Read Online Death Under the Lilacs by Richard; Forrest - Free Book Online Page B

School.
    Robert Traxis had gained early possession of the floor microphone and had dominated the hearing with a long speech on individualism, Americanism, welfare fraud, and a host of related topics that culminated in a patriotic plea whose code words were a suggestion that if “they” didn’t like it, let them leave.
    Bea had impatiently snorted from the podium and spoken an aside to a fellow senator that was amplified throughout the auditorium: “What he really means is that everyone should go out and inherit a factory.”
    The remark had released the audience’s pent-up tension over the Traxis diatribe, and they had burst into laughter.
    Robert Traxis had never forgiven Bea, and since that day he had devoted time, energy, and money to her defeat or embarrassment. He was a logical candidate for Bea’s worst enemy.
    The door was opened by a blond man with hair nearly white who appeared to be in his mid-twenties. He wore a T-shirt that exposed well-muscled arms and shoulders, sweat pants, and New Balance running shoes. “Yeah,” he said in a flat voice. His slate-gray eyes were hard.
    â€œI want to see Traxis.”
    â€œHe’s in the gymnasium and is never disturbed.”
    â€œIt’s important. I’m coming in one way or the other,” Lyon said in a quiet voice.
    â€œReally.” The slate eyes appraised him. “Okay, what’s your name?”
    â€œWentworth.”
    â€œCome in.” The eyes flicked to the side of the door as he drew it back. Lyon stepped into the narrow hallway with its highly polished hardwood floors. “He gets mad as hell if I break into his workouts.”
    â€œAsk him.”
    The man shrugged and padded silently down the hall into the far recesses of the house. The facade of the building that fronted on the street was deceptive. The house extended far to the rear, with a dozen first-floor rooms opening off the hall. Midway down the hall, a steep stairwell rose to the second floor, while on the walls framed paintings of sea captains stared unemotionally out of past centuries.
    Lyon wondered how many of the grim-faced men on the wall had engaged in the lucrative slave trade. He knew that many venerable Northeast fortunes had been started that way and then converted to respectability through the emergence of nineteenth-century textile plants. These fortunes were now snugly harbored in stocks and bonds and managed by very conservative trust officers.
    The pale man appeared at the far end of the hall and gestured to Lyon to follow him.
    Robert Trainor Traxis was dressed in a gray sweat suit and was on his back doing leg exercises within the maze of a Universal gym. Lyon stood ten feet behind him as Traxis finished his set and let his feet fall to the floor. A large sweat V stained the front of his sweat shirt.
    â€œWhat in the hell do you want, Wentworth?”
    â€œI want to talk to you about my wife.”
    Traxis flipped over and did rapid push-ups and then scrambled lightly to his feet in a lithe movement that belied his fifty years. He was a chunky man with a completely bald head and a physical vitality that seemed to permeate his body. His facial features were flat and expressionless, and his eyes were cold. “I don’t play the hypocrite, Wentworth. I know your wife is missing, and that’s too bad, but don’t ask me to bleed for her.”
    Lyon felt a well of anger rise into his dry mouth. He fought to retain his composure. “I would hardly come here for any sympathy, Traxis.”
    â€œThen why are you here? I run a tight schedule, and I have to shower, change, and be back at the plant within the hour.”
    Lyon mentally reviewed what information concerning Bea’s disappearance had been released to the media. He knew the fact that the ransom payment was in stamps had been withheld, as had the London drop-off. “I understand you make frequent trips to England?”
    â€œVery frequent.”