by Howe, A. E.
Josephine was shocked. Blasko had never summoned her to his room during the day. Hiding her surprise, she said, “Please excuse me,” then headed quickly up the stairs with Anton at her heels.
“It’s me,” she said, knocking on Blasko’s door. Anton squeezed around her and opened it before she could turn the knob.
“He said for me to bring you,” the little man said as they entered the darkened room where the curtains had been pinned tightly shut. Anton opened the lid of the portable coffin.
“We need a bier for this,” Blasko muttered as he climbed weakly out of the coffin. “Excellent design, but I do not like being down on the floor.” Gripping the back of a chair to steady himself, he looked closely at Josephine. “You are safe?” he asked, his voice full of concern.
Josephine realized that, even through his deep sleep, Blasko had known about the attack. Ever since the first day they’d met when she’d accidentally drank some of his blood in self-defense, they had been bound together by an inextricable force. This bond gave Blasko a sixth sense about Josephine and he’d never failed to know when she was in danger.
“Yes… Well, there was some difficulty.”
“Tell me.”
She explained the whole series of events from her first meeting with the postmistress to the body’s mysterious disappearance.
“Excellent!”
“Which part? When I get attacked or when I lose half of my uncle’s letter?” Josephine asked, frowning. She pulled the letter out of her pocket.
“Let me see that,” Blasko said, reaching for it.
“Not so fast. I haven’t had time to look at it myself. Now I wish I’d read it when Mitzi gave it to me.” She looked at the tattered paper. “This is less than half of it.”
She stepped over to the bedside lamp and turned it on. Blasko moved next to her and read over her shoulder. The letter had been two pages, both printed front and back. It had torn almost across the middle.
“What do you think?” Josephine asked once they’d both been able to read what little they could.
“It is hard to decipher from what we have, but this seems to imply that your uncle found out about some sort of… treasure. He mentions a sailor he met who claimed to have seen it buried on another island near here. The last part of the letter looks like the start of directions, nautical coordinates and such.”
“But we only have part of them, which won’t do us much good.”
“On the other hand, the person who killed for the letter also only has part of it.”
“Which means they’re not likely to find the treasure either.”
“Probably not. And they have killed once. I doubt they will hesitate to kill again to get this half of the letter,” Blasko said solemnly. “There’s a morbid air about this town. The fishermen in particular seem to be suffering from some odd metamorphosis.”
“There was something wrong with the man who was murdered. The skin on his face was scaly. And now that I think about it, his ears were odd too.”
“You say he wore a coat and hat? That sounds like the fishermen I observed last night.” Blasko touched his temples and winced. “I can’t tell you about it now. I must rest. But promise me that you won’t do anything more until I wake at dusk.”
“The sheriff is on his way. I’ll have to talk to him and show him where the attack and the murder took place.”
“You’ll be safe with him. But I’m serious. Don’t go about town on your own.”
As a rule, Josephine hated to give in to his demands. However, she could tell that this request came from his heart. She wondered what he’d seen during his nighttime walk through the town.
“I promise,” she told him, touching his arm softly.
He nodded and returned to his coffin. Josephine left the room as Anton shut the lid.
As she came back down the stairs, she heard a commotion in the lobby.
“What do you mean, the body is gone?” a gruff male voice asked.
“I’m just telling you what that woman said,” Mrs. Lachlan responded.
“I’m here, Mrs. Lachlan.”
She could see Mrs. Lachlan standing next to a tall, thin man wearing a button-down shirt and dark pants. He held his hat in one hand and was slapping it absentmindedly against his thigh as he watched Josephine come down. There was a star pinned to his shirt and a revolver strapped to his waist.
“You must be the sheriff. I’m Josephine Nicolson.” She extended her hand and tried hard to seem like a level-headed person who didn’t imagine murders.
He shook her hand like it was a water moccasin. “Yes, I’m Sheriff Gentry. Miss Nicolson, you say you saw a murder?” His face was skeptical, but Josephine thought that underneath his tough veneer was a man who wanted very much to run out the door and drive away as fast as he could.
“First, I was assaulted. Then the person who attacked me was killed,” she said calmly.
“Where did this happen?”
“At the post office,” Mrs. Lachlan said. Both Josephine and the sheriff gave her a look making it clear she should butt out.
“The attacker came out of the alley next to the post office,” Josephine explained.
“Why don’t we go down there and see where it happened?” Gentry said and turned to Mrs. Lachlan. “Thank you for your help.” It was clear he didn’t want her following them to the scene.
“Well, if you don’t need me,” Mrs. Lachlan said, a touch of annoyance in her voice. She didn’t budge, but watched them as they left the hotel.
Sheriff Gentry didn’t speak as they walked down the street. Josephine had decided not to volunteer any information. She thought it would sound desperate if she threw facts at him. As they walked, she thought she saw a few of the locals peering out at them from the storefronts.
“So tell me what happened,” Gentry said when they were standing next to the post office.
“I came out of the post office and walked along the sidewalk. I should have been more careful, but it was morning and…” She shrugged.
“What had you been doing at the post office?”
