Jane Carter Historical Cozies: Omnibus Edition (Six Mystery Novels)

by Alice Simpson

  “How long do you suppose he’s been like this, Dad?”

  “Hard to tell. An hour, maybe two.”

  As the boat made full speed up the river, Jack stirred once more. His lips moved, but the words were indistinguishable.

  “How far to Covert?” Dad asked the boatman.

  “About four miles from this point,” Griffith flung over his shoulder. “It’s the next town above the Furstenberg estate. I’m making the best time I can.”

  Jack moved restlessly, his hands plucking at the coat which covered him.

  “Flaming eyes,” he muttered. “Looking at me—looking at me—”

  “He’s completely out of his head,” I said.

  “He’s gone back to that other accident which happened last year. The sinister affair in Old Mansion.”

  “Jack’s had more than his share of bad luck, Dad. Twice now, on this same river, he’s met with disaster. What if he doesn’t pull through?”

  I had a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  “I think he will, if his skull hasn’t been fractured,” Dad said. “Listen!”

  Jack’s lips were moving again, and this time his words were more rational.

  “Got to get word to the Chief. Got to get word—”

  A long while after that Jack remained perfectly quiet. Abruptly, his eyes opened wide, and he struggled to sit up. I gently pressed him back down to the floor of the boat.

  “Where am I?” Jack muttered. “Let me out of here! Let me out!”

  “Quiet, Jack,” Dad said. “You’re with friends.”

  Jacks tense grip on my hand relaxed.

  “That you, Chief?”

  “Yes, Jack. Just lie still. We’ll have you to a doctor in a few more minutes.”

  “Doctor! I don’t need any doctor,” he protested, trying once more to sit up. “What happened anyway?”

  “That’s what we would like to know.”

  “Can’t you remember anything, Jack?” I asked. “You went out on the river to try to trace those two men in the cruiser.”

  “Oh, it’s coming back to me now. I ran into their boat down by Cranberry Cove. They tied up there.”

  “And then what happened?” I demanded as Jack paused.

  “I saw ’em walk ashore. Thought I would follow, so I tied up my boat, too. They started off through the trees. Pretty soon they met a third man, a well-dressed fellow, educated, too, judging by his speech.”

  “Did you hear any of their conversation?” Dad asked.

  “I heard Furstenberg’s name mentioned. That caught my interest, so I crept closer. Must have given myself away because that’s about the last I remember. A ton of dynamite seemed to explode in my head. And here I am.”

  “Obviously, you were struck from behind with some heavy object,” my father said. “They probably dumped you back in your own boat and set it adrift. You never saw your attacker?”

  “No.”

  Jack rested for a moment, and then as it dawned on him that he was being speeded to a doctor, he began to protest.

  “Say, Chief, I’ll be all right. I don’t need any doc. Head’s clear as a bell now.”

  “That’s fine, Jack. But you’ll see a doctor, anyway. We’re taking no chances.”

  “Then at least let me go back to the hospital in Greenville.”

  “If you feel equal to the trip, I guess we can. You seem to be all right, but I want to make sure. Can’t take chances on the paper being sued later on, you know.”

  “Oh, I get the idea,” said Jack with a grimace. “Thinking of the old cash register, as usual.”

  I drew a deep sigh of relief. If Jack was able to make jokes, he couldn’t be seriously injured. I still felt weak from the fright I had received, and I didn’t let go of his hand.

  “The police will find those men who attacked you,” I told him. “I hope they’re put in prison for life, too!”

  “The police?” Jack repeated. “Say, Chief, you’re not aiming to spill the story, are you?”

  “I was.”

  “But see here, if you notify the police, we’ll show our hand to the Times and every other paper for a hundred miles around. If we keep this dark, we could do our own investigating, and maybe land a big scoop.”

  “Justice is more important than a scoop, Jack,” my father insisted. “If those men had anything to do with Atwood’s disappearance, and it looks as if they did, then we are duty bound to hand our clues over to the police. By trying to handle it alone, we might let them escape and further endanger Atwood if he’s still alive.”

