Goodnight Irene

by James Scott Byrnside

  Tellum filled the billiard-room doorway. “You don’t have to stand there looking out the window. Either he’ll make it here or he won’t.”

  She answered him without looking. “I just want everything to happen as planned. I don’t want to disappoint Mr. Lasciva, that’s all.”

  “Will Bernice be ready?”

  She turned her head. “Aunt Bernice was quite tired when I left her, but I’m sure she’ll be up for making an appearance tonight.”

  Tellum nodded and left.

  Ruth put her left ring finger back in her mouth and ripped out the cuticle. She stared at the tiny wave of blood that swelled over her lunula.

  Tellum’s coughing reverberated through the hall. He pounded his chest and drew an arduous breath.

  Goddamn Paulie and his cigarettes.

  He waddled toward Lasciva’s office at the back of the manor. After knocking on the door, he waited exactly ten seconds and then opened it.

  Robert Lasciva drummed his misshapen fingers on the top of his desk and stared at Tellum. He turned his palms upward.

  Tellum trapped a belch in his mouth and silently let it out. “Everything is ready. I don’t know what else you expect from me.”

  “What are my nephew and his wife doing?”

  “They went on the porch. Relax, they aren’t going anywhere.” A crackling noise came from the fireplace as sparks hit the wrought-iron screen. “Why do you have that thing going? It’s so goddamned hot.”

  Lasciva pulled out a cigar cutter and put it next to a box of matches. “Where’s Ruth?”

  “She’s in the billiard room staring out the window; hasn’t moved for the last twenty minutes. Flighty dame.”

  “That’s because she has a job to do and when she has a job to do, the job gets done.”

  “I’m doing my job, Bob. I can’t make Manory drive any faster.”

  The cutter clicked on the end of a cigar. “Is Willie packed?”

  “Are you going to ask me if I wiped my ass? What is this?”

  “This weekend is very important to me.” Lasciva struck a match and puffed the cigar until it was properly lit. He licked his teeth. “Is uhhh…is Bernice comfortable?”

  “Yeah, well, you need to lighten up, boss. Paulie’s in the library, Ruth’s in the billiard room, the kids are on the porch, Bernice will be ready, and Willie can go screw. I still don’t know why you need to have this dog and pony show. I could take care of this thing in five minutes.” As Tellum turned to leave, the candlelight reflected off his sweat.

  “Jack. You don’t look so good. You aren’t getting sick on me, are you?”

  The bodyguard pulled out his flask. “This stuff will kill whatever bug I’ve got.”

  Tellum shut the door and had taken one step down the hall when it hit him. His sight blurred and he stumbled, reaching for the wall. He slumped to the floor and squeezed his hands. The pain started in his chest and crossed down to his stomach. He pictured it as a tidal wave and kept telling himself to ride it out. Finally, it abated. The sweat had formed a sheet over his skin.

  “Are you okay, Mr. Tellum? Did you have too much to drink?” The voice came from the kitchen. It was Willie Aikes. The butler was leaning against the jamb; his head almost reached the top of the frame.

  Tellum gasped and scrambled to his feet. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and mangled his words a few times before saying intelligibly, “You packed, Aikes?”

  “Yeah. I’m good to go, just waiting for this Chicago fella. He’s sure taking his time getting here. You don’t think something’s happened to him?”

  “After you show him to his room, I want you outta here. Understand?”

  “Of course, Mr. Tellum.”

  He walked toward Willie and stopped a foot from him. “Don’t you have anything better to do than stand there and gawk?”

  “No, everything’s done. I—”

  “Then find something else to do. If I look at you too long, I’ll have nightmares.” Tellum smiled. “How’s your brother doing?”

  Willie’s eyes darted toward the floor. “Jerry’s fine.”

  “Yeah, well, tell him I said hello.”

  Willie backed into the dining room as Tellum coughed his way down the hall.

  I hope that turns out to be something serious, Mr. Tellum. I hope it turns out to be something you never recover from.

  Tellum composed himself before entering the library. “Are the limeys still outside?”

  “You look like cold death,” said Daniels.

