We’d reached home. I parked in the garage, but instead of following me into the house Dad announced that he was returning to White Falls.
“There’s probably nothing I can do,” he said, “but I prefer to remain at the scene.”
“Let me know if Jack is found, or if anything new develops.”
“The very instant,” Dad promised.
I slept fitfully during the few hours which remained of the night. I was on constant alert for the phone to ring, but daybreak came, and my father hadn’t called.
I was just sitting down to a lonely breakfast when Dad’s car came up the drive. He came into the house looking tired and worn. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep.
“Any news, Dad?” I asked.
“No, nothing of consequence.”
He sat down at the breakfast table, saying to Mrs. Timms who had come in from the kitchen: “Just a cup of strong, black coffee, please.”
“Dad, you should eat your breakfast,” I protested.
Dad shook his head.
“I don’t feel like it.”
“Hasn’t anything developed at all?”
“Not concerning Jack. Clarence Emerson is of the opinion we may never see him again, or if we do, his body will be taken from the river.”
I was halfway through my curried eggs and apple chutney, but there was no chance of me finishing them now. What I’d already eaten threatened to come back up.
“Mud Cat was starting to drag the river when I left. That means it won’t be long until everyone in the village will know what has happened. Not that it matters much, I guess. However, when the police get wind of the affair, I may have some tall explaining to do.”
“Dad, does Clarence Emerson think the Conrads had any part in Jack’s disappearance?”
“Not that I can get out of him. He did force Glen Conrad to reveal where Harwood’s car was hidden. It was found in the woods some distance off a side road. Conrad claims he disposed of the automobile merely to avoid questioning by the police.”
“His story has been consistent, but I don’t trust the fellow.”
“Clarence learned one fact which may interest you.”
“What is that, Dad?”
“The Conrads are not the owners of Old Mansion.”
“They aren’t? Well, that is a surprise.”
“The Conrads are merely caretakers, but they’ve lived there so long, they’ve come to regard the house as their own.”
“Who is the owner?”
“A woman named Irma Fairchild, living in Chicago.”
“I wonder if she has any idea what has been going on at her place?”
“No, the Conrads have kept her in ignorance fearing that it might cost them their jobs. It seems that they turned the place into a hotel without Mrs. Fairchild’s consent.”
“That was a high-handed thing to do, although quite in keeping with Glen Conrad’s character.”
“Yes, he figured Mrs. Fairchild never would find out. She hasn’t visited the place even once since she left it in their care nearly ten years ago.”
“Why has she kept the place occupied, I wonder?”
“Sentimental reasons, I suppose. Mrs. Fairchild was married in that house, two of her children died there, and likewise her husband.”
“Not in room seven, surely,” I said.
“No, not to my knowledge. At one time, the house was considered quite a showplace. But some ten years ago or more, the city fathers made the whole street into a commercial district and shop buildings went up beside the dwelling. The river has been cutting in closer, too.”
“And that was what motivated Mrs. Fairchild to move to Chicago?”
“Perhaps, all I know for certain is that she hired the Conrads as caretakers and left everything in their charge. She moved East and has never returned.”
“The house was furnished when she left it?”
“Yes, the Conrads have admitted to Clarence Emerson that everything—furniture, paintings, even the glassware —belongs to Mrs. Fairchild.”
“I rather thought the Conrads had never furnished that house. However, I can’t say much for Mrs. Fairchild’s taste in paintings. Some of those portraits are mere daubs in expensive frames.”
“You’re wrong, Jane. Mr. Vhorst, the café owner, told me those paintings are generally known in the community to be quite valuable.”
“Maybe the community got it wrong,” I said. “Dad, can’t you see how atrocious they are?”
“They don’t appeal to me,” Dad admitted. “However, I don’t pretend to know anything about art.”
“Even a blind man could tell those paintings aren’t art,” I insisted. “If they’re supposed to be valuable, then someone must have cheated Mrs. Fairchild.”
