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

by Alice Simpson

  “I was afraid when you telephoned that something had gone wrong here.”

  “No,” confessed the housekeeper, “I was merely lonesome for news. Is everything going well at home?”

  “Oh, yes, we’re getting along fine. Dad misses you terribly, of course.”

  Mrs. Timms blushed a faint shade of rose. I pretended not to notice.

  “I hope you remembered to bring in the milk. And you didn’t neglect the dusting?”

  I smiled ruefully.

  “I might have known you would let everything go,” sighed Mrs. Timms. “No doubt it’s my duty to remain here, but I feel I should be at home.”

  “Anchor Jim needs you, Mrs. Timms. Has he talked very much?”

  “Not a great deal. He ate a hearty lunch and seems in no pain.”

  “Did you see his back, Mrs. Timms?”

  “Yes, the cut was an ugly one. The doctor changed the dressing while he was here.”

  “I meant the tattoo,” I said. “Didn’t you notice it?”

  “I saw that he had one if that’s what you mean.”

  “You didn’t question him about it?”

  “Certainly not, Jane. Why should I?”

  “Didn’t you read ‘The Mystery of the Octopus Tattoo’ in the first issue of Carter’s All-story Weekly? Anchor Jim’s tattoo is a dead ringer for the one Richard Hamsted had on his back, albeit the names were changed in my fictionalized version of the tale. Jim’s already admitted that he knows Hamsted. For all we know they may be bitter enemies. Perhaps it was Anchor Jim who pushed Hamsted off the bridge!”

  “Jane, your ideas grow wilder each day,” protested Mrs. Timms. “I hope you don’t talk such nonsense to other people.”

  “All the same, Anchor Jim bears someone a grudge,” I insisted. “He mentioned a person who had ratted. Didn’t you learn a single fact about him, Mrs. Timms?”

  “His last name is Loewen, and he came to Greenville three weeks ago. He has no family.”

  “I think I’ll question him myself when he awakens.”

  “No, I can’t allow that,” said Mrs. Timms sternly. “The doctor would never approve.”

  “I promise not to excite him.”

  “The answer is no! Now, if you wish to make yourself useful, you could help me by bringing in the washing. I must start supper.”

  I took the basket and unpinned sheets and pillowcases from the line. I had just finished when I noticed a tall, well-built young man with military stride approaching through the trees. He tipped his hat politely.

  “I beg your pardon,” he said, “I am trying to find the Fielding cottage.”

  “Your search is at an end. You’ve come to the right place.”

  “Do you have a man working here named Jim Loewen?”

  “Yes, we have.”

  “Where may I find him, please?”

  “Mr. Loewen is confined to his bed,” I explained. “There was an unfortunate incident involving a falling tree. He’s quite smashed up, I’m afraid. Unless it is very important, I fear we can’t allow you to talk with him today.”

  “It is very important,” said the stranger. “I am Clark Mortimer, from the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

  “A G-man?”

  “I am an investigator for the government,” he replied, smiling.

  “And you’re after Anchor Jim?”

  “I am here to question him.”

  “What has he done, Mr. Mortimer?”

  “I am not permitted to discuss the case,” he said, looking maddingly amused. “It’s quite possible that Loewen is not the man I seek. How long has he worked here?”

  “Only a few days. He—he hasn’t killed anyone, has he?”

  “No, it’s not that serious. The man I am after is short and wiry, with sandy hair and blue eyes. He has a tattooed anchor on his right arm.”

  “And one on his back?” I asked.

  “I wouldn’t know about that. Does my description fit the man who has been working here?”

  “Yes, it does! Almost exactly.”

  “Then I’d like to talk with him.”

  “Come into the cottage. I’ll call Mrs. Timms.”

  The housekeeper listened to Mr. Mortimer’s request that he be permitted to see the injured man and examined his identification. He appeared to be a genuine representative of the FBI.

  “If you are a government investigator, I suppose it will be all right,” Mrs. Timms said reluctantly, “but the doctor’s orders were that he was to be kept absolutely quiet and not be upset in any way.”