“I was talking to the postmistress.” Josephine didn’t want to mention the letter.
“Did you buy anything?”
“No.”
“So what were you talking to her about? You’re from out of town, aren’t you?” He gave her a hard look that made it clear he knew she was being evasive.
“It’s personal…” Josephine paused before coming up with an answer. “She knew my uncle before the war. I wanted to meet the woman he’d spoken of so fondly,” she lied.
“Okay, so you came out of the post office and this man was hiding in the alley and attacked you. Did he take anything?”
“No.” Another lie. “He grabbed at my purse and I fought with him.”
“Were you injured?”
Josephine showed him her elbows, where the bruises she’d sustained in the scuffle were already turning a yellowish purple. “And I assume you will believe me when I tell you that my knees are also scraped.” She thought it would give a better impression if she didn’t raise her skirt and show him her damaged knees.
“Of course,” he said, looking sympathetic for the first time. “What happened after he tried to grab your purse?”
“We struggled until he gave up and ran down the alley. It took me a minute to recover and, when I did, I looked where he’d gone. I was in shock and didn’t know what to do, but then he stumbled back into the alley. When he fell to the ground, I could see a knife sticking out of his back.”
“So you’re telling me that, after he jumped you, someone else stabbed him in the back?” Gentry’s voice made it clear that he thought she was either crazy or lying through her teeth.
“That is exactly what happened.”
“Do you think someone killed him because he attacked you?” Gentry asked, his eyes narrowed.
“Maybe.” Josephine hadn’t considered that possibility. Of course, the sheriff didn’t know that the vict
im had stolen part of a letter that was still missing. It had seemed clear to Josephine from the start that the second attack was motivated by the same thing as the first—the letter. But she wasn’t going to mention it to the sheriff. The last thing she wanted was for him to take the letter as evidence.
“Show me exactly where the man fell,” Gentry said, entering the alley. Josephine followed. “Did you approach the body?”
“I did. I… don’t know what I was thinking.” This at least was the whole truth. Looking back on it, Josephine realized she could have gotten herself into even deeper trouble.
“Then you and this other guest, Mr. Donavan, came back and the body was gone?”
“That’s right,” she said, trying to get ahead of the narrative. “The body was right there. Just inside this end of the alley. See, there was blood here.” She pointed to the fading spot on the crushed shells.
The sheriff was thorough. He got down on his hands and knees, examining the ground and the walls on both sides of the alley. “Humph,” he grunted, looking closely at the spot Josephine had indicated. “This could be blood,” he said, just barely touching the spot. With the sun and heat, the stain had mostly faded into the dry shells.
Gentry stood up and walked out of the alley. After a few minutes, he came back and faced Josephine. “Sheriff Avery told me about you and your friends.”
“He took us for gangsters,” Josephine said with more than a hint of derision.
“Now be fair. The hotel called it in. The point is, he told me that y’all were coming down here and that, in his estimate, trouble was going to follow. And now here we are.” He glowered at her.
“Why don’t you like coming to Cedar Island?” Josephine asked. She didn’t like his attitude and figured she didn’t have much to lose by turning the tables on him.
Gentry’s face turned a deep scarlet as his jaw muscles tightened. Josephine realized she might have miscalculated. He took a couple of deep breaths, then stepped in closer so that they were only a foot apart.
“There is a smell to this place. Has been as long as I’ve been with the sheriff’s office. You’re darn right I don’t like coming out here. And I think you should count your lucky stars that the body disappeared and not you.” He paused, still looking her in the eye. It was obvious to Josephine that he had more to say, but was trying to decide how much he wanted to tell her. Finally he said, “I’m assuming that if you’re a part of whatever strange and… I’ll just say it, wicked, business is going on here, then you wouldn’t have called me. So I’ll tell you, don’t go near the water or the fishermen. Better yet, pack up and leave. There is nothing but trouble out here.”
“What about the body?”
“It’s gone. Even if I found it, I wouldn’t find anyone interested in solving the murder. That’s how it is out here. Any law there is comes from those that live here.”
“Have there been other murders on the island?”
He shrugged. “People come out here and never come back. What I can tell you is that, in my lifetime, no one has ever been arrested for any crime that happened on Cedar Island.”
“Why don’t you do something about it?”
“Like what? There’s me and five deputies. You don’t get it. These people aren’t interested in my help.” Gentry looked down at the ground. “I don’t know what the hell is going on out here. As far as I’m concerned, my job is to see that whatever corruption has sunk its roots on the island doesn’t cross the bridge.” He started to walk away from her. “Don’t send for me again.” Then he stopped and turned back. “And if someone calls me up in a month and says they haven’t heard from you, I won’t come looking either.”
With that, he spun on his heel and headed back toward the hotel. Josephine trailed after him, baffled by his attitude and even more aware of the eyes watching them from the windows of the town.
Chapter Ten
“I could have told you that he wouldn’t do much,” Mrs. Lachlan said as she and Josephine watched the sheriff drive away. “He didn’t do anything when my hus—” She stopped talking and looked embarrassed.
“What’s happening on this island?” Josephine asked her bluntly.