“Well, at any rate, she considered them worth enough to merit keeping a caretaker for ten years. The Conrads receive only a small salary and the use of the property. That was one reason why they began taking in guests. They needed extra money.”
“I wish I knew if Glen Conrad owns that shed where Mud Cat Joe and his family live.”
“I doubt if the man has any property of his own.”
“So, do I. Chances are, he’s trying to drive Joe off the property belonging to Mrs. Fairchild. Maybe as caretaker, he had a right to, but it seems to me, he’s suddenly taking his duties very seriously.”
“Yes, considering that he has been unfaithful Mrs. Fairchild’s trust in many other ways.”
“Someone should let Mrs. Fairchild know about how Old Mansion is being operated.”
“I suggested to Clarence Emerson that we try to get in touch with her,” Dad said. “He didn’t believe it would do any good.”
“She should be informed on principle, it seems to me, Dad. I would like to send her a telegram.”
“Go ahead if you like. Here is her address, or at least it is the one Mrs. Conrad gave Clarence.”
Dad handed me a slip of paper, and, drinking the last of his coffee, stood up from the table.
“I’ll be at the office for an hour,” he said. “After that, I’ll probably return to White Falls.”
When the breakfast dishes had been cleared away, I backed Bouncing Betsy from the garage and drove over to see Florence. Together we composed the telegram to Mrs. Fairchild and dispatched it.
“She’ll think the worst when she receives our message,” Florence said. “What if she decides to come here?”
“I hope she does decide to come,” I said. “It’s high time Mrs. Fairchild checked up on the Conrads.”
After the telegram had been sent, there was nothing more to occupy our minds. I could not stand to be idle. When I was idle, visions of Jack’s water-logged body being dredged up from the river-bottom haunted me.
“It’s so hard just to sit and wait and hope,” I said.
“We could drive over to White Falls,” Flo said. “I’ll go with you.”
“I’d rather be there than here.”
“So, would I.”
I knew every inch of the road between Greenville and White Falls by this time, and we made the drive in excellent time. We were approaching the Grassy River, near where Mud Cat Joe and his family had their temporary home when I slammed on the brakes.
“You’re stopping here again today?” Flo asked.
I most certainly was stopping. There, on the roadside directly ahead of us, was Jennie Gains, her three children gathered close beside her, sitting dejectedly on an old log. Not far away were all their worldly possessions: a rusty stove, two cots, bedding and a box of cooking pans.
“It looks to me as if Mud Cat and his family have been put out of their home,” I said.
CHAPTER 18
We got out of the car and walked over to Jennie Gains and her children. I looked up at the shed. It had a new, stout door which had been boarded and nailed shut.
“Jennie, you’ve not been driven out, have you?” Flo said.
“The sheriff done it,” Mrs. Gains said. “He snuck up
here right after Joe went out on the river this mornin’. He says we can’t live here no more.”
“This must be Glen Conrad’s work,” I said. “One would think he’d be so occupied with his own troubles, he’d have no energy left to create trouble for you.”
“Probably he notified the sheriff before Jack’s disappearance,” Florence suggested. “Maybe that day when he tumbled into the water.”
“Yes, that would be my guess,” I said, “but it doesn’t help matters. Once an order goes into effect, it’s hard to get it rescinded.”
“I dunno what’ll become of us now,” Mrs. Gains said.
“Wisht we had our houseboat, Ma,” Jed added.
“Don’t talk about it, Jed,” his mother said. “Dreamin’ about yer troubles is sure bad luck. Last night I seen that there boat jest as plain as day. There she was, layin’ in a little cove, jest as neat and trim as the day she vanished. Then I hears Joe a snorin’ like a bull frog with ader-noids. When I come to and knew it was jest a dream, I felt mighty low.”
“It’s strange about The Empress,” I said. “Florence and I both believe we saw her—or one very like her—down on the Mulberry River.”
“Joe gits lots of reports about The Empress.” Jennie Gains sighed. “Seems like that boat has a way o’ vanishin’ before he kin git to where it ain’t.”
