy him off then,” Holland suggested. “Justifiable PR expense.”

“Great idea,” Paul said. “How much you thinking? I know of a Russian oligarch who offered Marshall half a million bucks to kill a story.”

“He turned it down?” asked Buckman.

“Yes, sir. Then the oligarch threatened to kill him. Marshall went with the story anyway.”

“So he’s got balls,” Russo said. “That doesn’t sound good for us.”

“I’m thinking about the Watchman,” said Arthur Pine. “I’m surprised that rag hasn’t closed down yet. I think the father’s badly overextended. About eight years ago, he took out a big loan to buy out his brother’s stake in the newspaper.”

“Who’s carrying the paper on that?” asked Buckman.

“Marty Denis at First Farmers. He and Duncan McEwan go way back together.”

“Let’s look into that.”

“Duncan’s also carrying a business loan on a new press he bought about the same time,” Pine informed them. “Nearly two million, I think.”

Buckman’s eyes glinted. “Marty Denis have that loan, too?”

“I’m pretty sure he does.”

The old banker smiled with satisfaction. “Duncan McEwan never learned his way around a balance sheet. Typical English major. Let’s get into it, Arthur, just in case.”

“Right.”

These guys, Paul thought bitterly. If they want to destroy somebody, they find a way to do it without even un-assing their chairs. An honest man doesn’t stand a chance. And Duncan McEwan, for all his faults, is an honest man.

“Long as we’re in here,” Beau Holland said, “what’s your wife up to lately, Paul? She still trying to put any of us in jail? Because I heard she drove to Jackson today to take a deposition in a bid-rigging case.”

Paul gave Holland a dark look. Had they been alone, Beau would never have dared speak to him that way.

“I asked you a question,” Holland pressed.