by Marja McGraw
“Yeah, we’ll figure it out.”
“By the way, honey bun, did you see anyone suspicious when you went for your walk earlier?” I guessed and old man with a long scar down the face qualified as suspicious.
“No one. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.”
“Oh, that’s right. I already asked you and you said you only saw James.”
Chris watched me for a moment as though trying to decide something. “I have a gut feeling – “
“So do I, but you go first.”
He rolled his upper lip under in a Bogey moment before continuing. “Listen, shweetheart, don’t interrupt me when I’m trying to be, uh, sincere. I have a gut feeling we’re in for a wild ride. Spies or no spies, there’s something in the air. I’m not sure we’re smart enough to figure out what’s going on, but something sure isn’t right.”
“Huh! I was going to say I have a gut feeling we’re making more out of this than we should, but you’re echoing my own thoughts. Every time we see the Hathaways – well, all two times – something just doesn’t feel right. I keep saying that, but maybe you’re right. Maybe we’re not smart enough to figure it out. I know they’re lying to us about something. Oh, and Constance and I are heading over to your mother’s house in the morning. We’re going to take a better look at those purple cows. Maybe they’ll give us a lead.”
“Since when do you drag Connie into things?”
“She wants to be involved this time. She and Mikey are pretty interested in those notes, and I think she’s got a feel for what’s happening. I’ll talk to her more in the morning.”
I was turning to walk away when a loud crash sounded from the street. Chris and I both ran outside to see what was going on.
Chris dropped his head in frustration before heading across the street.
A rather large, older car had rear-ended a late model Mercedes that was parked under a street light, and an elderly man was climbing out to check the damage – an older man with a long scar down the left side of his face.
He held his hat in his hand.
Chapter Fourteen
The old man pulled a pair of glasses out of his pocket and studied the damage, mumbling to himself all the while. He didn’t seem to notice Chris walking toward him.
I recognized the Mercedes and knew who the owner was, and I couldn’t leave the supper club unattended. I hurried back inside the building, looking for the owner of the car.
“Mr. Rich,” I said. I’d always thought he had such an appropriate name. Oh well…
He didn’t seem to hear me.
“Eldon? Eldon Rich?”
He turned to see who was calling to him.
“I’m so sorry, but someone rear-ended your car. Chris is outside talking to him. I think you’d better check it out.”
He leaped out of his chair like he’d been shot. “Thanks,” he said as he whizzed by me.
His wife watched him, looked at me, and took another bite of dinner. “I think that car means more to him than I do.” She sounded almost fatalistic. It was a way of life for her. She continued to eat, ignoring what was happening outside.
I nodded once and returned to the Reservation Desk.
After a couple of minutes passed, Chris walked in with the elderly man in tow.
“Call 9-1-1,” he said, pointing to the old man’s forehead.
It was bleeding, as was his nose.
I reached for the phone, but the old man spoke up in a raspy voice.
“Don’t call for help. I’ll be fine.” He shook Chris’s hand off his arm. “Just let me sit down for a minute.”
Chris led him to a nearby table while I ran to get a glass of water and a wet towel.
When I returned, the old man was glaring at Chris, who sat across the table from him.
I knelt down and begin wiping blood from his face. “Are you sure you don’t want medical help?”
“Madam, I’ve been through a lot worse than this. Just give me a minute to collect my wits.”
I continued to clean his face. His nose stopped bleeding and the cut was over his eye which is an area that bleeds freely. He didn’t appear to be hurt as badly as I’d thought. I excused myself and returned to the Reservation Desk to retrieve a band-aid from the first aid kit.
Eldon Rich walked in and stood in front of the table with his hands on his hips. “I’ve called the police and they’re on their way.”
“Well, call them back and tell them to forget it. I’ll pay you cash for any damage to your car,” the old man said. “I don’t want this on my record.”
Eldon thought about it for a moment before pulling out his cell phone to call the coppers off. “If you don’t pay, I’ll sue your…” He stopped talking to the old man and spoke into the phone, calling off the dogs, so to speak.
The old man pulled a business card out of his wallet and handed it to Eldon.
I tried to see what was on the card, but it was out of my line of sight. I pasted the band-aid over the old man’s eye.
Eldon accepted the card, read what was on it, and his mouth dropped open. “Uh, I’m sorry Mr. – “
“No names, please,” the old man said, reaching up and touching his forehead. “Well, call me Morton. Yeah, that’ll do. Morton.”
“I’ll have my Mercedes dealer look at the car and give me an estimate. I’ll get back to you, sir.”
Sir? Who the heck was the old man?
Chris and I looked at each other in consternation.
“Who are you, buddy? What kind of a cockamamie deal did we get involved in? And why have you been watching our house?”
I nodded. “Not to mention, why were you in front of our restaurant?”
His only reply? “I’m going to have one doozy of a headache.”
“Let’s have some straight answers here,” Chris said irritably. “Who are you?”