I was still desperately worried about Jack, even as I spoke to Jennie Gains, half my brain was devoted to wondering if Mud Cat had found any clues in the river. But there was nothing I could do, so I decided to take the troubles of the Gains family upon my shoulders.
“Now don’t you do any worrying, Mrs. Gains,” I said. “Before nightfall, I’ll find another place for you to live. And we’ll do our best to get you back on the river before long.”
“That’s mighty sweet of you, Ma’am. I really don’t see why you put yourself out fer the likes o’ we ’uns. You ain’t a-beholdin’ to us fer nothin’ I kin make out. But I guess some folks is that-away. Doin’ a good turn comes natural to ’em.”
“It isn’t all one-sided,” I said. “Your husband is presently engaged in doing us a very great favor.”
There was no point in try to load the Gains brood into Bouncing Betsy. They’d have never all fit, and besides, there was no place for them to go once we got to White Falls, so we left them there, guarding their meager possessions. It was a warm, sunny day without a rain cloud in sight.
“You’ve let yourself in for trouble, in my opinion, making a promise like that,” said Flo, uncharacteristically pessimistic. “It won’t be easy to find a new home for the Gains family. No one will want them when they can’t pay rent.”
“I know, but someone has to look after them. It was a mean trick for Glen Conrad to set the sheriff on them. I suspect the property belongs to Mrs. Fairchild.”
“Then, couldn’t you force Glen Conrad to allow the family to remain in the shed?”
“I suppose I could, Flo, because the man is pretty meek since all this new trouble came up, but it’s scarcely worth the effort. That old shed never was a suitable place for humans to live. It will simply be easier to find a new home for Joe and his family.”
“Just where do you propose to find this new home?”
“It will have to be along the river, or Joe would pine away. There are quite a number of shacks and cottages on the banks of the Grassy.”
“And who will pay the rent? Unless Mr. Pittman has suddenly tripled your going rate, you can’t pay it, and I certainly haven’t the money.”
“We’ll meet that problem when we come to it. Let’s start searching for a suitable place now. It will give us a good excuse to talk to the locals. Let’s keep our eyes and ears open for any information which might have anything to do with Jack.”
“What could we hope to learn, Jane?”
“Well, there’s an outside chance he’s being held a prisoner in some old shack along the river.”
“You’re assuming he was spirited away from Old Mansion. How could anyone have entered that house without being seen? The house was packed with guests, and since they were all on the Examiner’s staff, they were well acquainted. A stranger would have been noticed immediately, even if he’d only walked through the hall.”
“Have you forgotten that face you saw in the mirror, Flo?”
“I’ll never forget it.” Flo shivered. “But the person I saw must have been standing outside the window. I’m sure he wasn’t in the room.”
“Can’t you describe the face, Flo?”
“No, it all happened so quickly. I just caught a fleeting glimpse, and then it was gone.”
“I believe you must have seen the person responsible for Jack’s disappearance. Probably it’s someone living right near White Falls!”
“I hope I never meet the fiend. Just the recollection of that face gave me a horrible nightmare.”
“I’d attempt anything if it would help bring Jack back,” I said.
I fell silent, occupied with my unpleasant thoughts. I turned off on a side road which took us along the river, and we looked for empty shacks. We found only one, and it was very little better than the old shed where Mud Cat Joe and his family had been living.
“Let’s try the other side of the river,” Flo suggested.
We drove across the steel bridge at the outskirts of White Falls and resumed our search. After an hour, we finally came upon a woman who told us about a place farther up the river.
“It’s a right smart little cottage,” the woman said. “Partly furnished too, but the owner ain’t been able to rent it ’cause the roof leaks. And when the river is high, it sometimes floods right into the yard.”
I jotted down the name of the man who owned the cottage. Then I asked if she’d noticed anything amiss in the vicinity during the night of Jack Bancroft’s disappearance. I had asked the same question a hundred times over already and had no hope of receiving an illuminating reply.
