by Howe, A. E.
“I was going to ask you the same thing. I had him pegged as the one who’d killed my thief.”
Donavan shook his head. “Nah, I think you read him wrong. He reminded me of an insurance investigator or the like.”
As soon as he said it, Josephine saw that her line of thinking had been all wrong. She realized that what Brock’s attitude had really reminded her of was Bobby Tucker at his most serious.
“I guess if we’re careful, we can look around the room a little,” Josephine suggested, knowing that it was wrong but unable to help herself.
“I’m right behind you. We’ll need to keep this on the hush-hush.”
“I won’t be snitching,” Josephine assured him. “But let’s do it together so we can vouch for the fact that we didn’t steal or disturb anything.”
“Deal.”
“I’ll do the snooping if you’ll do the supervising.”
“Lead on.”
Josephine went to the two suitcases beside the wardrobe and carefully placed the larger of the two onto the bed. She opened the leather bag and ran her hands all along the inside. She found a tin of aspirin, a ticket for a Chicago White Sox game at Comiskey Park, a half-used pack of matches that advertised some cheap elixir and, finally, a pencil. Josephine put everything back and replaced the first suitcase before repeating the exercise with the second one, finding only a second pencil and a damaged collar.
In the wardrobe, she methodically searched the pockets of his coats and pants, finding mostly lint and old gum wrappers. It was only when she got to the last suitcoat that she found anything interesting—a bullet from a .38 special.
“A lot of bulls use those,” Donavan said. “You know, Colt Police Specials.”
“You sound more like you’re from Chicago than Canada.” Josephine stopped searching and looked at him hard.
“I was born in Chicago. But my folks are from Canada and my father moved us back for business reasons,” he said, looking up at the ceiling.
“During Prohibition?”
“I think you get the picture. Lots of trips across the border and gangster talk before Mom made sure I got off to university.”
“Now you’re all grown up,” Josephine joked.
“Yes, but now I’m fighting to keep my assistant professor position at the University of British Columbia. There was going to be a round of layoffs, so I grabbed the letter when it came into the Anthropology Department. I figured they couldn’t fire me if I was off on a project. Of course, they made me agree to pay my own travel expenses.”
Josephine went back to searching the drawers in the wardrobe. Brock had placed everything neatly.
“Military man. Rolling up his socks like that,” Donavan said.
Josephine was very careful to put everything back where she’d found it as she searched. In the bottom drawer, she found a paperback hidden under several T-shirts.
“Got something,” she said, holding up the book. Diamond Jim’s Bad Girls Rodeo read the title, and the cover was graced with a couple of buxom ladies in their underwear, drawn in lurid detail.
“I take that back,” Josephine blushed. She started to return the book to where she’d found it when she realized that a tawdry novel would be a great place to hide something. “Maybe I’d better flip through it.”
“Don’t let me stop you,” Donavan said with a smirk on his face. “I’ll just read over your shoulder.”
“Any part of your body touches mine and I promise you’ll regret it,” Josephine said, emphasizing her words with a menacing look. Donavan held up his hands.
Josephine flipped through the pages until she found a piece of paper, about an inch wide and four inches long, that had been used as a bookmark. Obviously torn from a larger document, they could make out only a few typed words on it.
“You might be right about him. There’s the word ‘district,’ part of a word ‘sum,’ which could be summons, a few names. I’d say it’s a court document.”
“I told you he had cop written all over him.”
Josephine put the makeshift bookmark back into the book and returned it to the drawer.
Next she went over to the bed and looked at the depressions in the mattress and pillows. There was no blood or dirt; nothing that would suggest anything other than a man who got up in the middle of the night on his own. Then a thought occurred to her. She ran her hand under the mattress near the headboard, until she felt a bulky metal object. Carefully, she withdrew a .38 special and held it up for Donavan to see.
“Again, what did I tell you?”
Josephine sniffed the gun, smelling only gun oil. “It hasn’t been fired since it was cleaned.”
“Nobody’s been shot,” he said as though she were stupid.
“Not yet.”
The fact that the gun was still under the mattress told Josephine that Brock hadn’t been concerned when he’d gotten out of bed. If someone had knocked on his door and he let them in, then he must have trusted them. She looked around the room again. There were no signs of a fight. Sure, the room could have been cleaned up, but the hotel’s walls were thin and a wrestling match in one of the rooms would have been heard by other guests. She put the gun back under the mattress just as she’d found it.
Lastly, Josephine checked the door into the hall. It was locked and didn’t look like it had been tampered with. She returned to the French door that led out onto the balcony, which they had found unlocked. Would a man who kept a gun under his bed leave a door unlocked when he went to bed? Unlikely, Josephine decided. But the lock on the door didn’t look like anyone had tried to pry it open, leading her to believe that Brock had let his killer into the room.
“I hear someone,” Donavan said in a hoarse whisper.
Josephine also heard the footsteps coming along the balcony. She tried to look like they hadn’t been snooping as Neith entered the room.
“They have sent for the sheriff.” Neith looked from Josephine to Donavan suspiciously.
“What?” Donavan asked.