The old man looked him in the eye and took his time answering. Looking away, he touched his forehead again and dropped his shaking, wrinkled hands in his lap. He sighed. “I’m Frederick Hampton. The Third.”
I grabbed the glass of water I’d brought for him and took a swig, choking as it went down the wrong pipe. I glanced at Chris, who wasn’t patting me on the back, and who sat with his mouth open.
Patting myself on the chest, I caught my breath. “Close your mouth, Chris.”
He closed his mouth but didn’t bother to even glance my way. Curling his upper lip under, which was getting on my nerves at that point, he leaned back in his chair and studied the old man.
The two men sat and stared at each other, almost as though each one wanted the other to speak first.
I tried to break the silence. “I’ve read about you, Mr. Hampton. The Third.”
“I’m not surprised,” he said.
“You were a master spy in the day,” Chris said, uncurling his upper lip and leaning forward. “You got out of the business and made a bundle in – “
“Never mind where my money came from, kid,” he said. “And don’t believe everything you hear.”
“I saw a special about you on TV,” I said. “But you won’t allow anyone to show a picture of you. How do we know you’re really who you say you are?”
“Well, aren’t you the suspicious one, missy?” He pulled out his driver’s license and shoved it at me.
I took hold of it and studied the information. Yep, he was exactly who he said he was. I handed it back. “So how come you drive a beat up old car? With all of your moola, you could be driving – “
“Old habits die hard. I try to remain inconspicuous.”
“And how’s that working for you?” Chris asked. “My wife saw you walking down the street in front of my mother’s house, my young son made you when you parked across the street from our house, and you just had a wreck out in front of our supper club. So much for remaining anonymous.”
Chris leaned back in his chair again and looked quite pleased with himself.
“I’m out of practice. I very seldom leave
the house anymore, but when I heard you were looking for William Howard, I had to know what was up.”
I had at least a partial answer. “We found his brother, but – “
“Zip it, cookie. We don’t know anything about this guy except for what we’ve seen on TV and read about him. Don’t tell him anything until we know more.”
I zipped it. Chris was right.
“Mum’s the word,” I said, stepping back from the table.
“Can I use your phone to call for a tow? If you’ll give me a ride home, maybe – just maybe – I’ll tell you what this is all about.”
“You’ll have to wait until the restaurant closes,” I said. I didn’t want Chris to take him home alone because I didn’t want to miss out on the revelations, if there really were any.
Chris knew what I was up to. He didn’t try to argue with me.
“I’ll just sit here and listen to the music,” Frederick said.
He looked me square in the eye and I had a feeling he understood me, too.
“Good band,” he said. “The old music takes me back.”
“Can I bring you anything while you wait to go home?” I asked.
“A menu.”
I waved George over and asked him to take care of Mr. Hampton.
“You look like George Raft,” the old man said. “This is an interesting place. The lady waitress looks just like Marilyn Monroe.” He pointed across the room, having finally noticed Phyllis.
I didn’t hear anymore because I left the table.
I pulled Chris aside. “What do you think, Chris?”
“If he didn’t have a history as a super spy, and if he wasn’t a man who’s filthy rich, I’d think he was just a crazy old man. I hope he really does fill us in about what’s going on.”
“Yeah, it’s too weird that within a couple of hours after your friend checked on William, both the Hathaways and Frederick showed up. Something’s going on, and I’ll bet it has to do with spies.”
“I think we’re going to have to do some fancy footwork to get a story out of Frederick. If he was the super spy he’s been portrayed as, he’s going to keep everything close to the vest.”
I smiled and rubbed my hands together. “I can wheedle with the best of ‘em. I’ll get something out of him.”
“I’m not sure even you can get him to talk, doll.”
“Watch and learn, Bogey Man.”
Did I really think I could make a wizened old spy spill his guts?
Yes.
Any spying he’d done had been years ago. Besides, he was old and he’d probably lost his edge.
I was young and hadn’t lost anything.
Chapter Fifteen
Before we left the supper club I called Constance and told her we’d be late. She said she was in the middle of watching a movie and Mikey was sleeping soundly, so it wouldn’t be a problem.
Frederick rode in the front seat with us. I was afraid the dogs would be too much for him. After all, he was new to them and they’d want to investigate every hair on his head, among other things. Thank goodness we’d used Chris’s light green vintage Chevy for the ride to work. No bucket seats; just one long bench seat.
I had the old man right where I wanted him; between me and Chris. He was at our mercy, or so I thought.
By the time we neared his house he knew all kinds of things about me and Chris. We knew nothing about him.
“You haven’t forgotten how to interrogate people, have you?” I asked.
“Some things are never forgotten, little lady. It’s all in the way you word it. The tone in your voice. The look on your face. Remember that for future reference. Sometimes you have to play the innocent, and other times you have to be the heavy, or the bad cop. Once in a while it’s a matter of taking someone by surprise.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
I was surprised when we pulled up to his house. With his wealth, I figured he’d live in a mansion. Au contraire, he lived in a small house that had probably been built in the 1960s.
“Is this a safe house or something?” I asked.