“Well, I can’t say as I noticed anything out of the way,” the woman said, “but folks think plenty about what goes on at Old Mansion. It looks mighty queer to me that they’re adraggin’ the river for a body. I said to my husband, says I, ‘Chris, if folks was right smart they’d ask a few questions of the Conrads, ’specially about that motor boat which runs down the river at night.’”
“Is a motor boat so unusual on a river?” Flo asked.
“No, Miss, it ain’t, but when the engine is muffled, there’s usually a reason for it. I saw the boat three separate times. She was crusin’ around Old Mansion, and with no lights. I said to my husband, I says, ‘Chris, there’s something mighty strange about the way that boat acts.’”
“When did you notice the motor boat?” I asked.
“I heard it last night ‘round midnight. The other two times was quite a spell ago.”
The woman had no more of consequence to tell, so we thanked her and headed up the river to the cottage. It was a decent place—certainly a great improvement on the old shed the Gains family had just been forced to vacate—and almost directly opposite Old Mansion.
“This should serve the Gains family nicely if only arrangements can be made with the owner,” I said.
The owner lived in White Falls. I was pleased to find him a reasonable and kind-hearted man. He knew Mud Cat Joe, and when he learned of his plight, agreed that in return for certain repair work and a weekly mess of fish, the Gains family might live in the cottage for the remainder of the summer.
Before returning to tell Jennie Gains the good news, I called at Old Mansion. Clarence Emerson chanced to be there, and I told him all the woman had said regarding the motorboat.
“I’ll look into that angle,” he said, but in a tone which caused me to think he did not consider the clue of great significance.
I did not bother to inquire if any progress had been made in the case, for the detective’s general air of discouragement told the story.
After a hasty luncheon at Mr. Vhorst’s café, we returned to the Gains shed
. Mrs. Gains and her brood were jubilant when we told them about the cottage, and Jed ran down to the river’s edge, to signal his father. Soon Mud Cat Joe rowed up to the landing.
“How we goin’ to git all our truck down to the cabin?” Jennie asked.
“I can take everything in the car except livestock,” I said. “I’ll have to make a couple of trips, though. Joe, I suggest you attach the raft to your rowboat and tow the chickens, the goat and the pigs.”
“I dunno how that goat will ride,” Mud Cat said doubtfully. “But we kin try ’er.”
After three trips, we’d transported Jennie, the younger children, and all their worldly goods back to the cottage. Soon after, Mud Cat Joe, his son Jed, and the strange floating zoo reached the riverbank near the cottage, with the goat still aboard, albeit in a fighting mood.
“This sure is a nice little lean-to,” Mud Cat said, surveying his new domain. “The roof I kin fix up with a few shingles, and the walls ain’t got many chinks. It’s a lot better than livin’ in a cow shed.”
“It’s a right purty little house,” Jennie said. “It’s got runnin’ water and a sink. I never had nothin’ like that before, even on The Empress. But we won’t be up to payin’ no water bills.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” I said. “I’ve taken care of all those things.”
“I don’t see how we kin ever pay you back,” said the shanty boat man.
“You have paid me already.”
I glanced at the riverman’s horny right hand which had been blistered from steady rowing. I knew he had been faithfully searching for Jack since daylight.
“I done a right smart chore of rowin’,” Joe said. “One of them oars was rough, and then draggin’ ain’t no fun.”
“Mr. Gains,” I said, “there’s something else you could do for me if you are willing. I wish you would keep watch of Old Mansion, especially at night. If you see anything unusual or suspicious, notify me or Detective Emerson.”
Mud Cat Joe nodded.
“Tomorrow I’ll git on with the draggin’ agin,” he said, following Flo and I to Bouncing Betsy. “But I figgers I’d a found that body long before this if I was a-goin’ to.”
The sun was sinking low as we crossed the bridge and entered White Falls.
Jane Carter Historical Cozies: Omnibus Edition (Six Mystery Novels) Page 24