  “Guess maybe you’re right at that,” Jack acknowledged.

  “Where are we now?” I called forward to Mr. Griffith.

  “Just comin’ to the Furstenberg estate,” he told me.

  “Only that far? We don’t seem to be making very fast time.”

  “We’re buckin’ the current, Ma’am. And there’s a right stiff wind blowing.”

  I had not noticed the wind before or how overcast the sky had become. I could not see many yards in advance of the boat. I suddenly realized how cold I was without my coat.

  The drawbridge loomed ahead, in its open position as usual, but I could not see the red lantern which I had noticed during the trip downstream. Had the light been blown out by the wind?

  In any case, it would not greatly matter, I decided. Few cars traveled the private road. Besides, any person who came that way would likely know about the bridge.

  And then, above the steady hum of the motorboat engine, I heard another roar which steadily increased in intensity. A car was coming down the road at great speed. The lantern must be there, I thought. It was probably hidden by a tree or the high bank.

  I listened with a growing alarm. The car was not slowing down. Even Harry Griffith turned his head to gaze toward the entrance ramp of the drawbridge.

  It was all over in an instant with a scream of brakes and a loud splintering of the wooden barrier. The speeding car struck the side of the steel bridge, spun sideways and careened down the bank and into the Grassy.

  CHAPTER 19

  We were all too horrified to speak. I could see the top of the car still floating above the water into which it had fallen, but there was no sign of the unfortunate driver or other possible passengers.

  I kicked off my shoes.

  “No!” my father shouted. “No! It’s too dangerous!”

  I did not listen. If those in the car were to be saved, I was the one who had to do it. My father could not swim well, Jack had a serious head injury, and Harry Griffith was needed at the wheel of the motorboat.

  Scrambling to the gunwale, I dove into the water. I could see nothing. Groping my way to the overturned car, I grasped a door handle and turned it. The pressure of the water against the door was too great for me to pull it open, and I was running out of air.

  I surfaced, took a deep breath and dove again, this time all the way to the bottom. I felt blindly about on the river bottom for a stone big enough to break the glass, but not so heavy that I’d be unable come up from the bottom with it in my hands. I pushed off the silty riverbed and kicked with all my strength.

  I surfaced again, holding the stone in one hand and then dove again toward the nearly submerged car. When I reach the car, I beat furiously at the strip of glass which remained above the water-line. It broke, and water immediately began to fill the car. I continued to pound at the glass as water poured into the broken window.

  Enough water had entered the car that the pressure against the door was beginning to equalize, so I decided to try again to open the door. This time, when I pulled with all my might, I was able to get the door open.

  I worked frantically, blindly searching for bodies within.

  A hand clutched at my own. Before I could protect myself, I felt a man grab onto me, clawing, fighting, trying to climb my shoulders, upward to the blessed air.

  Fortunately, he was not strong. I wriggled out of his grasp but held fast to his hand. I braced my feet agains
t the body of the car and pushed. We both exited the submerged car and shot upward to the surface.

  Griffith and my father lifted the man out of the water and into the motorboat.

  “Have to go down again,” I gasped. “There may be others.”

  I dove in again, doubling myself into a tight ball and kicking straight to the bottom. I swam into the car once more and groped about on the seat and floor. Finding no bodies, I quickly shot back to the surface again.

  My father pulled me over the side of the boat, and said curtly: “Good work, Jane.”

  I knew he was both proud and angry. I didn’t blame him.

  The man I’d pulled from the car seemed little the worse for his dunking. He had his heavy coat off and was wringing it out.

  I hadn’t gotten a good look at the man, nor did I ever, for just at that moment, Jack raised himself to a sitting position. He stared at the bedraggled man and pointed an accusing finger.

  “That’s the fellow! The one I was telling you about—”

  The man took one look at Jack and glanced around. By this time, the motorboat had drifted close to shore. Before anyone could make a move to stop him, the man hurled himself overboard. He landed on his feet in the shallow water. He splashed to the shore, scuttled up the steep bank and disappeared in the darkness.