  “Yeah, well, I’m fine.” He had another shot of panther piss. “He’ll be here soon. Then we can get started and this nonsense will be over with.”

  The manor’s appearance as Rowan and Walter came up the road had no resemblance to Walter Anderson’s photographs in the Jackson museum. The fierce rain-soaked winds caused the spindly willow limbs to violently thrash, attempting to ward off any foolish visitors. In every window, the flicker of candle flames pulsated and created the illusion of movement.

  It is breathing.

  Walter shut off the engine a good twenty feet from the driveway. “How lovely. What do you think? Human experimentation? Satanic ritual?”

  “Williams…”

  “A wendigo?”

  “Do you see? There are two people on the porch.”

  Backlit by the window of the billiard room, two silhouettes stood under the enormous eave. One of them gesticulated wildly and struck the other across the face. Both shadows then withdrew from the porch into the manor.

  Walter said, “Trouble in paradise. What do you make of that?”

  “Most interesting.” Rowan looked among the ghostly trees and felt an undulating interior chill. “Eyes and ears open, Williams.”

  Walter started the car again and parked between a tan Studebaker and a red Fiat along the limestone drive. The detectives fetched the luggage from the trunk and ran through the hurling wind onto the porch.

  The manor door creaked open.

  Rows and rows of candles provided a warm glow to the hallway behind the five partygoers. Tellum, Daniels, Charles, and Margaret stood in a line.

  Ruth Martice stood in front of them. “Is the weather this lovely back in Chicago?”

  Rowan dropped his suitcase on the floor. “Not quite.”

  She extended her diminutive hand and he removed his sopping wet glove to grasp it. The prickly points of dead skin on her fingers raked against his flesh. “I’m glad you made it, Mr. Manory. We’ve been expecting you.”

  chapter 6

  First impressions

  The easiest way to spot a fake smile is the absence of crow’s feet. When one genuinely smiles, the orbicularis oculi muscle contracts and causes crow’s feet to appear. The mouth speaks, but the eyes reveal so much more.

  It was Rowan’s habit to size a person up as quickly as possible, providing both valuable insight and a testing ground for his powers of observation. In any event, it added a certain pleasure to the boring societal function of introducing oneself.

  Ruth Martice is the only one wearing a real smile. However, her dermatophagia would suggest she is perpetually nervous. From her unassuming black dress, I can infer that she cares not a whit about impressing anyone. Her limbs are tiny, but her frame is quite muscular and her eyes are much too large for her head. It is almost as if certain parts of her body ceased their growth while others continued unabated.

  And what of the others? None of them are showing crow’s feet. This is not a happy celebration. Are they upset that I am here or are they upset that they are here?

  The nephew and his wife both have mid-Atlantic accents, but hers is far more pronounced than his. Charles seems to be literally dependent on her. Whenever she leaves him, his legs cross and he leans to one side. The word that comes to mind is ‘feckless’.

  When they are together, Margaret stands a bit in front of him. Even a moron like Tommy… Even a moron knows what that means. Did you slap Charles on the porch? I can believe he would not strike b
ack. Look at those pearls. Good Lord.

  At least they are trying to be friendly. Jack Tellum has refrained from offering even a fake smile. The man looks just like his mug shot from twenty-two years ago. His handshake hurts, and he is aware of this fact. He’s probably even a bit proud of it. What is the gun in his holster?

  “Pardon me, Mr. Tellum. Which direction is the town of Jackson from here?”

  Tellum pointed to the left without saying anything.

  That is a Colt Police Positive in his holster. He must have been given the gun by a department. I suppose he could have stolen it from an officer, but for some reason I think it was a gift.

  Finally, there is the lawyer. Your face is flushed. Are you angry about something, Mr. Daniels? You sound like a swish, but I have heard that is not the case.

  “Did Ruth give you bad directions?” asked Daniels.

  “What was that?”

  “Is the house girl not doing her job? Is that why you and Mr. Williams were late?”

  “Not at all. The directions were from Robert.”

  “Of course. I forgot.”

  Tellum suppressed a cough. “Mr. Lasciva would like to have a word with you.”

  Ruth said, “Oh, Jack, there is plenty of time. These gentlemen have just had a very long and possibly dangerous drive.”