  “I’ll only ask a question or two,” Mr. Mortimer promised.

  “Is Jim wanted on a criminal charge?” Mrs. Timms asked.

  “I was sent to check up on a man who calls himself Jim Loewen. That’s all I can tell you.”

  An unmistakable odor of kidney bean masala stew boiling over onto a hot cast iron stovetop came from the kitchen. Mrs. Timms ran to jerk the pan from the stove.

  “Jane, you see if Jim is awake, yet,” she called over her shoulder.

  “I’ll go with you,” said Mr. Mortimer quickly. “If I have made a mistake, it may not be necessary to disturb the man.”

  “This way,” I said.

  I led the government man down the hall to the rear bedroom. The door was closed. I twisted the knob and pushed, gently at first, and then with increasing force.

  “It seems to be stuck,” I said. “The recent rains must have caused the wood to swell.”

  “Let me try,” said Mr. Mortimer.

  He took my place, and after testing the door, gave it a hard push. There was a loud crash as it suddenly swung open.

  “Goodness! What was that?” I said.

  “A barricade. Keep back.”

  To my astonishment, the government man drew his revolver before entering the room. Disregarding the order to remain behind, I followed him inside.

  “I might have expected this!” he muttered.

  A chair lay overturned on the floor. The bed, still bearing the imprint of a man’s body, was empty.

  “His clothing is gone, too!” I said.

  Mr. Mortimer strode to the open window.

  “You think he left that way?” I asked. “He must have heard us talking!”

  The government man nodded.

  “He heard us all right. There’s no question now that he’s the man I am after! And I’ll get him, too!”

  Mr. Mortimer climbed through the open window, lowered himself to the ground and examined the area before he took off at a jog toward the river.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I lost no time in telling Mrs. Timms that Anchor Jim had disappeared.

  “Well, of all things!” exclaimed the housekeeper as she saw the deserted bedroom. “He was here a half hour ago. I know because I came in while he was sleeping.”

  “He must have heard Mr. Mortimer inquiring about him,” I said. “Obviously he ran away to avoid the interview.”

  “Then that means he’s guilty.”

  “Not necessarily,” I said, “but I’ll admit it doesn’t look very good to elude questioning by a representative of the FBI. What do you suppose he did to have a government man after him?”

  “He may have been a gangster.”

  “Anchor Jim? He hardly looked the type.”

  “In any event, we’re fortunate to be rid of him.”

  “I wish we could have questioned him,” I said. “Now I may never learn about that octopus tattoo.”

  “You and your tattoo!” scoffed Mrs. Timms, beginning to strip linen from the bed. “Anchor Jim certainly deceived me. He seemed such a pleasant sort, and I was sorry for him.”

  “I still am,” I said. “The poor fellow is in no condition to be wandering around. I rather hope Mr. Mortimer overtakes him soon. Then at least he’ll get the medical attention he requires.”

  While Mrs. Timms straightened the bedroom, I wandered out to the river’s edge. Only a few stars were pricking the sky, and it was impossible to see very far
. There was no sign either of Mr. Mortimer or the man he pursued.

  I returned to the cottage to eat supper with Mrs. Timms.

  “With Anchor Jim has gone, I may as well go home tonight,” Mrs. Timms said. “I can’t leave, though, until I’ve cleaned the cottage and set it to rights.”

  “How much longer will it take?”

  “Oh, an hour or two.”

  “While I am waiting for you, I may walk over to Paul Firth’s place,” I said. “I shouldn’t mind seeing Rosie Larkin again.”

  “You’ll be cautious in crossing the river?”

  “Of course,” I told Mrs. Timms. “I won’t be gone long.”

  I washed the dishes for Mrs. Timms and then set out for the Firth farmhouse. Frogs croaked as I crossed the swaying bridge, and far upstream I heard the faint chug of a motorboat. Otherwise, the night was unusually still.

  When I emerged from among the trees, I saw a light glowing in the distance. It came from the Firth house, and I used it as a beacon to guide me.

  I passed the barn, climbed a fence and entered the yard. The house was dark save for a single light burning in the kitchen. I could see Rosie Larkin moving about inside.