“Don’t know what you mean. I’m not saying there aren’t some odd ones living here, but bad things happen everywhere.” Josephine heard a sad weariness in Mrs. Lachlan’s voice.
“Bodies don’t disappear in most towns.”
“You want a suspect? I’d suggest looking at that nut staying in the old Sharp place.”
“What?”
“A real strange one. Came in a while back asking all sorts of questions. Stayed overnight with me before renting the Sharp house. Then, about two weeks ago, he closed and locked the shutters. No one’s seen him since.”
“You mean he disappeared?” Josephine’s interest was piqued.
“No. Not like that. He’s in that house, just no one has seen him. He’s got the Martin boy delivering food to him. Pays him by pushing the money under the door. When the boy leaves, he opens the door and grabs the food.”
“Who is he?”
“Said his name was Howard Phillips. Not that I believed that bit of malarkey.”
“Why not?”
“’Cause I watched him write his name in the register. He had to think about writing that name down. I’ve been in this business a bunch of years. People don’t think about writing their own names. Not unless they’re… you know, not real bright.”
“You said he asked questions?”
“All kinds. Started out asking about the fishing. Nothing odd there, but then he started in on the fishermen. Wanted to know when they fished, the names of the best fishermen. He also asked a bunch of questions about shipwrecks. I finally told him he’d have to go down to the docks and ask the men themselves. Didn’t seem too keen on that.”
“What did he look like?”
“Tall, gangly fella. Dark hair. Guess he was thirty years old, maybe a bit older. Had one of them Yankee accents.” Mrs. Lachlan was frowning as she recalled the man.
“You say he made arrangements to rent a house for a few weeks?”
“That’s right. The owner, Mrs. Sharp, said he’s still paying the rent so she don’t care what he does as long as the house is still standing when he leaves.”
“Where does Mrs. Sharp live?”
“Up by the church. It was her father-in-law’s house until he went out on his boat a few years ago and never came back.”
Josephine was already trying to decide whether she should go knock on the man’s door or his landlord’s. Something about Mrs. Lachlan’s description of the man was niggling at a part of her mind.
“Would she talk to me?”
“Ha! Maddie will talk to anyone who doesn’t run away.”
“Do you think she’d be home now?”
“Don’t see why she wouldn’t be.”
“I’m going over there,” Josephine said, making up her mind as she said it.
“She won’t like it if you’re trying to get her tenant in trouble. That’s the first cash money she’s seen for a while,” Mrs. Lachlan warned.
“I just want to find out what’s going on.”
“Around here? Good luck! Folks around here know how to keep secrets.”
Josephine headed upstairs to find Grace. After everything that had happened, she didn’t want to go across town by herself. The maid was on the balcony sitting in a rocking chair, looking out on the Gulf waters in the distance.
“I’m going back outside. Will you come with me?”
“After you were attacked and that man killed? You should just wait until the baron wakes up.” Grace’s tone held a hint of finality.
Josephine thought back to the days not so long ago when Grace hadn’t trusted the baron. Now, after he’d saved her brother from accusations of murder and had proved capable of tackling the malignant forces that had been plaguing Sumter, she’d seen him more often than not as the solution to their problems rather than the cause of
them.
“I’m not going to wait until it’s dark. I want to talk to a woman about a house she’s renting,” Josephine told her.
“I’ve been watchin’ the town from up here. This place is mighty strange. Folks skulkin’ around. That sundry store across the street… she’s done locked the door a dozen times when she’s seen somebody comin’. Other times she swings the door wide and near ’bouts drags some people in.”
Josephine looked across the street at the five-and-dime store. “Who does she let in and who does she lock the door on?”
“The ones she keeps out are those that are practically hiding under their hats. There! Like that fella down the street.” Grace pointed to a man who was walking slowly down the road with his hat pulled low over his eyes and the collar of his coat turned up. Like Josephine’s attacker, he was over-dressed for the heat and his movements looked awkward and unnatural.
“Please come with me,” Josephine said. She was afraid that if she thought about it any more, she’d chicken out of leaving the hotel. As it was, she was feeling guilty for breaking her promise to Blasko.
“Is Anton coming?” Grace asked.
“He needs to watch over the baron,” Josephine said. As much as she would have liked having a man with them, she thought it was best to leave Anton with Blasko. “But we’ll tell him where we’re going.”
Anton took the news with his usual stoic attitude. Josephine told him to let the baron know immediately if they didn’t return by sundown, though her heart was sure that Blasko would already know.
“There’s an odd man renting a house in town,” she explained to Grace as they walked up a small sandy hill toward a church steeple at the center of town.
“I thought we’d agreed that half this town is made up of creepy people. What’s so special about this one?” Grace asked.
“He’s a stranger. Came into town a few weeks ago.”
As they climbed the short hill, Josephine could see that the church was in need of repair. There were shingles missing from the roof and most of the paint was peeling off of the boards. Next door was a small house with a porch running across the front. According to the directions she’d wrangled from Mrs. Lachlan, this was the home of Mrs. Sharp. Like the church, her house was also in need of fresh boards and a new coat of paint.