“You look… Never mind. I’ll stay and wait.”
“If you’re going to be here, I need to go back to my room for a moment.” Josephine wanted to talk with Grace and see if she could arrange for her to get onto the mainland to make a call to Bobby.
“I heard already: there’s been another murder. I’m packin’ my bags right now,” Grace said when Josephine came to her room. “You aren’t talkin’ me into stayin’ no longer.”
A thought occurred to Josephine. “I wouldn’t dream of trying.”
Grace was shocked. “You wouldn’t?”
“No. But I’m going to write down the names of six people and give them to you. Call Bobby as soon as you get to the mainland. I need him or the colonel to do some background checks for me.”
Grace was standing in the middle of the room, holding her carpetbag and wearing a stunned expression. “You mean to say you aren’t goin’ back with me?” she asked, sounding less sure of herself.
“No. I’m going to send Anton home with you. When you get home, find out what Bobby and the colonel were able to learn and send their reply back with Anton.”
“Anton? Can that man even drive a car?” Grace looked worried that her plan to return home was not going the way she’d envisioned.
“Blasko’s been giving him lessons.” In truth, Blasko had hopes of adding “chauffer” to Anton’s list of duties. It hadn’t been going well, but Josephine wasn’t going to tell Grace.
“The baron can’t hardly back out of the driveway himself.” Grace sounded dubious.
“Anton can drive well enough, though you might need to make sure he doesn’t get lost.” Grace was an excellent navigator. On the trip down, she’d been good with the map and shown an uncanny sense of direction.
“If he can keep the car on the pavement, I’ll get us home,” Grace said firmly. “Though I don’t like you stayin’ here one bit. What happened to me just makin’ a phone call to Mr. Bobby?”
“This will be
more certain. Anyway, you can’t wait by the phone while they do the background checks. I’ll be fine. The baron is here. And so, I just found out, is Franklin Carter.”
“That bean pole? I never trusted him and his Yankee ways. And the baron… Don’t he need Anton to look after things when he’s…” Grace didn’t like to talk about the baron’s unusual habits. “…resting?”
“I can keep an eye on him. With luck, Anton can be back by sunset tomorrow.”
“You think that man can get back here by hisself?”
“He managed to get to our house from Romania by himself.”
“I guess you got a point there.” Grace opened her leather suitcase. “I don’t feel right leavin’ you.”
“This is important, Grace. Any information that Bobby or Colonel Etheridge can dig up will be useful.”
Josephine was able to convince Grace, but Anton took a little more persuading.
“I do not have the baron’s permission,” he said, shaking his head.
“You don’t have the baron’s permission, but you have my orders. If the baron is angry, he can take it out on me.”
“It is not a question of his being angry with me. I must protect him while he rests. He was gravely wounded last night,” Anton argued.
Josephine rubbed absently at the small marks on her neck. “I know. And I appreciate your concern for him. But I can look after him.”
Anton looked at her as though she’d just told him that she could lift a car over her head. “I don’t…”
“You will drive Grace back to Sumter in my car and—”
“Drive? You want me to drive?” Anton interrupted, his eyes aglow at the thought of driving
“Yes, drive. Now listen, Grace needs to make a call once you reach the mainland. When you get to Sumter, Deputy Tucker should have a message for me. Once you have it, you must get back here as quickly… as safely and quickly as you can. Do you understand?”
“I will get to drive your car,” Anton said with the same awe usually reserved for holy relics.
Josephine wasn’t sure he’d heard anything she’d said other than the fact that he was going to get to drive. It didn’t matter. She’d give Grace very explicit instructions that would include sending Anton back with any information Bobby was able to obtain.
“I have a… just one… question, Miss Josephine.” Anton wiped his hands up and down his pants nervously.
“What is it?”
“The pedals… You know, the pedals on the floor of your car. Yes, are they the same… order as in the baron’s car?” She stared at him. “I don’t suppose it matters…”
“It matters a great deal, Anton. How often has the baron let you drive his car?”
“Oh, many… several many times.” He waved the question away. “I was very good. Just like driving a wagon.” He smiled broadly.
Josephine had ridden with Mr. Gassmann on his milkman’s wagon when she was a child. He’d let her hold the reins and steer the horses around town for a couple of blocks. She couldn’t think of a single way that driving horses and driving a car were similar.
“Yes, the pedals are on the same side. Clutch, brake, pedal.”
“Good, good!” Anton said with a broad smile.
Josephine left Blasko’s room wondering if it wouldn’t be better to let Grace drive, even though she had never driven a car in her life as far as Josephine knew.
Josephine spent the next half hour writing up the list of names and background questions that she wanted Bobby to research. At least as much as he could in twenty-four hours. At one point, she had to go down to the foyer and sneak a look at the hotel’s register to make sure she had the correct spelling of all the guests’ names.
Back upstairs, she folded the message into an envelope and gave it to Grace, then they both went to fetch Anton.
“What is that?” Josephine asked, when Anton met them at the door holding a package the size of dress box in his hands.
“Nothing,” Anton told her, remembering what Blasko had said about not letting even Josephine see the book.
“It is clearly something,” she said, exasperated.
