BooksBarbecue
Back Less than Dead Save as PDF
Chapters (50)
  1. COVER PAGE
  2. TITLE PAGE
  3. COPYRIGHT PAGE
  4. DEDICATION
  5. CONTENTS
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Gunner Wendorf sat at the desk in his office arranging his sermon notes for the following Sunday. He heard a faint scratching sound and looked up; in the doorway he saw a small dog, not much larger than the head of a mop. Its pink wrinkled skin was visible through the sparse clumps of gray hair that sprouted from its body in every direction. Its head was almost bald except for one tuft of pure white hair that stood up straight on top. Its muzzle was small and pointed and had the color of an old man’s beard; it had round black eyes that seemed to have no pupils and shone like dots of ink. It had a bulldog’s jaw, misaligned so far that its lower canines jutted up on one side and its tongue stuck out on the other—a tiny pink pull tab on a grotesque little package.

When Gunner made eye contact with the dog it barked once, then waited. He snapped his fingers and made a quick gesture, and the dog disappeared into the night.

He turned out the light and followed.

13

13

Nick knew he had arrived at Bradenton long before he reached the entrance to the property. A stacked-stone wall ran parallel to the road for miles, topped by a split-rail fence in a kind of teepee configuration. Nick found himself staring at the stone wall as he drove, estimating the amount of stone and the number of man-hours necessary to produce such an endless structure. The wall provided no security; it was purely decorative. That’s what a man can do with money and sweat, Nick thought. Braden’s money and somebody else’s sweat.

Beyond the wall, vast pastures of verdant green rose and fell like ocean swells under the black rail fences. Holding ponds dotted the landscape like glistening gemstones, and Nick thought the neatly painted barns and equipment sheds looked like little milk cartons on a piece of green felt. Suddenly the wall rose into a towering column of stone, marking the entrance to the property. Nick pulled in and stopped his car under an elaborate black wrought-iron arch that spelled out the name “Bradenton” in an old copperplate script, framed by a leaping thoroughbred at either end. Nick looked down the road but saw no sign of a house anywhere. It was apparently concealed behind some hill or even over the horizon; the property must have been enormous.