The Complete Honey Huckleberry Box Set

by Margaret Moseley

  “You don’t need to whisper. No one could hear us in here. Not with all that wind. And did you stop to think that maybe when they called him to come do rescue work that he was eating breakfast and didn’t have time to change? Or his uniform is at the cleaners?”

  Someday, when I have time, I’ll have to think about Janie and her convoluted reasoning. Right then, I was more concerned with the man with the shiny gun. He gave up on forcing the door and used the gun to smash in the window above it. I couldn’t hear the crash, but I did see glass go flying everywhere. Remembering my bare feet, I drew further back into the store.

  “Yoo-hoo, we’re in here,” yelled Janie.

  The man stopped as if he had heard her, which I doubted, but then he looked suddenly over his right shoulder. It was hard to see through the pelting rain, but I thought I saw another figure — seemed to be a big man — approach the other one through the gloom. The water seemed higher outside; the bookstore door must be holding back some of the surge. Both men faced each other and struggled to keep their footing in the swirling water. Neither seemed to be coping well with the weather.

  “What’s happening?” asked Janie from her concealed spot.

  I didn’t answer. I was too engrossed in watching the two men begin to struggle with each other. The new man knocked the first man down, and I saw the gun fly out of his hand. It was like watching a boxing match through a grainy filter. The first man tried to get to his feet, but the big man hit him again and again and then actually held him down in the water that whirled around them.

  “He’s trying to kill him,” I said.

  “What? What? Can I get up now? What did you say? I can’t hear you.” Janie complained.

  “No,” I shouted. “Stay where you are!”

  I had looked away to yell at her, and when I looked back, I saw only one person standing. I tried to make out which one it was, but it was just impossible from my position to see clearly through the rain. Then there was a sudden flash of lightning, and the scene was brilliantly lit for a mere second.

  I gasped through the muggy air in astonishment.

  “Would you please tell me what’s going on?” Janie sounded almost in tears.

  What was I going to tell her?

  What I said was, “I think we’re really being rescued this time. There’s some kind of truck with a flashing red light heading this way.”

  “What about the man?”

  “He’s gone,” I said.

  I didn’t feel like explaining that I thought I had just seen one person kill another and that in that last flash of lightning, I thought I had seen our friend Sledge Hamra standing and staring at the bookstore.

  I said again — to reassure myself as well as her, “Whoever it was, he’s gone.”

  SIXTEEN

  They did let us go back and get our purses, but nothing else.

  It was definitely a surreal feeling to step from water to the steps going up to the apartment. All the way across the bookstore, I kept thinking, “There is water here. There shouldn’t be water here.” Guess I was in a little shock also.

  I didn’t know how to answer the officer’s question of “is there anyone else here?” Janie told him that someone else had been seen outside, but he wasn’t with our family. All I could manage to say was, “He fell in the water.”

  The first officer’s companion in the emergency truck — some kind of fire truck — began a cursory search of the immediate surroundings, shining his huge torch light in the black water. He must have seen something because by the time Janie, Bailey, and I were perched in the high cab of the fire truck, another vehicle had arrived, and its occupants were gathered around something in the surf.

  “Why aren’t we going?” asked Janie.

  One of the new arrivals, a Coast Guard officer, answered her by sticking his head inside the fire truck and yelling to be heard over the wind. “Can one of you come back and identify this man?”

  Janie and I looked at each other. “Well, we can’t very well send Bailey,” she said, and she made as if to follow the officer.

  I put up my arm to restrain her. “You always scream when you see dead people. Let me go.

  “We’ll both go. Stay, Bailey.”

  I couldn’t tell if the storm was any worse, but if the sound was an indicator, we were still in Mother Nature’s war zone. Coast Guard personnel held on to each of us as we crossed the few yards to where a body lay in the knee-high water.

  In real-life scenarios, even the police are not supposed to touch a body, but what with the way the current was pulling at the still form, it was no big deal for the guard to turn the body over so we could see it. He shined a flashlight into the deceased’s face. “Know him?” he shouted.