  “Don’t let him get away!” shouted Jack. “He’s the same fellow I saw in the woods!”

  “You’re certain?” Dad said.

  “Of course! If you think I’m out of my head now, you’re the one who’s crazy! It’s the same fellow!”

  Griffith brought the craft to shore.

  “I’ll see if I can overtake him,” he said, “but he’s probably deep in the woods by this time.”

  The boatman was a heavy-set man, slow on his feet. I was not surprised when he came back empty-handed twenty minutes later—long after I’d retreated to the motorboat’s small cabin and changed into an old overcoat, a sweater and a crumpled pair of slacks which Dad had found under one of the seats. Mr. Griffith reported that he had been unable to pick up the trail.

  “The overturned car may offer a clue to his identity,” Dad said, as we started up the river once more. “The police will be able to check the license plates.”

  “I wonder what the man was doing at the estate?” I said half to myself. “Dad, that fellow took off his coat! He must have left it behind!”

  “It’s somewhere on the floor,” Harry Griffith called back over his shoulder, as he started up the engine once more.

  I found the sodden garment lying on the deck. I straightened it out and searched the pockets. My father came up beside me.

  “Any clues?” he asked.

  I took out a water-soaked handkerchief, a key ring and a plain white envelope.

  “That may be something!” my father said. “Handle it carefully so it doesn’t tear.”

  We carried the articles into the cabin. Dad turned on the light and took the envelope from my hand.

  He tore open the envelope and flattened the letter on the table beneath the light. The ink had blurred, but nearly all the words were still legible. There was no heading, merely the initials: “J. J. K.”

  “Could that mean James Furstenberg?” I suggested.

  The message was brief. Dad read it out loud: “Better come through or your fate will be the same as Atwood’s. We give you twenty-four hours to think it over.”

  “How strange!” I said. “That man I pulled out of the water couldn’t have been James Furstenberg!”

  “Not likely, Jane. My guess would be that he had been sent here to deliver this warning note. Being unfamiliar with the road, and not knowing about the dangerous drawbridge, he crashed through.”

  “But James Furstenberg isn’t supposed to be at the estate,” I argued. “It doesn’t make sense at all.”

  “This much is clear, Jane. Jack saw the man talking with the two sailors, and they all appear to be mixed up in Thomas Atwood’s disappearance. We’ll print what we’ve learned, and let the police figure out the rest.”

  “Dad, this story is developing into something big, isn’t it?”

  He nodded as he moved a swinging light bulb slowly over the paper to hurry up the drying process.

  “After the next issue of the Examiner is printed, every paper in the state will send their men here. But we’re out ahead, and when the big break comes, we may get that first, too.”

  I sat down at the table, studying the warning message.

  “‘Better come through,’” I read aloud. “Does that mean Furstenberg is supposed to pay money? And what fate did Atwood meet?”

  CHAPTER 20

  The next morning, propped up in bed with pillows, I perused the morning edition of the Greenville Examiner as I nibbled at the buttered muffins on my breakfast tray.

  “Is there anything else you would like?” Mrs. Timms inquired, hovering.

  “No, I’m quite all right.” I smiled at Mrs. Timms. Poor dear, I had given her quite a scare. I hadn’t seen her this worried since I’d come down with the measles. “Not even a head cold after my dunking,” I reassured her. “What have you heard about Jack?”

  “Your father said he is doing fine.”

  “Did Dad leave any message for me before going to the office?”

  “He said he thought you should stay in bed all day.”

  “Dad would,” I said. “Well, I feel just fine. I’m getting up right away.”

  I heaved aside the bedclothes. Then, because I couldn’t get the Furstenberg case out of my head, I dressed quickly and went downstairs. I was going out the front door when Mrs. Timms stopped me.

  “Now where are you going, Jane?”

  “Not sure just where I’m going,” I said, giving Mrs. Timms an arch smile. “But if Dad should get curious, you can tell him he shouldn’t be surprised if he finds me visiting with the Furstenbergs.”

