David Baldacci - Simple Genius

He trudged back to his room and wondered how he was managing to dig the hole he was in ever deeper.

WHEN HORATIO BARNES RETURNED to Linda Sue Buchanan’s house that evening her man, Daryl, didn’t look too happy about what his little lady was planning. He was a big, sloppy fellow, his greasy T-shirt stretched wide over both chest and belly. He held the baby in one beefy paw and a can of Michelob in the other.

Daryl bellowed, “You don’t even know this little dude, Lindy. He might be some damn sex rapist for all you know.”

“Well, if you think about it, most rapists are sex rapists,” Horatio said pleasantly. “In fact I’ve seen a few of them in prison.”

“See, what’d I tell you? Dude’s been in the joint,” Daryl declared.

“No, I consulted with several state prison systems to counsel inmates. But unlike my patients I could leave at the end of the day.”

Linda Sue checked her purse and pulled out her keys. “We’re going in separate cars, Daryl, and I got my Mace and this.” She held out a compact revolver.

Daryl looked relieved at the sight of the firearm. “Well if he tries anything you just shoot his ass.”

“That’s the plan,” Linda Sue said, matter-of-factly checking the ammo in her gun.

“Hold on a minute, folks,” Horatio said. “First, no one’s shooting anybody. And by the way do you have a permit for that thing?”

Daryl snorted. “Hell this is Tennessee, man, ain’t need no permit to carry a gun in good old Tennessee.”

“You might want to check that again,” Horatio said. “And I’m here only to talk to Linda Sue’s grandmother. I told her she could just give me the directions to the place and I’d go myself.”

Daryl whipped around to look at her. “Is that right? So why you going then?”

“I’m going so I get paid, you dumb-ass,” she snapped.

“I tell you what, I’ll give you the hundred dollars right now, and you can just hang here with your debonair man about town,” Horatio said while Daryl gave him a confused look.

“No way. My understanding was that a hundred bucks was the minimu m and if the information Granny got is real good, it’d be worth more. Maybe a lot more.”

“Well, that wasn’t my understanding.”

“Do you want to go see Granny or not?”

“A hundred bucks! Damn!” Daryl said as the amount finally sank into his clouded head.

“Okay, you win. Let’s go,” Horatio said.

“Thought you’d see it my way,” Linda Sue said with a little smirk.

Daryl called after them from the porch. “Hey, Lindy, if you got to shoot him make damn sure you got the money first.”

“Well, if she shot me, she could take all my money since I’d hardly be in a position to object,” Horatio said helpfully.

“Hey, that’s right,” Daryl agreed excitedly. “Baby, you listening to this?”

Horatio held up a cautionary hand. “But then she’d have to spend the rest of her life in prison for murder and armed robbery. In fact, in good ol d Tennessee that might just get you the death penalty. And that might apply to accessories before the fact. I hope you recognize your role.”

Daryl simply stared at him, his mind unable to form a response.

Horatio turned to Linda Sue. “Make sure you don’t shoot yourself.”

“I’ve got the damn safety thingy on,” she snapped.

“That’d be quite a feat, since revolvers don’t have safeties.”

“Oh,” Linda Sue said.

“Yeah, oh.”

THE NURSING HOME was about an hour’s drive away. When he walked into the facility, the odor of human urine and feces hit Horatio like a sledgehammer. He’d been in these state-run places before treating people for depression. Hell, who wouldn’t be depressed having to spend their Golden Years in a festering dump like this? Old folks were stacked like packing crates in their wheelchairs and walkers up against the wall. From down the hall the sounds of canned laughter from a TV floated to Horatio and Linda Sue as they headed to the reception area. The laugh track was insufficient to cover the moans and groans coming from the Greatest Generation abandoned in this stench-filled pile of concrete and crushed hopes.

Linda Sue moved steadfastly ahead, somehow ignoring the human misery on all sides of her.

Two minutes later they were in Granny’s room, a semiprivate ten-by-ten with its own TV that didn’t appear to be working. Granny’s roommate was out but Granny herself was sitting in a chair in a checkered housecoat, red, swollen feet bursting forth from her tattered slippers. Her gray hair, what was left of it, was flattened under a net. Her face was saggy and lined, her teeth yellowed and worn down in many places. Yet her eyes were clear and steady. They moved from Linda Sue to Horatio and then back to her granddaughter.

“Haven’t seen you for a while, Lindy,” Granny said in a mellow southern accent.

Lindy Sue looked extremely put out by this comment. “Been busy, got kids to raise and a man to keep happy.”

“Which man might that be? The one just out of prison or the one headed to prison?”

Horatio had to stifle a chuckle. Old Granny was clearly not suffering from dementia.

“This here feller,” Lindy said, pointing at Horatio. “He wants to know some stuff ’bout folks that used to live in the neighborhood while you were still there.”

Granny’s gaze swiveled around to rest on Horatio. There was intrigue in those old eyes, he could see. Probably she would welcome anything to get her mind off this place.

“I’m Horatio Barnes,” he began, shaking her hand. “Nice to meet you. And thank you for your time.”

“Hazel Rose,” she replied. “Time is the only thing I got plenty of in this place. Now who do you want to know about?”

He told her about the Maxwells.

She nodded. “I remember them, sure. Frank Maxwell cut quite a figure in his uniform. And those boys they had; big, good-looking fellows they all were.”

“And the daughter, Michelle? Do you remember her?”

“I do. Now why don’t you tell me why you want to know all this?”

“You’ll probably find it very boring.”

“I doubt it could compete with this place in the boredom department, so please go ahead and humor an old woman.”

“I’ve been engaged by the family to find out something. Something that happened when Michelle was around six. That would have been about twenty-seven or twenty-eight years ago.”

“Happened? Like what?”

“Like something that would have made Michelle’s personality change.”

Linda Sue snorted. “Hell, a six-year-old ain’t got no personality.”

“On the contrary,” Horatio said. “A child’s permanent personality is substantially formed by age six.” Linda Sue snorted again and started fiddling with her purse clasp while Horatio turned his attention back to Hazel. “Did you notice anything like that? I know it was a long time ago but it would really be a big help if you could remember.”

Hazel seemed to reflect on this for a bit, pursing her lips as she did so.

Linda Sue finally broke the silence. “I’m going out for a smoke.” She rose and then wagged a finger at Horatio. “And there’s only one way in and out of this place, so don’t you even think about trying to scoot off without you know what.” She flicked what she probably assumed was a sincere smile in her granny’s direction and left.

“How much did you promise to pay her?” Hazel asked as soon as her granddaughter was out of earshot.

Horatio smiled, pulled up a chair and sat down next to her. “A hundred bucks. I’d much rather give it to you.”