“Sorry, Miss… It is… my undergarments. I wish to wash them when I get home,” Anton said, showing his crooked teeth in a small smile.
Josephine didn’t believe for a minute that he was taking his underwear with him, but there wasn’t time to argue.
“Fine. Just go,” she said, and they followed him down the stairs and out to the car.
“Show me how you start it and how you change gears,” Josephine told Anton once he was seated behind the wheel with the seat adjusted as far forward as it would go.
He gave her a passable explanation of how to operate the car. Josephine decided it was the best she could hope for.
“Be safe. Go as fast as you can without speeding or running off the road. If anyone stops you, give them this note.”
She’d written a short letter explaining that the two occupants of the car were on a mission to deliver a letter to the acting sheriff of Semmes County, Alabama. At the bottom, she’d added contact information for herself, Colonel Etheridge and Bobby Tucker.
Watching Anton hesitantly drive away from the curb with Grace sitting nervously beside him, Josephine raised her eyes to heaven and said a little prayer.
Chapter Seventeen
As she turned to go back into the hotel, two other vehicles pulled up. One was an old Model-A Ford with a star on the side. Its engine sputtered to a halt as Sheriff Gentry climbed out, brushing past Josephine as he headed onto the porch and into the hotel. He was followed by the two local men who had gone to the mainland to find him. They all looked grim.
Josephine hurried inside and up the stairs as quickly as she could. She saw one of the men point to the door of Brock’s room and the sheriff barged inside without knocking. The two men hung back, but Josephine slipped by them and followed the sheriff into the room.
“Where’s the body?” Sheriff Gentry barked at Donavan.
“In the tub.” Donavan pointed toward the bathroom.
The sheriff’s boots clumped across the pine floor as he entered the bathroom. Josephine glanced at Neith and Donavan as she followed the sheriff.
He went to the body without even glancing around the room. Gentry stood looking down at the dead Wallace Brock for a couple of minutes, as though looking into a reflecting pool. When he finally turned, he was shocked to see Josephine standing behind him.
“What the hell are you doing in here?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “It was an accidental death.”
He started to push past her, but Josephine held her ground. Gentry’s only two options were to push her out of the way or to stop. He stopped.
“You didn’t even check the body,” Josephine accused him.
“Didn’t have to. It’s obvious he tripped getting into the tub, hit his head and drowned.”
“He was getting into the tub in his underwear?”
“People do odd things. What are you doing in here anyway?”
“Apparently I’m keeping an eye on you,” she snapped, and could almost see his hackles rise.
“Look, lady. And I say lady, though I don’t know what kind of lady would be in a dead man’s bathroom looking at him in his underwear. You need to back off.”
“I’m not going to respect you as the sheriff until you start acting like one.” Josephine crossed her arms and held her ground.
“How would you like to go to jail for obstructing justice?”
“I don’t see any justice happening here.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Josephine saw the sheriff turn a bright red.
“That’s enough,” he said through gritted teeth. His left hand reached back and pulled a pair of handcuffs from somewhere under his jacket.
Josephine realized that she’d pushed him too far. What will happen to Dragomir if I’m arrested? she wondered. With Anton and Grace on their way back to Sumter, she was the only one left who could protect Blask
o during the day. The weight of that responsibility hadn’t dawned on her until that moment.
“Sheriff, I’m sorry. Two murd… deaths in two days just has me really upset.” She did her best little-ol’-me impression and, to her relief, saw the sheriff’s muscles relax.
“I’m not sure there were two deaths,” Gentry said, giving her the eye.
“Yesterday was confusing.” She couldn’t bring herself to pretend like there hadn’t been a murder the day before, but for Blasko’s sake she was willing to give the sheriff an out. It doesn’t matter. He’s not going to conduct any sort of investigation anyway, she told herself. Her only objective now was to get through the next ten minutes without being arrested.
“Yeah. I found it a bit confusing myself,” the sheriff said with a smirk.
Don’t say a word, just smile, Josephine told herself, biting hard on her tongue and moving aside to let Gentry out of the bathroom.
The sheriff stalked out to the hall and told the two men still waiting there that the guest had slipped in the tub and they could do whatever they liked with the body.
“That went well,” Donavan said sarcastically once the sheriff was gone.
“Everyone knows that bad things happen on this island,” Neith said grimly. “We need to conduct our business as quickly as possible.” She headed out of the room before she was done speaking.
“I guess we can finish searching his room. We need to find out if he has any relatives,” Josephine said.
“I’m going back to Captain Hume’s room. Neith is right. We need to start the search for the treasure as soon as we can,” Donavan told her and followed Neith down the hall.
“You can’t… leave me with this mess,” Josephine finished to herself once she realized she was alone. “Damn it,” she muttered. “Okay, if I was an undercover cop, where would I put my wallet when I went to bed?”
She walked around the room again. A coat and a pair of pants were hanging on the back of a chair, but neither of them revealed a wallet.
“Oh, I’d keep it with my gun,” she said aloud as the thought came to her. Going back to the bed, she lifted the mattress as best she could and saw a brown leather wallet just beyond the gun.
