4 The Marathon Murders by CHESTER D CAMPBELL Page B

shutters. Despite
being out in the boonies, some of the newer homes in the area rivaled those in
Nashville’s affluent suburbs. I parked behind a Cadillac Escalade. We walked up
to the front door past an artful array of pink, white and purple blossoms and
rang the bell.
    A young woman in blue jeans and a
tee shirt with an orange basketball and a Lady Vols logo opened the door. She looked tall enough to have been a player at some
point in her life. She held the door as though trying to decide whether to
invite us in. “Yes?” she said, smiling.
    I handed her a business card.
“We’re Greg and Jill McKenzie from Nashville. I presume you’re acquainted with
your neighbor, Pierce Bradley?”
    “Yes, of course. Has something
happened to him?” Her smile dimmed. “I saw a sheriff’s car pull in over there a
little while ago.”
    “We’re not sure what’s happened,
but we’ve been looking for him. He has some information we need. Apparently he
hasn’t been around his house since Monday night. Did you by chance hear
anything going on over there that evening?”
    She shook her head. “We watched a
long movie on DVD that night, then went to bed. We wouldn’t have heard anything
short of a major riot.”
    “You must sleep like I do,” Jill
said. “I think the house could fall around me and I wouldn’t wake up.”
    “That’s me.” She paused, looking
thoughtful. “I don’t think I’ve seen Pierce in the past few days. He stopped by
Saturday to ask my husband about a new radio. John’s a pilot, too.”
    Jill perked up. “Does he have his
own plane?”
    “He’s a part owner with some guys
from Nashville. He flies now and then with Pierce.”
    Sounded like another prospect if we
needed more background on the late Mr. Bradley.
    “You might try Martha Urey next
door. They’re a lot closer than we are. She looks after Pierce’s dog when he’s
gone.” She stared off to her left. “The bus is back, so she should be at home.
Sorry I can’t help.”
    “No problem,” I said. “But if you
think of anything else, we’d appreciate a call.”
    We drove next door and pulled up
beside the yellow school bus. I caught the deputy giving us the eye from his
car in Bradley’s driveway. This house was a brick and frame ranch, much smaller
than the one we had just visited.
    The woman who came to the door wore
jeans and a yellow shirt with the sleeves rolled up. A little older and a bit
heftier than her neighbor, she had the frazzled look of someone who had just
come through a trying experience. She frowned as she studied first Jill, then
me.
    “Are you Jackie Varner’s folks?”
She spoke in a hesitant voice.
    Thinking of the school bus, I got
the picture. I smiled. “No, Mrs. Urey. We’re not related to any of your
passengers. We’re private investigators from Nashville.” I handed her a card.
“We wanted to ask a few questions about your neighbor, Pierce Bradley.”
    Her faced relaxed, but not into a
smile. “What’s going on? I was planning to go talk to that deputy. When I heard
Rambo barking this morning, I went over there and he obviously hadn’t been fed.
Pierce always tells me when he’s gonna be away.”
    “I think you’d better take care of
the dog until it’s clear what’s going on,” I said. “We’ve been looking for
Bradley to get some information for a client of ours. It seems he hasn’t been
around since Monday night. We’re wondering if you might have heard anything out
of the ordinary over there that evening? ”
    She rubbed a hand across her cheek.
“Monday night? Seems like maybe somebody was visiting Pierce
that night. I don’t remember hearing any racket, though. I’m not sure
when he left, either.”
    “It was a man?”
    “Sorry. Just an
expression. I didn’t see who it was.”
    ‘Did you notice what kind of car
they were driving?”
    “Hmm. I
really didn’t pay all that much attention to it.”
    Jill nodded sympathetically. “It’s
tough to recall things like that.