  It was worse than looking at Janie’s Ponds-greased face in the candlelight at home. I now had a new image to haunt my dreams. Any natural color the man had possessed had faded, replaced by an iridescent glow of pasty white and mottled shadow. Other than that, he looked like an ordinary tourist or resident.

  If Janie screamed, I thankfully didn’t hear it, but I did see her yell into one of the Coast Guardsman’s ears. He waded over to me. “She says she’s never seen him. What about you? She said he might be the man who was trying to find refuge in the bookstore.”

  I forced myself to look at the dead man again. “Could be. I didn’t get a good look at him, but he’s about the right size. I don’t know him. There’s something familiar about him, but I don’t know him. How did he die?”

  “There’s a gash on his head. We think he was hit by flying debris—these winds are killers — and then drowned when he fell.”

  Our respective escorts maneuvered us back to the fire truck. Those same killer winds were still tossing lethal-sized missiles at us, and there was nothing more we could do for the dead stranger. As we finally began to drive away from the bookstore — into what looked like straight into the ocean to me — I looked through one of the small windows of the cab. I was trying to see if any of the lightning flashes illuminated the bald head of my very own private investigator. All I could see was acres of dirty surf and tall palms paying obeisance to the wind.

  At the South Padre Island Convention Center, chaos reigned. The huge cinder-block complex sprawled at the north end of the bay was full to overflowing with “damned stupid people,” according to our fire truck driver. “Don’t you people ever listen to the television? The radio? We’ve been forecasting this hurricane for three days.”

  “We were listening to books on tape,” said Janie.

  There were church-sized tables lined up at the door of a large room—presumably a convention showroom or auditorium—and the lines in front of it were moving swiftly. We joined the line at one table behind two very red men.

  “We’re Canadians,” said one of them. “Got a bit more sun than we bargained for and have been out drunk since then, trying to ease the pain. You have anything for sunburn?”

  I could testify to the drunken part. Even standing a few feet behind them, I could smell the leftover residue of quantities of rum and coconut juice. It was all I could do not to retch at the smell. I pulled the blanket the Coast Guard had given me closer around my shoulders as the men in front of me loosened theirs to show their burnt bodies. One of the women rose and escorted them away to a first-aid station.

  We were next.

  We gave names and addresses and reported no injuries. To my surprise, the person at the makeshift desk told me we owed two hundred dollars.

  “For picking us up in the fire truck? I thought that was a free service.”

  “For ignoring the hurricane warnings. The fine is one hundred dollars a day, and since you said you arrived yesterday, the fine is two hundred dollars. I still don’t understand how you got through the barriers at the bridge.”

  “Do you take Visa?”

  They did, but Visa didn’t take us. My credit had been cut off due to my being behind in payments. I saw two hundred dollars of my dwindling cash reserve cross ove
r the Coast Guard’s desk.

  “When will it be safe to leave?” I asked.

  “We’ll let you know. Probably tomorrow morning. This thing is dying down fast. The National Guard and Red Cross will take over tomorrow if it clears out. They’ll tell you when you can return to your home. Next.”

  Since we had a dog with us, we were eventually assigned to a separate room. Which didn’t make sense to me. Why put someone with a dog into a room with other dogs? I kept a tight hold on Bailey’s leash as the canine residents of the smaller room welcomed him with growls and barks.

  Janie didn’t seem to notice. “I’m wet and cold,” she complained.

  “That’s because the air conditioning is working here. They must have an auxiliary power system. And you’re wet because you’ve just waded into the middle of the Gulf of Mexico. Sit here in this corner with Bailey, and I’ll go find us some coffee. I think it’s free.”

  Janie called after me, “Do you think we’ll have to pay the National Guard, too?”

  Back in the main room, more people seemed to be pouring in from the outside. I wandered around looking for coffee and Sledge Hamra. At the coffeepot a man behind me said, “We’re very lucky.”