  “Jane! You’re not going there again?”

  “Why not? After what happened to Jack, I’m not about to let this story play itself out. See you later.”

  I drove Bouncing Betsy over to the Radcliffs to see if Florence would ride along with me.

  “I won’t be able to stay long, Jane,” Flo said. “I promised Mother I would visit Mrs. Schmidt. Her sciatica’s been acting up again, and Mother says she wants encouragement.”

  Flo’s father is the Reverend Sidney Radcliff, and Flo’s mother takes her role as the Reverend’s wife very seriously. Unfortunately, Mrs. Radcliff is involved in so many community clubs and projects that the dispensing of charity and the visiting of sick parishioners invariably falls on Flo.

  “Why doesn’t your mother go cheer Mrs. Schmidt up herself?” I asked.

  “Mother has her Ladies Sewing Circle,” Flo explained.

  “I didn’t know your mother sewed?”

  “She doesn’t,” Flo said. “But she still maintains that the Ladies Sewing Circle can’t function without her organizational skills.”

  I gave up. I wouldn’t put it past Mrs. Radcliff to insist that the summer had managed to change to autumn only because she’d been there to supervise.

  “That’s all right,” I said. “Far be it from me to keep Mrs. Schmidt from receiving her dose of good cheer. If I get delayed, you can take Bouncing Betsy back, and I’ll find a bus home.”

  Flo and I had a lot to talk about, so we kept up a steady stream of conversation all the way to Sunnydale.

  I wondered if we would be able to enter the Furstenberg estate without being challenged by the bridgeman or a servant. My anxiety increased as we approached the river, for a large crowd had gathered by the drawbridge.

  But my fears were unfounded. No one paid the slightest attention to us as we parked Bouncing Betsy and proceeded to the water’s edge. I was pleased to find the boy with his rowboat at his usual haunt on the river. He rowed us across to the estate, promising to await our return.

  I walked with Florence through the trees to the Furstenberg house. I rang the doorbell. The
butler answered.

  “I should like to speak with Mrs. Furstenberg,” I said.

  “Madam will see no one,” began the man.

  Footsteps sounded behind him in the hallway, and then Mrs. Furstenberg stood in the door.

  “So, it is you?” she asked in an icy voice. “Julius, see that this person is ejected from the grounds.”

  “One moment please,” I said. “If I leave now, I warn you that certain facts will be published in the Greenville Examiner, facts which will add to your embarrassment.”

  “You can print nothing which will humiliate us further.”

  “No? You might like to have me mention the alligator in your lily pool. And the reason why you and your daughter are so anxious to be rid of it before the police ask questions.”

  Mrs. Furstenberg’s already rosy face flushed a deeper red, but for once she managed to keep her temper.

  “What do you want from me?” she asked frigidly.

  “First, tell me about that painting, ‘The Drawbridge’ which was presented to your daughter as a wedding gift. Was it not given to her by your husband?”

  “I shall not answer your question.”

  “Then you prefer that I print my own conclusions?”

  “You are an impudent, prying young woman! What if the picture was given to Cybil by her father! Is that any crime?”

  “Certainly not, it merely proves that you both know the whereabouts of Mr. Furstenberg.”

  “Perhaps, I do. But I’ll tell you nothing, absolutely nothing!”

  “I have a few questions to ask about your new gardener,” I went on, unmoved. “For instance, why does he wear a wig?”

  The door slammed in my face.

  “She certainly handed you the icy mitt,” said Florence as we walked away from the house, the sound of the slamming door still ringing in our ears.

  I shrugged my shoulders and smiled. I looked about the deserted estate.

  “Well, I think I’ll do some more sleuthing around the lily pool.”

  Florence looked at her wristwatch.

  “Goodness, it’s getting late,” she said. “I’d like to stay, Jane, but I think I’d better be getting home to visit Mrs. Schmidt. You know how Mother gets when she doesn’t think things have been seen to properly.”