  “I’m just saying what was said to me.”

  Rowan eyed the drops of sweat on Tellum’s forehead. “No need to worry. I look forward to speaking with him.”

  Walter took the opportunity to ask Margaret a question about England that he had long harbored. “What does your country do on the fourth of July?”

  “Whatever do you mean? We do nothing.”

  “Is there a day of mourning? You see, we Americans have never really lost. We can’t even imagine what it’s like.”

  “What about the Alamo?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t remember the Alamo.”

  Margaret showed her crow’s feet. Her laughter made its way down the hall of the manor.

  And then…

  Robert Lasciva opened his office door and strode down the long hallway with cocksure rhythm. The chitchat abated, leaving only the muffled sound of the rain and the creak of the wooden floor. All the guests faced him.

  “It’s been so long, Rowan,” Lasciva said from the middle of the hallway. As he neared, his lime-green eyes looked down on the detective.

  “Happy birthday, my friend. We forgot to bring you a present.”

  “Oh, I’ve gotten everything I wanted. My friends and family are here with me.” He looked around. “Well, all except for Bernie.”

  “Who is Bernie?”

  “My aunt Bernice. She’s asleep upstairs. Don’t worry, you’ll get to meet her.”

  “Wonderful. In the meantime, Walter and I would love to change our clothes.”

  “I’ll call the butler.” He gave a lopsided grin. “I’m so glad you’re here.” Lasciva shouted down the hall. “Willie!”

  Willie Aikes emerged from the dining room and lumbered down the hall. He took their bags and said, “This way, fellas.”

  As they passed the doorway to Lasciva’s office, a cuckoo signaled nine o’clock. Willie led them up the detached spiral staircase to their room on the second floor.

  Willie’s protruding forehead caused permanent shadows over his sunken eyes. As the only Mississippian in the house, the butler’s languorous drawl stood in sharp contrast to the clipped accents downstairs. “It’s a comfortable room, sir. You’ll be happy in here. You best keep the windows shut. I reckon the rain’s not going to stop any time soon.”

  Rowan wound his pocket watch and sat on the edge of the bed. “Is this your room, William?”

  “It’s Willie, sir. Yes, it is.”

  “Where will you sleep tonight?”

  “I’m staying with my brother. He lives down in Monroe.”

  “You are driving in this weather?” Just the thought of going on the road again caused Rowan’s spine to spasm.

  Walter frowned. “I could barely see five feet in front of the car.”

  “It’s only about thirty miles, not a bad drive at all. Also, I’ve had about six months of driving in this rain. A fella gets used to things.”

  Rowan said, “Tell me, William—”

  “Willie.”

  “Tell me, Willie, does Ruth Martice live here as well?”

  “Oh yeah,” Willie said. “Miss Martice has a room, Mr. Tellum too.”

  “Tellum is a full-time bodyguard?”

  “Twenty-four hours a day. I can tell you right now, you don’t want to cross him either. I seen some things that… Well, let’s just say I seen some things. Mr. Tellum makes you feel like a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.”

  Rowan rolled a cigarette and offered it to Willie. He graciously took it and the detective made a point to light it for him. “Does Paul Daniels live here too?”

  “The lawyer fellow? No. He’s got a house over in Clarksdale. That’s the town where Miss Martice worked before she came here. That’s how she got the job. Mr. Daniels used to spend quite a bit of time in the manor but not so much nowadays. This is the first time I’ve seen him here in quite a while.”

  Walter took note of Rowan’s body language. With a country guy like Willie, Rowan took on a relaxed posture, nothing like the stuffed shirt that squeezed information from Delores Mcguinn, the debutante blackmailing her lover. It was also a far cry from the tiger that stood firm while Tommy Brent held a gun to his head.

  “What can you tell me about the nephew and his wife?”

  Willie’s face scrunched up in confusion. “That’s a funny thing. Mr. Lasciva never made mention of a nephew. I have worked here two years and three months and sure as Sunday he never brought it up. He told me we’d have two extra guests and said one of them was a nephew. That was the first I heard about it. In fact, it was the first time he said anything about any family. He never mentioned his Aunt Bernice, neither. Of course, I don’t know nothing. I just work here is all.”