  “Yes,” I replied grudgingly. “They’ve done a good job here.”

  “No, I meant about the hurricane. Charley it’s called. Hurricane Charley. Most of it hit Mexico. We’re only getting the outer edge of it.”

  “I bet Mexico doesn’t feel so lucky,” I told him as I filled two Styrofoam cups.

  “I knew it was going to hit Mexico. That’s why I stayed. What a glorious sight it’s been. If it weren’t for the Coast Guard, I’d still be at my condo watching it. We were safe. Don’t know why they made us come down here.”

  Three small kids ran up to the man. They were wet and shivering in the cooled air. “Daddy, I want to go home,” cried one.

  “Let me drink this coffee, and I’ll figure out a way to sneak us out of here,” he told them as they wandered off.

  “Fool,” I muttered. It was one thing to be an unknowing fool — like I had been — but it was another to risk your life and more importantly, your children’s lives on a thrill-seeking binge. All of a sudden, I didn’t resent the two-hundred-dollar charge. How much was life worth, anyway? Seemed cheap to me.

  “It’ll be over soon,” a woman said to me as I took the coffee back to the dog room. “They say the winds are dying down.”

  “We’re lucky,” said another stranger. “If the hurricane had stalled offshore, we’d have been in more trouble. Higher tides and more wind.”

  A woman with a Coast Guard band on her arm passed by and said, “Yes, Charley is almost a category four, but the eye hit Mexico. And she’s come in fast and clean.”

  “It’ll be over by morning,” predicted another.

  Someone in the corner turned on a boom box, and country music blared from the speakers. No one seemed to mind.

  Eventually I found my way back to Janie. I had made the rounds of all the groups in the main area, and unless they had a special room for bald-headed men, Sledge Hamra was not in the building.

  “We’re lucky,” I reported to Janie.

  SEVENTEEN

  “So why do you they call the hurricane Charley and then refer to it as she?”

  “All hurricanes used to be feminine names, and that made women mad, so now they alternate. One woman name. One male name. They started this year with Art, so it was time for another guy’s name. But they’re all shes. Like she’s offshore. Or she’s packing high winds.

  “Well, I’m glad to see the end of she,” laughed Janie.

  “Amen.”

  “You’ve still got some of that dog stuff on your sandal,” she told me.

  “I imagine I’ll be buried with it somewhere on my body. Who knew dog food would swell up in water like that?”

  “Or multiply?” Janie added.

  Harry’s garage had been swimming in the stuff. The force of the water in the garage had overturned the metal trash can he used to store Bailey’s food, and the resulting mess was like dog doo without having the benefit of being processed through the dog. It was bad enough when the garage floor was covered with a foot or more of water, but as the water receded, it became like sliding on mud.

  “Are you sure that was all just from one can?” Janie had asked.

  “Bailey, you will not eat that,” and I jerked on his leash as he bent his head into the mess.

  Janie started taking off her sandals.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Well, one of us has to see if the van will still start. It might as well be me.”

  I always think I have to guard Janie and be the hero. I don’t know why that is. I think it’s left over from my overprotected childhood. And most of the time I certainly considered Janie to be younger than I was and therefore in need of protection. This was not one of those times. I crossed my arms over my chest and sat down on the last dry step in the stairwell. “Okay.”

  She slipped on the first step and came up with a body armor of slimy dog food. “I can’t get in the van this way.” she cried.

  “If you make it to the door, take off your clothes,” I suggested calmly.

  So that’s why Janie was sitting in the driver’s seat of the Plymouth Voyager in her bra and panties when the representatives of the Red Cross and FEMA came visiting. To their credit, they pretended like nothing was out of the ordinary. “We just need to know if you need any assistance,” the younger of the two men said.

  Janie reached back and grabbed a sandy towel from the middle seat. She wrapped it around her as she responded. “You could wait and see if the van starts. And as for anything else, you can ask her. She’s Harry Armstead’s fiancée.”

  I didn’t bat an eye.

