Page 34 of The Rule of 3

“Huh. Interesting. Hang on, Mama, just a sec. Actually, I’ll have to call you back later. Bye now.” He hung up and headed out to Opal’s desk where she looked perplexed.

“Any luck with the meeting?” he asked as she looked at him with a frown.

“No,” she said with pursed lips. “I was sent to voicemail, and the recording said the box was full, so I couldn’t even leave a message.”

“Well, they sent an email, can you just email them back?”

She frowned again and showed him the return address was one that said [email protected].

“Excuse me, Opal. I need to call my mama back.” He started to head back to his office and abruptly turned back around. “Or maybe you know. She said this colonel character was in the news a lot maybe ten or so years ago? He’s some kind of chicken farmer who has more money than sense?”

The lights went on in Opal’s eyes. “Oh, yes! How could I forget that? I must be gettin’ Oldtimer’s,” she laughed self-consciously. “He got himself embroiled in chicken wars when he tried to sell his chickens under the name ‘Colonel’s Chicken.’ That didn’t go over very well, and he was given a cease and desist order, so he tried to sue for the right and got handed his butt in a basket.” Opal blushed, “Excuse my language, Mayor Lassiter.”

“It’s fine, Opal. So, what else can you remember about him?”

She scrunched up her face in thought and chewed her lip. “Hmm. He has a wife who’s a lot younger’n he is. Quite a looker, if I remember.” Tanner chuckled at that, and she went on, “He seemed like a big bag of wind when he was interviewed on the news.”

“So, it doesn’t sound like he’s too dangerous—just a weirdo?”

“I wouldn’t be able to comment on that with any confidence. He seems like a wily one. Why don’t you go ahead and meet with him and take Mr. Whittaker with you? There’s always safety in numbers, and if this really is about your campaign, your campaign manager ought to be in on the meeting. If the old windbag doesn’t like it, he can just lump it!” Her cheeks went pink with her outburst.

Eli and Zoë waltzed in carrying fragrant bags of food. The aroma of french fries filled the office. “Lunch is served,” Eli announced. “We brought you a big juicy cheeseburger too, Opal. We left the onions off in case you’re expecting to get any action later.”

He winked at her and her blush increased as she giggled. “Oh, you go on, Mr. Whittaker! My Alfred will be much appreciative, I’m sure. Mrs. Lassiter, you’re looking as pretty as a picture today, I must say. Thank y’all for lunch.”

So, over burgers, Opal and Tanner filled them in on the summons to appear and Opal’s opinions. They all agreed it was a fine idea, and Eli announced, “I haven’t been fishing in a while. I’ve missed it.”

Tanner had to suppress a snort. “We’ll need new Kentucky fishing licenses. Good thing I know people in high places who can get us some quickly. I just hope he doesn’t have a little two-seater boat or something.”

Smiling contentedly, Eli responded, “If he does, we’ll just rent a bigger one for the day. And—we’ll take the helicopter and get there in an hour or less. This is going to be fun, Tan, no matter what the old coot turns out to be like.”

Later that evening when they all got home, Caro showed up with the research she’d done on this Colonel idiot. Over dinner, she shared her information with them.

Looking at her notes, Caro recited, “He’s 74 years old, originally a native of Arkansas, but moved to Kentucky twenty years ago. He has an ex-wife and three kids who refuse to have anything to do with him, and he’s currently married to his niece.”

Squinching up her face, Zoë squeaked, “Ew! Isn’t that illegal?”

“It is, so they had to go to Argentina to do the deed. It’s legal in some countries,” Caro explained. “Apparently, they haven’t been interested in procreating, so that’s good. A niece and uncle union, also called and avunculate marriage, is considered a much closer relationship genetically than first cousins marrying." She leveled them with a look. “You can imagine why his kids aren’t too happy to be around him.”

“So, what’s this character’s name? And why does he call himself Colonel?” Tanner asked.

Chuckling, Caro replied, “His given name is Arvol Silas Smelzer. Now there’s a guy who’d love to monogram everything, wouldn’t you say?” She ended her question with a snort. “His family started calling him Colonel as a joke when he was a little boy. He liked to play with his toy soldiers, and—the details are fuzzy here—his favorite was some colonel he aspired to be or something. The nickname apparently stuck.”

“Wow,” breathed Eli. “Nice work, Caro. So, do you know what floats his boat these days?”

“Well, sometime in his twenties he married and they had children spread out over about ten years. Years later, when he started cheating on his wife with his sister’s sixteen-year-old daughter, his wife moved out, taking the kids. Sometime after that, he relocated to Kentucky. He comes from old family money, but he’s a cutthroat businessman. His dealings have run the gamut from chicken farms, to casinos, fast food franchises—you name it. And you won’t be surprised to hear that he’s considered a strong political supporter when he sees someone he wants to back. He’s a power broker to be reckoned with, but he can’t seem to stick to one thing for very long. He’s flighty and fickle and considered a very dangerous enemy to have.”

Looking thoughtful and a little perturbed, Tanner mused, “Interesting. And he wants to meet with me? Does this mean he thinks I have a good chance of winning the election or that I’m young and moldable?”

Caro shrugged. “That’s anyone’s guess at this point. I guess you’ll have to go fishing with him and see for yourself. If nothing else, you’ll get some sun and maybe catch a trout or two.” She took a drink and continued, “Worst case scenario, he ruins your political career somehow.”

Eli chimed in, “That definitely would be the worst. Holy crap, what a strange man.”

“Mama and Opal both said he was pretty odd back when he was in the news with his failed chicken marketing plan,” Tanner said.

Caro continued, “Since that fiasco, he’s apparently tried to stay completely out of the news. He’s almost a recluse, so that explains the summons to appear on his terms and his lack of communication. I get the sense from the articles about him I dredged up that he’s a little like Howard Hughes in that way, only with a lot less charm.”

“Yeesh,” exclaimed Zoë. “I wonder what he’s going to try to get you to do for him, Tanner, in exchange for his support.”

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