  I knocked on the side door. Through the window, I observed Rosie freeze as if terrified by the sound. To reassure the girl I called her name in a loud voice.

  Immediately Rosie ran to open the door.

  “Oh, it’s you!” she exclaimed in relief. “I was frightened.”

  To my surprise, Rosie wore a silk dress. Pocketbook, hat and gloves lay upon the kitchen table.

  “I am afraid I’ve come at an awkward time,” I apologized. “You were going somewhere?”

  “I’m leaving here,” Rosie answered grimly. She closed the door behind me.

  “You mean for good? You’ve found another job?”

  Rosie shook her head. “I’ve been discharged. He didn’t so much as give me a week’s advance wages, either.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad,” I said. “But you’ll find a better place. You said you didn’t like it here, anyway.”

  “I’ve had a wretched time of it. Paul Firth is such a paranoid person. Why do you think he discharged me?”

  “I can’t guess, but I should like to know.”

  “He accused me of prying!”

  “How unjust.”

  “Well, in a way, I was trying to learn about things I shouldn’t,” Rosie admitted. “It was that storm cave.”

  “Did you get down into it?”

  “No, but I tried. Old Paul was gone this afternoon, and I decided to find out what he keeps hidden underground.”

  “The padlock wasn’t locked?”

  “Usually it is, but today he forgot. I got the door open. Just as I started down the steps, he grabbed me by the shoulder. I was scared half to death.”

  “You mean Firth had hidden himself in the cave?”

  “Yes, it was a trick to catch me prying. He said so himself, Jane. He only pretended to go away, then lay in wait for me.”

  “Did he threaten to hurt you?”

  “No, he just told me to get out and never come back. It wouldn’t surprise me if he leaves here soon himself.”

  “Why do you say that, Rosie?”

  “Because he’s afraid of his own shadow, but I don’t blame him for being nervous. This house is being watched!”

  As if fearing that unfriendly eyes were upon her at that very moment, Rosie went to the window and, after peering into the yard, lowered the blind.

  “Twice I’ve seen men hiding in the wheat field just back of this place,” she confided. “The first time there was only one, but yesterday I saw three.”

  “Are you sure they were watching this house, Rosie?”

  “Oh, yes, they were lying on the ground. For an hour they scarcely moved.”

  “Didn’t you tell Firth?”

  “I was afraid to tell him, but I think he knew, already. All day he kept inside the house, and I saw him at the windows. He was as jumpy as a cat. Another thing—I saw him loading his revolver.”

  “He must fear for his life.”

  “I’m sure of it, Jane. Even if he’s only going to the barn he carries the revolver with him.”

  A clock on the shelf above the stove struck eight times.

  “Mercy!” exclaimed Rosie, “I must hurry, or I’ll never get away before Mr. Firth returns. Excuse me while I run upstairs for my suitcase.”

  “Where is Firth now?” I asked.

  “In Greenville, I suppose. He went away right after supper.”

  “Run along and get your suitcase,” I said. “I’ll drive you into town.”

  “It won’t take me long to collect my things.”

  After Rosie had gone, I walked to the window and rolled up the blind. Across the yard, I could see the dim outline of the disfiguring mound of earth and cement. What secret did the storm cave guard? Why was it always kept padlocked?

  I went to the foot of the stairs and called out: “Rosie, I’m going outside for a minute. I’ll come back.”

  “All right,” Rosie called back. “Sorry to keep you waiting, but I still have a few things to pack up.”

  I left by the side door and paused on the porch for a moment. I looked around the yard and surrounding fields. A thin quarter moon rising over the pine trees gave dim shape to the barn and silo. I could see no one, but Rosie’s revelation that strange men spied upon the house made me attentive to danger.

  I darted across the lawn to the storm cellar. As I had fully expected, the slanting door was padlocked. I turned back toward the house. A clump of lilac bushes some twenty yards from the cave was moving gently as if stirred by a breeze, yet there was no wind.