  The men were local representatives and knew Harry and Bailey. They acted like our being in Harry’s apartment was nothing out of the ordinary. One of them — the soft-spoken Hispanic one — even said he had seen me eating out with Harry at Blackbeard’s.

  I told them that Harry was out of the country visiting his sick mother. And did they know how to get in touch with Rosa, the woman who cleaned for Harry and haphazardly ran the bookstore when he was gone? They said it would be no problem to find her, and we all were relieved when we heard the engine turn over in the van. Janie gave a thumbs-up from the front window.

  “The National Guard is opening the causeway this afternoon. You can leave whenever you want to, but what about the cleanup here?”

  “I’m sure Rosa will know what to do,” I said confidently. “I’d have you take her some money, but I’m broke.”

  They raised their eyebrows on that one but soon left, assuring us that they would watch out for looters and strangers at the bookstore. They also told us as they departed that there was still no identification for the victim found dead outside the bookstore, but that they would let us know if they found out who he was. The authorities were sending the corpse’s body to Austin to check for fingerprints and dental records. I still didn’t mention the gun or seeing who I thought was Sledge Hamra attacking the dead man. I hadn’t said a word about Hamra to Janie, either. As the hours passed, it seemed more unlikely that I had seen our Mr. Clean in the middle of Hurricane Charley.

  Janie struggled back through the goo, the beach towel wrapped around her middle held with one hand and clutching a gunky mess of clothes in the other.

  “They didn’t believe you about being broke.”

  “Well, I am. We are. We have just enough to get to Kantor’s house. Enough for gas. You know my credit cards won’t work.”

  She went on, “I think it’s that big van and, of course, that hunk of diamond on your finger.”

  I looked down at my hand. “I had forgotten all about the diamond.” I laughed. “Yes, I bet they thought we are just pulling a fast one on Rosa.”

  “You know, we — you, I mean — could hock that ring.”

  The ring, a champagne pink diamond
, had been a gift from my deceased friend Clover. Ordinarily, I didn’t wear it, but when we had left Fort Worth, I was sure not going to leave it for Mr. Hamra to find. It was worth over three hundred thousand dollars, but I never thought of it as valuable in that way. It was valuable to me because of Clover not as a meal ticket. Still, it could come to that. If we didn’t find Bondesky.

  “We have to find Bondesky,” I told the bedraggled Janie.

  “I need to shower.”

  “There’s no water.”

  Eventually, Janie washed off at the beach, which was still closer to the bookstore than it used to be. There were also some strange new dunes near the property. Janie dried and dressed in clean shorts in the stuffy, hot apartment, shrieking every time she saw a crab scuttle across the floor. The small translucent crabs were everywhere. They were even coming out of the electric outlets near the baseboards.

  I refused to check out the bookstore again, knowing I would be heartsick and full of guilt for leaving it in such a mess.

  “I’m sticky, sandy, and hungry,” Janie said as the van pulled out onto the sand-covered street.

  “But lucky,” I reminded her as we crossed the causeway in perfect weather. The van dripped mushy dog food as we looked out on the sun-bright bay.

  “Did you remember to get Harry’s piece of paper?”

  “Yes, it’s right here in my shorts.”

  “So now all we’ve got to do is find Bondesky.”

  “And Twenty Wigmore Street. Wherever that is.”

  “And someplace with a shower.”

  We rolled off the causeway like someone getting off a midway ride.

  Janie didn’t even look behind her at the shining sea. “For our next vacation, Honey, can we go to the mountains?”

  “Gee, I don’t know. Do they name avalanches?”

  EIGHTEEN

  We had enough money for a cup of coffee and a slice of grapefruit pie at Savage’s, the little fruit stand and gas station about an hour north of South Padre Island, where I filled up the gas tank, but that was it. “No more cash,” I told Janie. “I’ll have to borrow some money from Kantor until we get back to Fort Worth. We can’t even afford those oranges now,” I said as I indicated Savage’s cart full of fake oranges. Presumably the real ones were inside.