  Rowan cocked his head. “Oh yes, we did not get a chance to meet Madame Lasciva. Is she shy?”

  “She’s been in bed since noon, only comes down for lunch and sometimes an evening cocktail. Miss Martice says she’s got some disease that makes her tired all the time.” He opened his mouth to speak but reconsidered. “Nah. I shouldn’t say it.”

  “William—”

  “It’s Willie.”

  “Willie, anything you tell me stays in this room. You have my word.”

  Willie smiled at the connection he felt. He rarely spoke this much to guests and Rowan’s demeanor rang true. “I know I should be kind to a person that old but I can’t help myself. She is the meanest snake in the grass I’ve ever met. And I’ve lived in Mississippi my whole life.” Willie ducked his head into the upstairs hallway to make sure no one was listening. “She’s German.” He raised his eyebrows.

  “Wait till she meets Manory. A more charming man will have never graced her presence,” said Walter.

  “No, Mr. Williams. I’m telling you she hates everyone and everything, especially Miss Martice. I can’t figure it. Miss Martice is such a nice lady and that old woman calls her the filthiest names, stuff I wouldn’t say to a longshoreman. Bernice was having lunch and Ruthie wasn’t in the room. She asked Mr. Lasciva why he couldn’t afford a prettier secretary. Miss Martice told me she says the same kind of things right to her face.”

  “A real charmer, huh?” said Walter.

  “That’s family for you,” said Willie.

  Rowan polished the scuffs on his shoes. “Just one last question. Has Mr. Lasciva ever mentioned Dorothy Roberts?”

  Walter did a double take.

  Willie shook his head. “No, I can’t say he has. Of course I don’t really know nothing.”

  “You just work here.”

  “That’s right.”

  “You have been most helpful Will… Willie.”

  “If that’s all, sir, I’d
best be leaving. I’ll be gone until Tuesday so we won’t see each other again. But I want you to know, it’s been a real pleasure.” Willie paused for a moment and appeared deep in thought.

  “What is it, Willie?”

  “Oh, nothing, nothing. Just… Just watch yourselves while you’re here. Keep an eye on each other?”

  “Why would we have to do that?”

  “Just remember what I said about Mr. Tellum.”

  Willie left and shut the door.

  Walter squinted. “Why did you ask him that?”

  “I asked him many things, Williams.”

  “About Dorothy, why did you ask him about Dorothy Roberts?”

  Rowan ignored the question. “So, Lasciva and I will have a little chat. I’d like you to keep your eye on Charles and Margaret. Most likely it was the two of them that had the little scuffle on the porch. See if there is any tension lingering between them.”

  “No can do, boss. I talked to the nephew’s wife while you were talking with Ruth. She and Charles are going to bed early.”

  “A pity.”

  “She did tell me something rather odd, though. She said to stay away from the panther piss. Said it was too sweet.”

  “What is panther piss?”

  “I haven’t the foggiest. I pretended to know so I wouldn’t look stupid.”

  “Good work. You are a magnificent detective. Then play some billiards with Tellum and Daniels.”

  “Any theories on who wrote the note?”

  “From handshakes and pleasantries? No.”

  “My money is on Tellum. Did you see his face? He’s sweating like a whore in church.”

  “Where do you get these words from, Williams?”

  “I heard the desk jockey say it when we picked up the car. When you travel to a new place, you have to use the lingo.”

  “The last Southerner has just left. You can drop the act.”

  chapter 7

  Robert lasciva

  Robert Lasciva’s smile was permanently crooked as the result of a fight during his teen years as a pickpocket; the bend in his bottom right gum forced one side of his mouth to rise while the other dropped perceptibly. This trademark was on full display as Rowan examined the office’s centerpiece. The room had many conversation starters: the aforementioned cuckoo clock, a fifteenth-century Mandarin rug, and an original Thomas Hicks over the fireplace. Rowan, like the majority of Lasciva’s guests, was immediately attracted to the most impressive item. Enclosed in a locked seven-foot-tall glass case was a suit of armor with a battle ax propped against the right leg.