  I did not pause, but my heart pounded, and an icy current traveled through my limbs. A man was crawling on his hands and knees behind the lilacs.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I continued to walk toward the house at a deliberate pace as if nothing were amiss. My first thought had been that it was Paul Firth who spied upon me. However, as the figure straightened I knew I had been mistaken. The man was too tall to be Firth.

  Before I could make out his face, he moved to another clump of bushes and was then once again enveloped by darkness.

  As soon as I reached the kitchen, I blew out the kerosene lamp and stood by the window, watching. I could not see the man. He had vanished completely.

  Rosie came down the stairway, carrying her luggage.

  “It’s all right,” I called out to her. “I blew the light out so that I wouldn’t be seen from outside.”

  “Is someone there?”

  “He’s gone now, I think.”

  “There was someone a moment ago?”

  “Yes, a man, hiding behind the lilacs. I believe he must have been watching the house—or possibly the storm cellar!”

  “Then you see I was right,” Rosie said. “This is a dreadful place, and I’ll be glad to leave it.”

  “I almost wish you were staying,” I replied. “You might be able to learn what’s hidden in that cave.”

  “Not with Paul Firth so suspicious. Anyway, you couldn’t pay me to remain even if he would allow it. I’d rather starve.”

  “You have no place to go, Rosie?”

  “I’ll find work. If not in Greenville, then I can return to the country. Anything will be better than spending another minute here.”

  I groped in the dark for the lamp, relighting it.

  “Rosie,” I said, “how would you like to work at our place for a few days?”

  “You don’t mean it.”

  “I do if it can be arranged. We have a housekeeper, but it occurred to me that she might take your place here.”

  “She’d be very foolish to give up a good job for this.”

  “It would only be temporary. I think I can induce her to make the change for a few days. The question is, can we get Paul Firth to accept her?”

  “I doubt if he’ll hire anyone now that I am leaving. Why do you want your ho
usekeeper in such a place as this, Jane?”

  “To learn what’s going on here. I confess you’ve made me very curious about the storm cave.”

  “Firth would watch her every minute, the same as he did me. It wouldn’t work.”

  “It will if Mrs. Timms can get the job. First of all, we must make Firth so uncomfortable he’ll want someone to take care of the house. Is he a good cook?”

  “Oh, wretched. And the trick of keeping a good fire going is simply beyond him. If we turned the damper, it never would occur to him to adjust it.”

  “Thanks for the idea,” I said. “Let’s hide the breakfast supplies, too.”

  Before leaving the house, we closed the damper on the stove, hid the coffee pot and placed salt in the sugar bowl.

  “If Old Paul doesn’t get his coffee in the morning he’ll simply rave,” Rosie said. “Missing his coffee may be the one thing which would induce him to hire a new housekeeper.”

  As we crossed the dark yard, I observed no one lurking about. Evidently, the man who had hidden behind the lilacs had taken himself elsewhere.

  I took Rosie back to Bouncing Betsy and left her there while I returned down the short pathway to the cottage to retrieve Mrs. Timms. The housekeeper was ready and waiting by the time I arrived.

  “Jane, I nearly gave you up,” she sighed. “Why did it take so long?”

  “I’ve been busy finding you a new position,” I said. “Starting tomorrow morning, how would you feel about working for Paul Firth instead of us?”

  “Jane, I am tired tonight and in no mood for your jokes.”

  “This isn’t a joke, Mrs. Timms. I really do want you to change jobs with Rosie Larkin. You remember I told you about her.”

  Not giving Mrs. Timms the opportunity to speak, I quickly outlined my plan.

  “Early tomorrow morning I’ll drive you to Firth’s farm,” I said. “You’re to knock on the door, and say you’re looking for a job at very low wages. Firth will be so desperate he’ll welcome you with open arms. Then, as soon as he’s off his guard, you learn what is hidden in the storm cave.”

  “How lovely,” said Mrs. Timms. “It has always been my dearest wish to be employed by a raving lunatic.”

  “You exaggerate, Mrs. Timms. I’ll admit that you may find him a trifle paranoid,” I said, “but I don’t believe he’s anything approaching a raving lunatic. I’m fairly certain he’s not violent, at least providing he’s not provoked.”