He laughed. “A safe house? You’ve been watching too many television shows. No, this is my house. Sometimes it’s easiest to hide in plain sight. I’ve been out of sight for many years now. My neighbors know me, but they don’t know who I really am.”
I grinned.
“See? You took me by surprise. You’ll get the hang of it.”
“How did you know William Howard?” I asked, hoping I’d surprise him again.
He shook his finger in my face. “None of your business.”
“He was a spy, wasn’t he?” Chris asked.
Frederick turned his head toward Chris. “Maybe. Maybe not. I do know people who aren’t in the business.”
“Then what are you doing showing up at my mother’s and our houses?” A smirk barely showed at the corner of Chris’s mouth.
“Well, son, you’ve got me there. I guess there really is no connection other than William. Why don’t you two come inside for a few minutes and I’ll tell you a story?”
“I’m game,” I said.
Chris nodded.
We parked in the driveway and followed Frederick inside. He turned on lights while he walked through the house, and surprisingly, he searched his house while we sat and waited.
Glancing around the living room, I noticed that the country style furniture was old and comfortable. Not threadbare, but well taken care of and clean. There were very few knickknacks or decorations. The one exception was a newer large screen TV set across from the couch.
Chris and I looked at each other and he shrugged before the old man joined us.
“Anyone want coffee?” he asked.
“No, thank you. We can’t stay long because we’ve got to pick up our son. He has to go to school tomorrow.” I felt the need to explain myself, and I wasn’t sure why.
“That must be the kid who tried to get my license plate number. Yes?”
Chris’s face tightened, as did mine. “Yeah. Let’s keep Ace out of this.”
Frederick looked closely into Chris’s eyes before doing the same to me. “Let me preface this by saying I’m not going to tell you the entire story. Some secrets are better left buried.”
Cryptic. That was the only word that came to mind before he continued.
“First, let me ask you something. What do you know about William Howard?”
Chris took the lead for us. “Not much. We know that he went into business with Marguerite Turnbal around 1960. He was seeing a woman named Marsha, and she mysteriously disappeared.”
Something suddenly struck me. “Chris, how do we know we can trust this man?”
“Because of who he is. He was a master spy for us, not the other side.”
“Good point.”
I turned to Frederick. “Um, do you have a passport or something to confirm your identity?”
“It’s got my photo, but a different name.”
Okay, that sounded perfectly spyish to me. I nodded.
Chris continued his conversation with the senior spy. “Not long after Marsha disappeared, the publishing house burned down. And sometime after that, William took a trip back east and died while he was there. We also know that Marguerite believed there was more to the story and she did a little investigating. She seemed to think William might have been a spy. That’s what we know in a nutshell.”
Frederick leaned back, laced his fingers together and rested his hands on his stomach. He didn’t appear as fragile and old as he had a few hours earlier. His expression made me think he was debating about what to tell us.
“Did you know that William was a Rusky? His parents were from Russia and he learned the language as a child. During WWII, he took spy photos for our government. Was he spy material? He thought so.”
“Was he?” Chris asked.
“He was a smart man. Tough, too. They don’t come much tougher. He could have been an actor. He was believable, no matter what he was doing. Yes,
he was spy material. He had some Russian contacts because of his parents.”
“So Marguerite was right. William was a spy.” Somehow it made me feel good to know she was right.
Frederick gave me a knowing grin. “So was Marsha.”
It was a simple statement, but it carried power.
“Were they partners?” Chris sat forward on the chair with obvious growing interest.
“Yes.”
We sat quietly, waiting for more, but the old man closed his eyes and he was silent.
I was afraid he’d nodded off.
“The Cold War was in full swing,” he said suddenly, making me jump. “The Russians had no idea he was a spy. He played his part well and they thought he was a book peddler. You’d think his size would have made him memorable, and it probably did, but after all, what harm could a bookish person do?”
“He used Marguerite. Now that ticks me off.” How dare he put an innocent gothic mystery writer in danger? She thought they were friends. The nerve!
“Get real, missy. We used whomever we had to in order to get what we needed.”
“Well – “
He waved his hand at me, cutting me off.
“The spy business ain’t for sissies. We did what we had to do and tried not to drag innocent people into it. Besides, like I said, everyone thought he was in the book business. He used his office for, uh, private meetings.”
Chris rolled his upper lip under. “Yeah, private being the key word there.”
Frederick studied my husband for a moment. “Has anyone ever told you that you look like – “
“Yeah, almost every day. Some people even call me Bogey Man, including my wife. Sometimes it can be annoying.”
I looked at him in surprise. I’d never heard him say it annoyed him before. But I thought about who he was talking to – a spy. Of course he wanted to be just a regular guy, one of the boys.
“To sum up the story, Marsha’s cover was blown. In the process, it wasn’t long until William was found out, too. It was said that the other side killed Marsha and William. I’ve never believed it. There were too many holes in the story, like exactly what happened to them, where the bodies were buried, so to speak, and why didn’t anyone look for the assassin?”
